Forbidden on Ice - SR Grey
Page 1
Boys of Winter #8
Table of Contents
Title Page
Other Books by S.R. Grey
Chapter One: Moments Lost
Chapter Two: Keeping it Simple
Chapter Three: This Is So On
Chapter Four: It All Goes Sideways
Chapter Five: A Helping Hand
Chapter Six: Knowing Me, Knowing You
Chapter Seven: My Mind Is Stuck On Noelle
Chapter Eight: Holy F*ck!
Chapter Nine: She’s Whose Sister?
Chapter Ten: We Have So Got This
Chapter Eleven: Close Call
Chapter Twelve: Dancing The Night Away
Chapter Thirteen: Contingency Plan
Chapter Fourteen: Brent’s Barbeque
Chapter Fifteen: Busted
Chapter Sixteen: Cock-Blocked, But Not For Long
Chapter Seventeen: Shit, I Even Have Her Brother’s Blessing
Chapter Eighteen: Working On My Own Love Story
Chapter Nineteen: Let’s Get Away
Chapter Twenty: Key West
Chapter Twenty-One: Perfection
Chapter Twenty-Two: It Could Blow Up At Any Time
Chapter Twenty-Three: I Love This Woman
Chapter Twenty-Four: A New Addition
Chapter Twenty-Five: A Welcome Surprise
Chapter Twenty-Six: Unfinished Business
Chapter Twenty-Seven: The Lead-Up
Chapter Twenty-Eight: Plans Are Made
Chapter Twenty-Nine: A Hockey Curveball
Chapter Thirty: A Twin Thing
Chapter Thirty-One: Just How Hard Did That Puck Hit Your Head?
Chapter Thirty-Two: Salvation
Chapter Thirty-Three: Outcomes
Chapter Thirty-Four: I Sure Didn’t See That One Coming
Epilogue: Moments Found
Forward Progress
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Copyright Notice
Boys of Winter series
Destiny on Ice
Resistance on Ice
Complications on Ice
Caution on Ice
Player on Ice
Vows on Ice
Illusion on Ice
Forbidden on Ice
Bet on Ice
Men of Fall series
Forward Progress
Fair Catch
Eligible Receiver
Judge Me Not series
I Stand Before You
Never Doubt Me
Just Let Me Love You
The After of Us
Inevitability duology
Inevitable Detour
Inevitable Circumstances
Promises series
Tomorrow’s Lies
Today’s Promises
A Harbour Falls Mystery trilogy
Harbour Falls
Willow Point
Wickingham Way
Laid Bare novella series
Exposed: Laid Bare 1
Unveiled: Laid Bare 2
Spellbound: Laid Bare 3
Sacrifice: Laid Bare 4
Moments Lost
In my twenty-six years of life, I have found that accepting change is a tried-and-true path to happiness. Once you come to grips with the fact that nothing ever stays the same, and that change is inevitable, the better off you’ll be.
I should know. I’m Blake Cavaletti, hockey player extraordinaire, and I’ve been traded more times than I care to count.
Okay, maybe I’m exaggerating a little. Or perhaps I’m not overstating anything at all.
Let’s let you be the judge.
I’ve played for three national hockey league teams in the past eight years. I don’t know about you, but that seems like kind of a lot to me.
I don’t have time to dwell on it, though.
Why not?
Because I’ve just been traded again!
This time I’m off to Las Vegas to join the Wolves.
Sin City, here I come.
I doubt I’ll have much time for sinning, though. I’ll be too busy trying to prove myself as a top line right winger.
Even though I’m slated to start on the Wolves’ second line, I believe in shooting for the top.
I’m glad I already have a friend on the team, defenseman Noel Sandlund. He can show me the ropes, give me the inside scoop that sort of thing.
He and I played together this summer in the hockey world championships that were held in Stockholm, Sweden. Though Team USA didn’t win, Noel and I still had a good time and became buds.
He’s a super-cool dude and an even more awesome teammate. That’s why I make it a point to meet up with him before I leave Europe.
At a little hotel bar in Stockholm, Noel tells me he’s met someone special. But he’s been holding out on saying the words to her.
You know the ones—I love you.
“Why?” I ask, before I caution him. “Shit, man, let this woman know how you feel. Show your hand. Life is crazy. You don’t know when the moment could be lost.”
It’s so true. I’ve learned that from my many trades and subsequent moves.
Shit, I hope Noel listens to my advice.
I shrug.
Maybe he will, or maybe he won’t.
You never know what people are going to do in situations like this.
Me, I wouldn’t delay. But then again, I’ve never been the kind of guy to procrastinate. I know shit can change in an instant.
Remember, all those trades have taught me that.
Speaking of which, after meeting with Noel, I fly back to New York City to say goodbye to my Rangers teammates, and to make arrangements to have my furnishings and cars shipped out to Las Vegas.
I then hop on a plane to head out that way myself.
Once I’m in Vegas, I keep really busy. It’s still summertime, so hockey season is weeks away.
Still, seeing as I plan to start off my Wolves tenure with a bang and not a whimper, I start spending my days at the Wolves’ arena, also known as the Desert Sports Complex, where I train like a mofo.
I also make a point to meet my new coach. Coach Townsend lives in town, so it’s pretty easy.
He introduces me to some of the members of management, including the team’s owners. I tell everyone I’m here to help the Wolves win another Stanley Cup. They already have one, but two is better.
They all love that, applauding my enthusiasm.
“Keep it up,” Coach says.
I assure him I will.
I can’t wait to meet my teammates so they too can see how committed I am to winning.
Unfortunately, I’ll have to wait a bit longer. No one is skating or working out at the training facility yet, except for me.
I’d like to get back in touch with Noel also, just to shoot the breeze and get caught up with him. But then I find out from Coach that he’s still over in Sweden.
There goes that plan.
Over the next week or so, I keep on keeping on with my same routine—working out a ton and skating as much as I can.
I soon discover, though, that man cannot live on workouts alone.
At least this man can’t.
After one particularly grueling—and rather lonely—skate, I return to the house I recently bought, far too amped to call it a night.
“I need something to fucking do,” I grind out in an empty hallway.
Yeah, my life is that pathetic.
I think about possibly organizing some shit in the house, but once I start walking around and checking things out, I realize it’s not necessary.
The decorators I hired moved everything in and put all the furniture where I told them I wanted it. Even items that arrived from my old place in New York are
pretty much where they should be.
That means there’s nothing left to do in the house in terms of organizing.
“You may as well just take a load off and relax, Blake,” I tell myself.
So that’s what I do.
Or, rather, that’s what I try to do.
But after flopping down on a perfectly placed chestnut leather sectional sofa and turning on the new flat-screen TV up on the wall, I discover relaxing at home is the last thing I feel like doing.
I’m going completely stir-crazy in here.
That’s it.
I need to get out.
Maybe I should check out the local watering hole just down the road from me. The real estate agent who brokered the deal on my house informed me that it’s a cool, hip kind of place and I will, in her words, “have a blast if I go there.”
One bonus is that it is close enough I can just walk there. I can have a drink or two and not worry about driving, that’s cool.
More than that, I fucking need this.
Not simply to blow off steam, though there is that, but I realize this may be my only opportunity to go out in public and not be recognized. No one in town really knows me yet.
Perfect.
With a big smile plastered on my face, thinking about how not a soul will bother me, I walk down to the hip, cool bar.
I forget about one thing, though—I’m never really left alone at bars or clubs.
Nope.
And that’s how it plays out now.
Multiple women check me out as I saunter up to the long bar in the back.
Hell, even a dude winks at me.
I chuckle a little.
I guess you could say I’m “good-looking.”
I try not to let it go to my head.
So, determined to take this attention in stride, as I always do, I take a seat on a tall bar stool and order a beer from the bartender.
And then, thirty seconds after my beer arrives, a tiny brunette wedges herself between me and the empty stool to my right.
Scooting back to give her some breathing room, or maybe that’s for me, I nod and take a drink from my beer.
When I set the bottle back down on the bar, the brunette gives me a shy smile, before hopping up on the vacant stool.
Here we go.
I know this drill.
Sure enough, my new friend asks in a shaky voice, “So, uh, hey, how’s your night going so far?”
I’m not a dick, so I reply in a fairly pleasant tone, “It’s going okay. Thanks for asking. What about yours?”
“It’s good. It’s fine.” The brunette nods excitedly. “Though it’s getting better now.”
Jesus.
I’m not interested in this chick, but I’m not averse to talking with her for a little while.
Hey, it’s been fucking lonely out here in Desertland.
But then the girl goes suddenly all shy on me.
This happens a lot too.
I try to say a few words to her, asking her about this and that, but she never really answers with more than a yes or no reply.
I guess it’s nerves, but it sure makes for a lot of work on my part.
And I’m not even interested in this woman!
Yeesh.
After a few more minutes of trying and having no luck in starting a real conversation, I give up and let out a long sigh.
This crap happens even with women who have no clue I play professional hockey. You should see the way they behave once they find that out.
Still, I don’t take advantage.
Remember, I’m not a dick.
I try not to be too intimidating, either. But at 6’4” and muscular as hell, that’s not an easy task.
Maybe that’s what has the tiny brunette clammed up, as I just rolled back my shoulders and stretched, making my biceps and pecs bulge bigger than ever in the snug dark tee I’m wearing.
The brunette, without warning, suddenly jumps up, peers at my body lustily, and squeaks out, “Uh, I, um, better go. It was nice talking to you, though. Bye.”
Before I can respond, she takes off and gets lost in the crowd.
Back to just me and my beer.
Though not for long.
Next up is a bubbly redhead who can’t be a day over twenty-one.
Hell no, I’m not going there.
“Hey there, handsome,” she purrs as she rests her hip against the edge of the just-vacated seat. “My friend totally dared me to come over and talk to you. So, ta-da, here I am.”
“Ah, yes, here you are,” I reply, chuckling as I take a long pull from my bottle.
I can tell this one is much more nervous than she’s letting on. That’s why I’m not surprised when she starts rambling.
“Dude, can I just say one thing? You are so freaking hot. I shouldn’t tell you that, though, right?” She giggles uneasily. “Talk about showing my hand too soon. Still, you got to know it. I mean, hell, how could you not? You’re sexy enough to be on covers of romance novels. Or you could maybe star on a billboard. That’d be cool, huh? In any case, you are one damn fine man.”
I laugh, shaking my head as I try to remain humble.
I also murmur a sincere, “Thanks.”
What else can I do?
Annnd she’s not done yet…
“You really are stunning,” she goes on. “Hands down, you are the hottest guy in this place. So I have to ask…”
I cock a brow. “Yes?”
“Would you like to go out with me sometime?”
Wow, that escalated quickly.
But I don’t want to lead her on.
I have no interest in going out with her.
Clearing my throat, I go with my patented response to these kinds of situations— “Sorry, but I have a girlfriend.”
I don’t, and I haven’t in a long while, but it’s a gentle, easy out.
Face falling, the redhead mutters, “Aw, man, that totally sucks.”
Following a quick apology for taking up my time, which I tell her not to worry about, she leaves.
There’s a lull in the action then.
No one new approaches me.
Since things are quiet for the time being, I take in my reflection in the big mirrored wall behind the bar.
Behind the colorful liquor bottles, dark brown eyes stare back at me. My eyes. I try so hard to see what these women see.
Is it my slicked-back jet-black hair that they like?
Or is it the way my snug black T-shirt shows off my strong build and bronze skin?
I don’t know.
All I see is me.
But there must be something, seeing as another woman is making her way over to the once-again empty bar stool next to me.
I’m about to roll my eyes, as I’m tiring of this.
But then I stop.
Whoa, I kind of like this one.
She’s sophisticated-looking and beautiful as hell—tall, platinum blonde hair, hot body.
Fuck. I hope she asks me out.
I will definitely say yes.
Apparently she’s not here for that, though.
Nope, she completely ignores me as she sits down next to me.
Damn, now she’s even turning away.
This is unexpected.
As she continues to act as if I’m invisible, twisting some more and affording me a view of her back, she beckons over the bartender.
I chuckle a little.
She doesn’t know it, but if there’s one thing I love, it’s a challenge.
And she’s such a lovely one at that.
I like that she looks firm and toned.
And I really like the way her hair looks pinned up on her head in some kind of a messy bun.
I bet that blonde mane would look good tumbling down her sexy back.
“I’ll have a glass of Chablis, please,” I overhear her saying to the bartender.
“You got it, beautiful,” he replies, his eyes raking over her hungrily.
Pig.
Or maybe that’s part of the appeal.
Maybe, as her navy pencil skirt is tight as hell, and though not particularly short, it still shows off her long, lean legs to perfection.
Oh, and that flimsy cream-colored camisole she has on?
Fuck, her tits look amazing in that thing.
That’s it.
I’m making a move before the piggish bartender does.
I’m not one to sit around and wait for shit to happen, right?
Right.
I make things happen.
But for some reason, I hesitant, feeling uncharacteristically nervous all of the sudden.
Huh, this is new.
Get it together, man.
“What’s wrong with you?” I murmur super-softly.
But, shit, I think my sexy neighbor hears me.
Why else would she be smiling to herself like that?
I am so off my game it’s not even funny.
I’m even thinking shit like: Can this woman tell that I like her?
And this one: Does she maybe like me too?
Okay, this is beyond crazy.
I’m not used to being the uncertain one in these situations.
I don’t like it very much.
Enough!
Make a move.
Fuck this nervous crap.
I start to open my mouth to get this chick’s attention with one hell of a line.
But then…
Wait, it’s too late!
Some other fucking dude just approached her.
And now he’s chatting her up like she’s his new best friend.
What the…?
The kicker is this dweeb’s not even good-looking. Not in the slightest.
Damn.
My opportunity is lost.
Gone, like a feather in the wind.
How could I have let this happen?
I warned Noel about these things.
How one can squander their chance, leaving it gone in an instant.
Just like this one has played out.
Keeping it Simple
I’m having the crappiest day ever, I swear.
Okay, maybe it’s not the worst of all time. But things are definitely going wrong left and right.
It started off on the wrong foot in the morning when my boss at my summer internship told me he was keeping me for an extra hour.