Ice Hard

by Tracy Goodwin

  “Then tell me about the hockey stud.” Beth kneels in front of me, waiting. She won’t budge until I’ve given her an answer.

  Nick…I haven’t been able to stop thinking about him. The crazy fangirl DVRing his games? Yeah, that’s me. I’ve watched him on the ice with his larger-than-life personality and seen locker-room interviews. He’s boisterous and insightful. He knows his sport, his stats, and his opponents. He’s a force to be reckoned with. Then there’s the obvious: the guy is hotter than hell, and I find his game talk sexy. Just like his touch at urgent care. God, he felt good. Too good.

  On the outside, Nick’s a sexy jock and sure, when we’re alone together, there’s that. But, there’s also so much more to him. He’s intelligent, compassionate, dorky, and seems sincere. Whenever I think of him, his jokes, his eclectic taste in music, and the way he makes me yearn for him by merely massaging my ankle, my insides get all warm and fluttery. Total cliché but true.

  My sister clears her throat.

  “Right. Nick is kind, funny, and he’s also a good guy. He’s down-to-earth and smart. He’s also incredibly sexy, with rich azure eyes that show so much emotion that I wonder how it’s even possible.” I remember his admission about his family. His expression was raw and broke my heart. It also garnered my respect. For him to tell me something that intimate was like nothing anyone I’ve ever dated would have done. Then again, we weren’t dating, at least not when he made his admission, yet he had the courage to confide in me. “Nick is everything I want in a man.”

  It’s true. The realization causes my hands to tremble, and I clamp them together on my lap so Beth won’t notice.

  “Nick sounds like a catch. So what’s the problem?” Beth makes everything sound so simple, when it’s anything but.

  I can’t help but scoff. “You know the problem. He’s a hockey player. I know the type…remember?”

  Of course she does. Enough not to mention what happened after my college graduation. When my life and future went to shit. You’d think I’d be a pro at watching my future crumble before my eyes by now.

  “You won’t see Nick again, then?” Beth’s testing me. Testing my resolve.

  Resolve? What resolve? Though I vowed not to think about Nick since our non-breakfast, I’ve replayed each and every moment I spent with him at least a dozen times in my mind. Then there are his games. Damn, if he isn’t impressive on the ice. And hot as hell in the locker room, all muscle and testosterone. Then there are his texts. Nothing naughty. Nothing sinful. He’s just been thinking of me. Asking how I’m feeling, which is refreshing, elating, and terrifying at the same time.

  I’m usually the caretaker. I’m the one who reaches out. Except for Nick. He joins the ranks of two who are concerned for me. My cousin Sally Benetti is the other. Technically, we’re best friends and roommates. I can count on Sally. It seems like I can count on Nick. Or I could. If I let him get closer. He seems to want that. I think I want it, too…if I can move past my fears.

  “Spill, already!” I realize that my sister’s staring at me, waiting for an answer.

  “Nick and I have been texting. He thought enough about me to text me while he’s been on the road. He asked me out, and I’m planning a date for us when he gets back. It’s a role-playing date with him as Nicholas Alexander from Scorcher, not the famous Nick George. It’s not real. It can never be real, right? Not with my history.”

  My sister takes my hand, startling me with her touch. “But?”

  “But he took me to the doctor and paid my medical bills. Of course, I’m paying him back, but he paid my bills. How unselfish is that?” I’m rambling.

  “Nick sounds like a kind man, a sensitive man. The type of man you deserve.” My sister’s eyes hold mine, searching for answers I don’t want to give. I can’t let her in. Not when I don’t know how I feel yet. If I let her see just how much Nick is affecting me, it would force me to acknowledge that he is awakening something in me. Something that’s been dormant for ages. The mere thought terrifies me. In fact, I’m so panicked that I blink, refusing to let her see what I’m running from.

  I can’t admit that I can’t stop thinking about Nick. That I like him and want to know him better in spite of the fact that he’s immersed in a profession I know too much about. The away games, the puck bunnies, the temptation…so much temptation. So much time on the road. Which loops back to the temptation. “The truth is that Nick gets my sarcasm. Hell, he’s almost as sarcastic as I am, which is a feat.”

  “Again, I ask: what’s the problem?” Beth gives my hand a gentle squeeze. Like Mom used to. I miss Mom so much, especially at times like this. She knew everything and understood it all…all the reasons I don’t date hockey players, all the reasons I don’t date. Period. Because eventually, I must disclose the truth and then there’s no future. I’m damaged. I always will be. There’s no changing that. As for accepting my fate, I’ve done so, albeit reluctantly. No one else should have to.

  Trying to save face, and keep my demons at bay, I say simply, “I think we’re in the friend zone, if flirty is a friend zone.” The idea of a friend zone keeps me in my own comfort zone.

  Beth offers me an apologetic grin. “I hate to break it to you, Cami, but flirty is its own zone. One that surpasses friendship. Especially if you’re planning a date.”

  Though I already suspected it, the concrete realization makes my palms clammy and causes my heart to beat out of my chest. “We’re seeing each other tomorrow night. I chose the place.”

  It’s the most un-datelike joint I could think of and will keep Nick on his toes. I can’t figure out if I’m sabotaging us or challenging Nick to prove me wrong, to prove that the rest won’t matter. If I ever get close enough to tell him. Which I doubt I will. I mean, what are the odds of that happening?

  Regardless, a relationship…a real, deep, committed relationship, isn’t in the cards for me, no matter how much my sister wants it to happen. I accepted that fact a long time ago, or rather I was forced to accept it. External factors made anything else impossible. There’s nothing I can do about it.

  A little flirting is okay. But nothing more. Even Nick will be forced to concede that if he gets to know the real me. It’s something my sister will never understand. It’s also a fact of my life, the real me, the true Camille Benetti: I’m broken and can’t be fixed. But I can do a flirty non-date date, because I don’t want to stop talking to Nick just yet. He’s a good guy, and I like him way too much to give up on whatever we have. A guy like Nick only comes around once. I may not know much about him, but it’s a hunch and a good one at that.

  No one said our date had to be romantic. That’s why I planned it. To keep us away from romance, and to see how serious he really is. What are his true intentions? Some silly dating challenge will show me who he is. It will also allow me back into that friend zone. If it’s what I truly want.

  The question remains: What do I want? If I’m honest with myself, I’m not sure. Not anymore. Not when it comes to Nick. So, I’ll go with him on our first so-called date and see how Nick reacts.

  I have no intention of losing anything, especially my heart. Silly Dating 101 has begun. I just hope I’m not the one getting played.

  Chapter 4

  Camille

  We approach my cousin’s dive bar on the outskirts of town. There’s minimal traffic here and those who come are here for the business. That’s how off the beaten path it is. My cousin Tim inherited this bar—or at least the money for it—from our grandmother. Each of us grandkids received the same amount of inheritance from her, though I haven’t touched mine, choosing instead to save it for a down payment on Benetti’s. My cousin Sally invested her portion. Tim, well, he bought the perfect place for his band to practice and friends to gather. The fact that he renovated the interior to reflect the classic rock music greats and earns a living from doing what he loves makes Tim the coolest gu
y I know.

  I tighten my grip on Nick with my free hand, slowing him before he trips, while my other hand remains over his eyes. “Careful.”

  Upon opening the front door, we’re greeted by the electrical hum of dim lighting and my cousins Tim and Sally, Tim’s girlfriend Stephanie, and their two bandmates sitting at a table in the far corner. They’re expecting us. Nick isn’t expecting them.

  This is our first date, mine and Nick’s. Or non-date. I’m not sure. All I know is that I chose a locale I’m comfortable with—the same place Tim, Sally, and their bandmates practice their sets, put on impromptu shows, hold karaoke parties, and drown their troubles. God knows, I’ve drowned my share of troubles here. It’s safe and I’m in control, which is what I want.

  “Open your eyes, Nicholas.” I remove my hands, exaggerating his full name. We’re pretending he’s a normal guy named Nicholas Alexander. Not the sexy hockey bad boy Nick George a.k.a. the Dominator, known for his fierce skills on the ice and his ability to rattle his competition. He’s feared by opposing teams. Has been for a while. I knew of him, before I ever met him. He’s got that kind of reputation—the kind that usually keeps me as far away as I can get.

  While I’m trying to sort out what I want from Nick, and why I agreed to this date in the first place, it’s best if I do it with my cousins here. That way, if things go south, which they probably will, I’ll be prepared.

  Nick studies the interior. It’s got personality with an old-school ’80s vibe. “Wow.” His tone isn’t the least bit condescending. It’s as if he actually likes what most would consider a dump.

  “Nicholas, meet my cousin Sally.” Sally waves from the table, her red curls cascading over her shoulders and matching lipstick enhancing the fact that she’s a bombshell. No one can resist her. I then introduce the rest of the group, starting with Tim. “He’s also our cousin. We’ve got lots of family. He owns this place.”

  Nick walks over to their table and shakes everyone’s hands. He towers over them, even Tim, who stands when he shakes Nick’s hand. Between Nick’s six-foot-six frame, his burly shoulders, and from what I saw in the locker-room footage, he is every bit the buff sports star he plays on ice. Yeah, with his rock-hard body, he is probably sin incarnate naked. Whoa—naked?

  Don’t go there.

  Sally winks at me. Like she knows where my mind just went in record time. Granted, we’re related, but she’s also my best friend. We’re the same age and grew up next door to each other. Our family is close, and we have always been inseparable. She most certainly does know where my mind just went. The arch of her immaculate deep-ginger brows tells me so.

  Stop I mouth as Nick surveys the stage, the bar, the tables, chairs, and the framed posters of vintage bands and artists—Blondie, Joan Jett, Stevie Nicks, Freddie Mercury, the Cure. “This place has lots of character. How have I never been here before?”

  Tim laughs. “We’re an acquired taste complete with karaoke and garage band performances by us. You caught us on a night we’re normally closed, except this one…” He points to me. “She’s my favorite cousin, so I let her have the place for tonight.”

  “If Cami’s your favorite, what does that make me?” Sally chimes in with a wicked grin.

  Tim shrugs. “Do you really want me to answer that?”

  “Family. Got it. Thanks for allowing me to hang with you tonight.” Nick’s warm and kind. It doesn’t seem to matter that this resembles what some would consider a shithole. Nick’s cool with it and fits in. I bet he fits in anywhere, like a chameleon. I can see it. God knows Nick’s dressed to fit in.

  For a guy who is wealthy, he doesn’t flaunt it. Instead, Nick looks like he shopped at the Express store at our local mall. Or shopped online. I’ve done my share of shopping at Express for my male and female relatives to recognize the look. Nick sports one of their popular Henley T-shirts in a dark blue beneath a brown leather jacket. He’s wearing trousers, not jeans. He could fit in anywhere with the exception of a formal place, though something tells me he could pull that off, too, with his charm and wit.

  When he removes his leather jacket, his muscles ripple underneath the snug fabric of his shirt. He’s smoking hot. Yep. And I’m staring, dying to rip that shirt off him. So much for this being a non-date date.

  Averting my eyes, I glance at my cousin Sally who winks at me. She’s given her seal of approval regarding Nick. Me? Hot or not, I’m still skeptical, though my cheeks are warm, and I’m certain that I’m blushing.

  “Let’s get this party started, shall we?” Thank goodness for my uncanny ability to rebound and change topic. It allows me to hide from my emotions, and right now I’m feeling all sorts of things I shouldn’t be. Desire…yearning…excitement. Heavy on the excitement. Nick is like a jolt of adrenaline to my system. He’s better than a Nitro Cold Brew from our local Starbucks, sending my heart racing in a way I haven’t felt before. It’s invigorating, exhilarating…it’s absolutely terrifying. Yet, it’s tempting. So very tempting.

  I feel alive with Nick, despite his profession.

  Damn it! Don’t go there again! It’s my silent mantra, though I feel my resolve slipping. Time to kick this non-date-slash-date into high gear. This is my very own How to Lose a Guy in Ten Days on steroids experiment. Nick’s got his very own dating experiment with Scorcher, this is mine. By the time I’m finished with him tonight, he won’t ever want to see me again and I will no longer be tempted. Or I’ll cave. He’s got a lot to prove for the latter to happen.

  I escort Nick to the bar, while music now blares from the speakers and Tim preps the stage. We’re starting off with Blondie’s “Call Me.” I toss my leather jacket on the end of the bar and ask what Nick wants. “I stocked up with your favorite bourbon.”

  Nick shakes his head. “A beer is great.”

  “Beer? You sure?” I hold the bottle up for him, doing some sort of Vanna White flourish with my free hand. “Bourbon. Just like you ordered at the End Zone.”

  “You remembered. I thought you weren’t paying attention.” His baritone is rich and smooth. So is his smile. It’s comforting, it’s exciting. He’s full of contradictions. They’re etched in deep creases around his baby blues when he teases me, and in the way his sly grin feels intimate—like it’s meant only for me.

  The man is handsome on any given day, even with his face buried beneath a thick dark-brown beard. But, somehow, he emanates a vulnerability under the tough exterior. It must be his eyes. A deep azure, outlined with black eyelashes, his dazzling gaze holds mine much longer than it should. It warms me and makes me feel like I’m the only woman in the world. It captivates me as one moment passes, then another. I hold my breath as a third goes by. Time seems to stand still when he looks at me this way. Until I’m forced to admit that I’m not the only woman. Women are a dime a dozen to pro athletes, especially hunky NHL players with wealth and fame. Hell, I had a front row seat before the wealth and fame, so I’m fluent in the puck-bunny playbook. I know how persuasive they are, how relentless they are, and how easy they make guys like Nick forget about…about…

  Me.

  One word, one stark and sudden realization is all it takes to break our unspoken connection. I reach for a bottle of Bud. “You may need something stronger when you see what I have planned for this evening.”

  I’m back to my sarcastic self, testing Nick, pushing this into a non-date. Because that’s safe and self-preservation is my goal. Always. I clink the glass bottle against his. “Here’s to a night to remember.”

  “Karaoke. Shit. Not karaoke,” he mutters, shaking his head.

  Just the reaction I’d hoped for. “Yep. Karaoke. Cheers.” I offer him a smile, then down a hefty gulp of my beer. It does nothing to slow my heart as it races in my chest. Nick is one hell of a caffeine jolt, that’s for sure.

  We find a table away from the others. Nick’s choice. Not mine. Damn it. I di
dn’t plan this. Nor did I expect that, with his expensive taste in liquor, he would be comfortable with a bottle of beer in my cousin’s garage.

  He’s fitting in too well and I begin to wonder why I ever wanted to test him in the first place. This wasn’t part of my plan. I attempt to downplay it and, since I’m fluent in sarcasm, I use it to my advantage. “My cousins are chaperoning us, so don’t try anything.” I wink, sitting in the chair he pulled out for me.

  Nick takes his seat beside me, then takes a swig from his beer, glancing at the framed posters on the wall. “I like this place but wonder why you chose it. Did you think I wouldn’t like it? Or did you hope I wouldn’t?”

  Damn, he is direct. He’s also correct. “A bit of both.” I peel the edge of the label with my fingernail. It’s painted in a light blue holographic glitter. I don’t get professional manicures and pedicures. I’m not a spa girl. Still, I like painting my nails with sparkle. Maybe there is some whimsy to match my hardened core after all.

  “Holy shit,” Nick whispers, taking my hand, noticing the color change. “Let me see.”

  “It’s a temperature-reactive nail polish.” When I touched the cold beer bottle, the tips of my light blue nails turned a deep azure. “It changes color—light when warm, dark when cold.” It reflects my personality. Light and dark, more than meets the eye.

  From the outside, I’m all jokes mingled with cynicism. It’s a façade that’s easy to hide behind. The truth is that my personality has been molded over the years to hide my pain. To bury my loss. But still, there is that end-of-the-rainbow optimism buried deep within. I can’t rid myself of it, though God knows I’ve tried.

  “Do it again.” He rubs my fingernails with his thumb and forefinger. That small sliver of intimacy awakens parts of me that have remained dormant. “Show me hot.”