Forbidden on Ice - SR Grey

by Grey, S. R.

“Er, um, what do I think about what?” I’m about to take a bite of toast, but I pause.

  “Do we talk about work, or do we stick to parts of ourselves other than our jobs?”

  I take a bite, letting out a muffled laugh.

  Once I swallow, I say, “I say to hell with work and our jobs. Tell me about you, Blake. Like, you as a person, not what you do for a living.”

  After thinking it over, he says, “Okay, that’s fair. So what do you want to know first?”

  “Hmm, let’s start with something easy. Like, what’s your favorite color?”

  Laughing, he says, “Kicking it off with the really important questions, I see.”

  “You know it. So fess up. Is it red, green, orange? Do tell?”

  “It’s actually blue,” he replies. “But not just any shade of blue. I like indigo. That’s my favorite color.”

  “Hmm, that’s interesting…and very specific.”

  “Okay, your turn. What’s your favorite color, Noelle?”

  “Ha, that’s easy. Pink.”

  “Please.” He rolls his eyes. “That’s so cliché, such a typical female answer.”

  “Hey!” Scooting closer, I smack his corded forearm. “It’s not cliché. And I’ll have you know, there will be no hating on anything pink tonight.”

  Shooting me a sly grin, Blake says, “I never claimed I hated pink. In fact, some pink things I fucking love.”

  Gulp.

  Yeah, it takes me more than a minute to recover from that one.

  But once I do, I volley back, “And what pink things would that be? The ones you say you ‘fucking love’?”

  Softly, he replies, “Maybe I’ll show you sometime. Or maybe, Noelle, you can show me.”

  Holy hell!

  I hurriedly state, “Er, uh, next question…”

  Blake smiles smugly. “Okay. Should we go rapid fire?”

  I smile over at him, liking that he’s so into this game. “Sure, absolutely, let’s do it. Rapid fire it is.”

  Rubbing his hands together, he says, “Good, ’cause I got some. First up, what’s your favorite food?”

  “Lobster.”

  He raises a brow. “I see you have expensive tastes.”

  I smack his arm again. “You said rapid fire, buddy. That means no commentary.”

  “Shit.” He nods soberly. “You really are into rules, aren’t you?”

  Now it’s my turn to raise a brow. “Is that a question, Blake?”

  “I guess it is.”

  “Then yes, I like rules. I’m a nerdy girl at heart. Plus, rules give life structure.”

  Chuckling, he says, “What about living a little? You know, breaking the rules a little now and again?”

  After I take a sip of coffee, which is helping me feel much better, along with the dry toast, I reply smartly, “Well, Blake, I think the fact I’m here at your house, though not doing what we originally planned, proves that, yes, I know how to live a little.”

  I finish with a take-that stare, and he concedes, “Touché, Noelle. You have me there.”

  Back to rapid-fire questioning, I ask, “Okay, so what’s your favorite food?”

  “Hell, that’s easy. I love pasta.”

  “All right. And your favorite movie?”

  “Fuck, that’s even easier. Slap Shot. I fucking love hockey and all things to do with it, including movies.”

  Rolling my eyes, I remark, “Good God, you sound just like my brother. That’s his favorite movie too. He’s what you would call ‘into all things hockey’ as well.”

  Nodding approvingly, Blake says, “Sounds like my kind of guy.”

  “Yeah.” I nod. “You’d probably like him.”

  “Hey, no commentary, remember?”

  “Yes.” I nod. “You’re absolutely right.”

  And so it goes…

  We shoot rapid-fire questions at each other till we’re too tired to continue. By 3:00 a.m., even copious amounts of coffee can’t keep our eyes open.

  Yawning, I say, “We better get some sleep. I have, uh, some things to do tomorrow afternoon.”

  I don’t elaborate that those “things to do” are grad school-related, like stopping in at the bursar’s office to pay my upcoming semester’s tuition.

  I’m just glad I’m off from my internship tomorrow so I won’t be a mess.

  Blake tells me that he’s busy too.

  “I really want to get in a good workout in the morning,” he says, “tired or not.”

  Guess that’s how he keeps his fine physique.

  “Talk about dedication,” I murmur.

  He shrugs. “I don’t know about that. It’s more out of necessity at this point.”

  Hmmm…

  I think about asking what he means by that, like if his job requires that he be fit. But I don’t have the chance, since he then asks for my number.

  Yes!

  I give it to him, of course, and then we head upstairs. Blake shows me which room is mine for the night, namely his.

  We give each other friend-like hugs, say goodnight, and then he pads down the hall to a lonely guest bedroom.

  Kill me now.

  Fuck this friends shit.

  The man looks too damn good walking away.

  But now is not the time.

  There will be another chance.

  He has my number, right?

  A few minutes later, as I’m crawling into his super-comfy bed and burrowing under a downy comforter, I decide that the next time I see Blake, I am so going to remedy what got screwed up tonight.

  Yep, next time I’m in this bed, I will not be all alone.

  My Mind Is Stuck On Noelle

  At the training facility, I have the place to myself. Though players are starting to slowly trickle into town, none are working out just yet down at the Desert Sports Complex.

  I suspect that will change real soon, though.

  One guy I know for sure who’s in Las Vegas is the Wolves’ other newest acquisition—a player named Landen Zehner.

  Landen is a big left winger—tall, blond, and fast as fuck. He played for the Islanders before being traded.

  Word is we’ll be playing on the same line together.

  That’s cool.

  Since I played in New York City too, though for the Rangers, I’m acquainted with Landen. I used to see him out and about at various hockey functions around town.

  Looks like I’m about to get to know him a whole lot better. Not only is he my new teammate, but on my way in today, one of the Wolves’ secretaries called to let me know she scheduled a work lunch for us, meaning I have to go.

  Leaving little doubt about that, she said, “Management likes for all the new players to get to know one another. It makes for excellent team building. Plus, you may be able to answer some questions Landen may have, and vice versa.”

  I’ve found that it’s best not to quibble over the small stuff, so I agreed, “Yeah, sure. Give me the location. I’ll be there.”

  Lunch is now on for noon.

  I wish I could just meet with Noel instead. It’d be so much easier since we already have a relationship, and a good one at that. But I don’t even know if he’s back in town.

  Maybe he is, since I recently saw that he did an interview with some hockey blog.

  I think about it and decide if I don’t run into him soon, I’ll give him a call. I am kind of curious if he ever did tell that girl he was with in Sweden that he loves her.

  Wait, what was her name again?

  Shit, I can’t remember.

  I think it started with an M.

  “Whatever,” I mutter. “It’s not important.”

  And it’s not, as the only woman on my mind today is Noelle. I can’t fucking stop thinking about her.

  She’s that amazing.

  Not only is she stunning, but she’s a real sweetheart.

  We talked so late into the night.

  Fuck, I haven’t done that in ages.

  It felt good to share, eve
n if we didn’t divulge what we do for a living.

  I laugh. It’s kind of wild to think she has no clue I’m with the Wolves.

  Eh, it doesn’t matter. She’ll find out soon enough. I plan to tell her when I see her next, which I hope happens real soon.

  It kind of sucks that she’ll most likely be gone once I’m back at the house. But there’s no way she’ll stick around; she said she had things to do.

  Damn, I hated leaving this morning without any kind of a proper goodbye. Bad enough we never got to kiss.

  And, man, I’d really, really like to have my lips on her.

  When I snuck a quick peek into my bedroom this morning, she looked so cute, all sound asleep and curled up in my comforter. Her navy skirt was lying on the floor. Jesus, the thought of Noelle in my bed with just that sexy camisole and panties on made my dick hard as fuck.

  I had to get out of there.

  That’s probably why my workout’s going so well this morning. I have a lot of pent-up sexual tension to release.

  When I finish in the weight room, I hit the showers.

  Afterward, as I’m dressing, I recall something Noelle said. She mentioned that she has a brother and his favorite movie is the same as mine—Slap Shot.

  How wild is that?

  One thing for sure, the dude has excellent taste in movies.

  Noelle said he’s a hockey guy too.

  Wonder if she likes hockey, as well?

  I should’ve asked.

  I definitely will when I see her again.

  Grabbing my workout bag, I head out to the parking lot.

  Ugh, I’m beat.

  My lack of sleep is finally catching up to me, so on the way to my house, I stop at a nearby convenience store to grab an energy drink.

  That’s when the strangest thing occurs—I swear Noel’s girlfriend, the one he showed me pictures of over in Sweden, the one whose name starts with an M, is working the counter.

  I stare and stare as she rings me up.

  Yeah, no doubt about it, this is definitely the same girl.

  But what’s she doing in Las Vegas?

  Did she come back with Noel?

  If so, why is she working at a convenience store?

  Something doesn’t feel right, so once I’m back in my car, I call Noel.

  Guess I’m about to find out real soon if he’s back in town.

  When he answers, I assume he is, based on the road noise in the background. He’s definitely driving, and I know he didn’t do much of that over in Stockholm.

  “Hey, man,” he says cheerfully.

  I’m less exuberant, replying with a somber, “Hey, Noel.”

  He then says, “It’s good to hear from you. I’ve been meaning to touch base.”

  “Yeah, me too.” I sigh. “Things have just been crazy lately with settling in and all.”

  Noel chuckles. “Yeah, I bet.”

  Okay, he’s in town.

  I need to get to the point of my call.

  Clearing my throat, I say, “Anyway, so…”

  Noel knows something’s up and asks worriedly, “What’s going on, Blake?”

  I want to ease into this slowly, get my facts straight before I run my mouth.

  So, carefully, I hedge, “Uh, maybe something. I’m not sure. But first I have a question for you.”

  Noel, sounding confused, says, “Go ahead, shoot.”

  I clear my throat. “Remember that girl you told me about when we were over in Sweden? You showed me some pictures of her that you had on your phone.”

  Flatly, he says, “Yeah. What about her?”

  Hmm, this can’t be good.

  Carefully, I say, “Well, first I have another question.”

  “All right.”

  “Did you ever tell her that you love her, like you said you were going to?”

  Bristling, Noel replies, “No. Why do you ask?”

  I’m sure he’s wondering what the fuck is up, or if I’m absolutely crazy, so I finally get to the point.

  “It’s just… You’re never going to believe this, but I swear I saw that same girl working in a convenience store here in Las Vegas.”

  “Holy fuck!” Noel exclaims, clearly shocked. “What did you just say?”

  I tell him again, and he asks for the address of the store.

  Okay, this is weird.

  That girl must be her.

  But what in the hell happened that Noel doesn’t even know that she’s here?

  I’m at a red light, so I read off the exact address of the convenience store from my receipt.

  Noel then ends the call.

  It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out they’re not together anymore. Something obviously went way wrong.

  I bet it had to do with Noel delaying in expressing his feelings for her.

  See, there’s no time like the present to make your fucking move.

  That’s when I hit the gas.

  Yeah, once I get this lunch over with Landen, the first thing I’m doing is calling Noelle. I’m going to ask her what she’s up to later. And if she’s not busy, I am taking her out to dinner.

  Fuck waiting.

  Holy F*ck!

  I open my eyes, sit up, and take a look around.

  “Wait. Where am I again?” I ask out loud.

  I’m not in my pretty floral-themed bedroom, that’s for sure. No, this room is dark and manly. It even smells like a guy—musky, soapy, male.

  I breathe it in.

  I like it.

  The big bed I’m in is far from feminine. The headboard and footboard are made of thick, heavy wood, and there are tall posts at each of the corners.

  That’s when it all comes back to me—I’m at Blake’s.

  I slept in his room.

  He slept somewhere else.

  If I remember correctly, he made mention that he’d be working out this morning.

  Ah, yes, got to keep that nice ass of his firm and tight.

  Groaning at the thought of what I missed out on, I slump back down into the luxurious covers.

  Too bad Blake’s not here right now.

  We could end what we started.

  Apart from a slightly achy head, I’m feeling much, much better. I think the water and coffee helped. The toast too.

  Still, there is a throbbing at my temples.

  I should find some aspirin.

  Blake has to have some somewhere, right?

  It’s kind of dark in the room with the blinds so tightly drawn, so I turn on the lamp on the bedside table.

  A soft, warm glow fills the room, and I murmur, “Ah, that’s much better.”

  Now I can see clearly. And I spy a bottle of aspirin over on Blake’s dresser.

  “Perfect.”

  Hopping up, I walk over.

  But then I’m stopped in my tracks.

  Holy hell!

  What’s caught my attention are several letters that are on Blake’s dresser. Most appear to be business correspondences.

  But what’s really interesting is that every single one has a Las Vegas Wolves logo in the return address area.

  I should know. I’ve seen enough of my brother’s paperwork from the team, and these are definitely the envelopes the Wolves use.

  So what kind of business does Blake have with the team my brother plays for?

  I think it over…

  Blake did say he likes hockey.

  And he has sticks in his garage—several, in fact.

  Didn’t he also mention that he plays a little hockey?

  Yes, yes he did.

  Holy crap!

  Is Blake a freaking professional hockey player?

  I think about the name on the envelopes—Blake Cavaletti.

  Hmm, I think I’ve heard of him.

  I’m pretty certain it was in relation to a team on the East Coast, one that’s in a whole different conference and division.

  But is he on the motherfucking Wolves team now?

  The same organization my
brother plays for?

  I definitely have to find out.

  A couple of the envelopes are already opened, so I consider my next move.

  It wouldn’t hurt to take a small peek inside at the contents, right?

  I mean, I kind of have to.

  I’m not normally the snooping kind of person, but I have a sick feeling about this. Probably because the only thing my brother has ever asked of me is to not date any of his teammates. Or, really, any hockey players in general.

  That for sure means he definitely doesn’t want me sleeping with one.

  Good thing I didn’t sleep with Blake.

  I did sleep in his bed, yes.

  But I was all alone.

  Big difference, people. Big difference.

  To make sure I’m right about this, though I wish to hell that I wasn’t, I pull a letter from an envelope.

  Shit.

  My heart sinks.

  Blake is on the team.

  He’s their newest acquisition, having come from a trade with the New York Rangers. It’s all in the letter.

  Damn it, that’s why I didn’t recognize him.

  I’ve been so busy with my stupid internship that I haven’t kept up with the recent trade news.

  But here it is.

  The piece of paper in my hands confirms it.

  I’m floored.

  I’m sick.

  I’m pissed for making up that stupid no-work-talk rule.

  What was I thinking?

  I could’ve nipped this in the bud right away.

  “That sure backfired on you, huh?” I chastise under my breath.

  But in all of this, there’s something far worse—I freaking genuinely like Blake. I like him a lot. And I want to see him again. Not just because he’s hot as sin, though there is that, but also because he’s nice.

  And nice is hard to find.

  We hit it off so well too.

  I mean, he freaking held my hair while I puked.

  That says a lot.

  Damn it, I am going to see him again!

  That’s why I gave him my number.

  Still, there’s another possible roadblock—will Blake want to see me once he finds out my brother is his teammate? There’s usually a bro code amongst teammates—“bros before hos,” or something like that.

  Or maybe in this case it’s “buddies before bunnies.”

  Whatever.

  Shaking my head and laughing bitterly, I slip the letter back into the envelope.