by Stacey Lynn
Playing With Fire
Ice Kings novella 0.5
Stacey Lynn
Playing With Fire
Ice Kings, #0.5 Prologue novella
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Stacey Lynn
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Copyright © 2020 Stacey Lynn
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Content Editing: My Brother’s Editor
Proofreading: Virginia Tesi Carey
Cover Design: Shanoff Designs
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Playing With Fire is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, trademarks, and incidents are used fictitiously or are the product of the author’s imagination.
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All rights reserved. No part of this work may be reprinted, reproduced, or transmitted in any form without written permission of the author, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages for review passages only.
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This purchased material is for personal use only and NOT to be shared. Thank you so much for respecting the author’s wishes.
Created with Vellum
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Acknowledgments
Other Books by Stacey Lynn
Chapter One
“You never come out with me anymore. Please, Katie?”
My roommate Lizzie steps into my room, hands pressed together in prayer. She’s one of the few people who get away with calling me Katie, and I love her to death. Most days.
“Please, pretty please? I’ll pay for your keg cup.”
As tempting as that is…I’m not falling for it.
I raise my beer in one hand, barely looking up from my book. First semester finals are in one week and I plan on acing mine. “Stay in if you want to drink with me. I’m not against fun, I’m only over frat parties and sticky bar floors.”
We’re seniors at Chicago College and I’m not exaggerating. I’ve risked losing enough heels in the last couple of years from the amount of alcohol spilled on our campus bar floors. And fraternity parties? They’re even worse. I’ve seen the aftermath of them, too.
At twenty-one, I want to spend my last year solely focused on school. It’s time to buckle down to ensure I’ll be accepted into the graduate program. Nothing will risk throwing me off my planned track.
Not even Lizzie, cutely pouting at the side of my desk, bottom lip plumped out and giving me sad puppy dog eyes. As I speak, a twinkle appears in her pretty blues.
“Then it’s a good thing it’s at the hockey players’ house, isn’t it?” She points a finger at me before I can say anything. “And you’ve never been there, so you can’t say it’s gross and germ and STI infested. You don’t know that.”
I’m a girl of facts. The hockey players on campus catch more tail than any other sport combined. I can hypothesize with the best of them, and my best-educated guess is that Lizzie is absolutely wrong about this one.
I tap my pen on my opened Advanced Statistics book. In truth, I’ve got this. Science, math, and I go together like peanut butter and jelly—grape only, though. I’ve wanted to be a physical therapist and work in the medical field for as long as I can remember, so I’ve worked my tail off for years.
My eyes are scratchy from staring at my computer screen for so many hours this week despite using my blue-light blocker glasses when I study. Frankly, I can use the break.
But the hockey players’ house? Ugh. It’s larger than the fraternity houses and more than once I’ve walked by and there’s been what looks like a clothesline filled with a variety of women’s underwear hanging from it.
They’re animals. Sweaty, bulky, shaggy-haired, and full-bearded animals.
“I hate hockey.”
Lizzie snorts. She always knows I’m caving when I break out the worst excuses.
She also knows when I’m lying. I’m not a sports fanatic, but I’ve learned a lot over the years. It comes with the territory of having labs and putting in hours in the college’s training facility helping student-athletes with minor injuries.
She slaps closed my textbook.
“Hey!”
“The only studying I want to do tonight is figuring out if they really know what they’re doing with their hard sticks. Consider it medical research.”
She eyes my book playfully and waggles her eyebrows.
I lean back in my chair and cross my arms. “No researching their sticks.”
“Not even to measure?”
“You are crazy.”
“And you’re growing cobwebs where no one virile twenty-one-year-old woman should, Katie. Come out with me. We only have a semester left and we need to live it up, create as many memories as we can before I leave.”
Oh, yay, the guilt trip. After this year, Lizzie’s heading off to study economics in England for graduate school. She’s not only a party animal, she’s wicked smart, invested in everything she does, which is probably why she’s able to talk me into anything.
“I have to work tomorrow. I need to be home early.”
“One?”
“Midnight.”
She pouts but knows when I’ve negotiated all I’m willing to.
She holds out her hand. “Deal.”
I grab it, going to shake it, but as I do, I yank my arm back and tug her forward. She loses balance on her heels and her arms pinwheel across my bedroom until she braces herself right before she collapses onto my bed.
“You’re a brat,” she says, laughing, blonde hair covering her face before she blows it out of the way.
“Call me names again and you’ll be going by yourself.” I’m out of my chair, heading for my private bathroom in the apartment we share right off campus. “I need to shower and get ready but I’ll be ready in thirty.”
“I’ll be on drink number three and ready to party!”
Of that, I have no doubt.
To my surprise, the front yard of the three-story, all brick, turn of the century home is completely clean when we arrive. The trees lost their leaves weeks ago and there isn’t a single stray leaf blowing across the yard. And while the tips of my ears and my nose are already frozen from the cruel, whipping wind all Chicagoans complain about, I’m only thankful we haven’t already had snow.
As a girl raised mostly all along the western coast, the bitter cold is my enemy, but I might hate having to be out in snow more. Thank goodness for Ubers and taxis and the El train. Without them, I might never step outside from the months of November through April.
My hands are warm, enclosed in fluffy wool mittens I splurge on every year. I’m already cringing at the idea of having to ditch both my mittens and my North Face coat. It’s not uncommon for coats to be taken at parties or completely forgotten about, and it’s not like there’s ever a good place to store them.
“See? No panties and no naked women yet.” Lizzie bumps her hip into mine and almost sends me slipping across a patch of ice.
“It’s like, ten degrees below with the wind chill. Any girl out here naked now is stupid. Or dead.”
As if I’ve summoned stupidity, a guy bursts through the front door of the house. He’s as burly and rough as all the other hockey players I’ve seen on campus and his chest must be warm, covered beneath his own thick matting of hair all over him. He tumbles through the door, slams his fists to his chest and throws his head back, howling at the moon.
“What in the hell?”
Next to me, Lizzie laughs. She tugs on my hand and we move to skirt aroun
d him, but as we begin climbing the steps, three other men come out from behind the wannabe werewolf and shove him forward.
“Hey!” I cry, but it’s too late, my heels slip on the wood step and just like Lizzie did earlier, my arms spin and flail for balance. I reach for the hairy guy in front of me, but he’s too slow on his feet, or he hasn’t even noticed me. Regardless, I fly up in the air, and I can see it in slow motion.
My feet are in the air, my arms flailing. I’m imagining a fractured tailbone and taking my finals sitting on an inflatable toilet looking seat cushion and I brace myself for the impact of slamming onto the cement.
But it never comes.
Two warm arms slide beneath me and catch me just in the nick of time, and then, I swear maybe I already hit my head, I’m concussed. I have to be.
Because the most beautiful voice I’ve heard lands right on my ear.
“It’s okay, beautiful. I’ve got you.”
Chapter Two
Beautiful. Please. The only thing visible on my entire body is my Rudolph nose, the rest ensconced in my long puffer coat, scarf, and mittens.
The fact this guy says it so quickly, with a voice like warm honey that I’m totally ignoring, proves what I’ve suspected about hockey players on campus.
He’s a total player.
On instinct, my arms go to his shoulders to hold on and I burrow my head in embarrassment.
On the front porch, Lizzie is doubled over, laughing hysterically. Her blonde hair bobs and sways as she shakes her head. “That was so funny. You should have seen yourself.”
I ignore her in favor of walking on my own two feet. “Thanks for the help. I can walk though.”
“Ah, but I think I like you in my arms.”
Yeah… smooth. His voice is deep and rich and based on the size of this guy’s shoulders, he’s as burly and bulky as the rest of the players. The fact he’s only wearing a short-sleeve shirt shows his muscles and corded throat.
Without setting me down, he walks up the stairs I’ve just fallen down and shoves two guys out of the way. Werewolf boy has disappeared but the other two guys, with their typical long and shaggy hockey hair, one blonde, one darker, wear their smirks as easily as they probably wear their skates.
“Please.” I dig my mitten-covered hands into his shoulders and push off. “Put me down.”
He stops instantly, and whether it’s the tremble he hears in my voice from the cold, or the mortification sluicing through me, he listens.
“You okay?” he asks.
I can’t bring myself to look at him. If he’s anything similar to the guys watching us with interest, I might fall right back into him.
And falling for a guy, whether it be in his arms—or his bed—is not on my agenda for the night.
“I’m fine. Cold. And again, thank you.”
“Well, it’s almost my fault you landed on your ass. I’m the one who dared Sorenson to run around the block without clothes on.”
As he says it, I hear a howl in the distance and laugh. Looking up, I turn to the guy who saved my tailbone and me from further humiliation. “Did the dare require him howling?”
“Ah. No.” The guy who grabbed me lifts an arm and runs it through his hair before dragging his fingers down a cheek covered with a thick, but trimmed beard. “That’s all on Max.”
I was right before. I shouldn’t have looked directly at him. This guy isn’t only muscular and fit and able to pluck me out of the air like I’m light as a feather—which I’m not—he’s breathtakingly gorgeous. I inhale a sharp breath as the light from the porch catches his eyes.
They’re so light. Almost clear. The lightest blue I’ve ever seen. So light they’re almost silver.
The howling grows louder. I have no desire to see Wolfboy again, or all that hair, so I step around the hottie before my plans go awry and gesture to Lizzie. “Well, thanks… again. We’ll see you inside, I guess?”
“Since this is my house, I suppose you will.” He lazily shoves his hands into the pockets of his jeans… jeans that show the strength of his thighs with a buckle at the center that’s an eye-magnet, drawing my gaze not only to it but the bulge beneath.
Oh….
Lizzie grabs my hand. “Come on, Katie. You look like you need a drink.” She’s right. We take two steps forward before she continues. “And dick. That guy back there? I have no doubt he’s absolutely willing to share his with you.”
We’re swallowed up by a sea of bodies and her voice mutes. Thank goodness. If he heard that, I’ll be even more embarrassed than I already was.
“Beer!” I shout in her ear. “Get me to the keg!”
“You got it, girl!” I follow her through the crush of scantily clad bodies, a shocking number of them considering the brutal temperatures outside, removing my coat and shoving my mittens into the pockets on the way. I’m pretty sure I elbow at least two people as I twist and slide through the crowd.
The music is loud and the bass shakes the floors beneath my feet. I hate everything about these kinds of crowds and the stench of stale beer and sweat. By the time I arrive at the keg tucked in a corner of the kitchen, I could kiss my best friend when I see her hands are holding two red cups. Like me, she’s ditched her coat, and both of us have them draped over our forearms.
“Drink first, and then we find a place to put these.” She lifts her arm. I’m not so sure I agree with her on that one. But I’m intent on that drink so I wait for her to fill them, joking with the beefy guy behind the keg who’s handing out cups and taking the money for them.
Based on the thick stack of cash in his hand, it’s been a busy night for these boys.
We’ve just gotten our cups filled when the hairs at the back of my neck stand up and take notice. I’m about to turn around when the guy in front of us, holding the cash, breaks out in a wide grin and sings, “Hey Jude…”
A muscled arm stretches over my shoulder and shoves the guy back. “That stopped being funny about two years ago, Dubiak.”
I know that voice. It’s his. From outside. And Jude? Is there a story there or is he a Beatles fan?
I’m curious, but not curious enough to turn around until the stranger who swept me off my feet continues, saying, “And give these two their money back. They’re on me tonight.”
“Oh!” Lizzie croons. Her smile is wide, her eyes twinkling with laughter as she glances at whatever expression I currently wear and the guy behind me. “That’s so nice of you. Isn’t it, Katie?”
She whisks the money Dubiak is holding out of his fingers quicker than I can blink.
I’m not falling for this. I spin, intent on telling off the behemoth, but once again I’m rendered speechless at the sight of him.
He’s so… manly. And it unsettles me the way my body responds to his looks, his cocksure grin he’s currently sporting, and his size. In the harsh fluorescent light of the kitchen, he’s even prettier than he was outside. More rugged. He’s so damn sexy that my girl parts Lizzie accused of growing cobwebs wake up and dust themselves off.
Oh no. This is not good.
“We can pay our own way.” In fact, I always insist on it. Lizzie is one thing, but I don’t need a guy to take care of me and even if I wanted one, it’s not going to be this guy, who most likely thinks spending ten dollars for a plastic cup will get me in his bed later.
That’s never going to happen. Ever.
“I bet you can, Katie. But tonight it’s on me. Consider it an apology.”
“Kate.” I ground out my name. Of course he’s heard Lizzie say it, but I’m still left in the dark as to who this guy is. “And you are?”
“Jude Taylor.” He says it like I should know who he is. There’s a slight hitch to his upper lip, which is really just as beautiful as the rest of him, even shaded by his dark scruff. “You two want to put your coats away? You can lock them in my room.”
“No—” I say, at the same time Lizzie shoves me out of the way.
“We’d love to.” She flashes me a
glare and smiles up at Jude, which now explains the song. “Show us the way?”
Jude smiles down at Lizzie and then me. It’s like he has some sixth sense to what I’m thinking… that I am not going to his room. And worse, I am most definitely not going to want to bang on the door to grab said coat later while he’ll most likely be in the midst of banging something else because his smile evaporates.
“I keep my room locked all night. They’ll be safe there. You have my word.”
His word doesn’t mean a whole lot since I don’t know him, but it seems to be enough for Lizzie. She snags his arm, looping her arm through his and smirks back at me. “Then show us the way, handsome.”
“Let’s go, beautiful.”
He says it to me, not her, and Lizzie doesn’t seem to mind. Thankfully. Something tells me if she even tries to make a move on Jude, I might rip my best friend’s hair out of her scalp.
The sudden whip of jealousy that slams into me is so foreign, I stay frozen to my spot on the kitchen floor until both of them look back at me.
“You coming, Katie?”
“Yeah, Lizzie. I’m coming.”
I’m coming out of my mind is what’s happening, and I don’t like the sensations prickling my skin at all. Not one little bit.
Jude Taylor is trouble with a capital T and someone I need to stay far away from. The problem is, I’m quickly forgetting all the reasons why.
Chapter Three
His room is cleaner than I expected. In fact, his room is cleaner than any chemistry lab I’ve stepped foot into. There isn’t a piece of paper sprawled on his desk. His shelves holding hockey trophies mixed with perfectly lined up textbooks look recently dusted. There isn’t a piece of garbage or lint on his floor, and his bed looks like it’s been made with military precision.
