Playing With Fire: Ice Kings novella 0.5

by Stacey Lynn

  He unlocked the door moments ago and I’m still stuck in the doorway, gaping at the room so clean you can probably perform surgery in it.

  “Wow,” Lizzie says and flings her coat on his bed. “You are clean.”

  Jude shrugs like it’s not the first time he’s heard it, nor is he embarrassed by it. “Mama raised me right, what can I say? You leaving your coat here or you want to keep hugging it all night?”

  He’s talking to me obviously, but my mouth is still hanging wide open.

  “It’s just… it’s…”

  “Clean. I get it.” He takes my coat before I realize he’s moved, and then he drapes it over the back of his chair at his desk. “And I like things to look nice. You shouldn’t be so quick to judge us athletes as all being stupid jocks.”

  “Ouch,” Lizzie mock whispers near me. “He’s got you pegged.”

  He’s right. I’ve done nothing but judge him from the minute he touched me, and I obviously haven’t hidden it well. But I do have a reason.

  “I would venture to guess you’re the anomaly and not the standard.” I spend hours in the university’s physical therapy building connected to the hockey rink with an underground tunnel that leads to the football stadium. To say Chicagoans and Midwesterners like their sports and will donate well to have the best teams is an understatement. I’m around athletes for hours every week. I’ve not only overheard my fair share that makes my statement true, but I’ve also witnessed plenty. Most of the male athletes assume because I’m a female and helping them with their stretches and minor injuries under the guidance of the professional PT staff, I have some underlying desire to be touched by them in return.

  “Are you saying I’m special then?”

  It’s not at all what I meant, but whatever. I can apologize and accept help when it’s offered. I do another quick scan of his room, almost sad to leave it. It’s possible it’s actually cleaner than my room and our apartment kitchen. I’m a stress cleaner and this semester’s been painfully difficult.

  “Thank you for keeping our things safe,” I say, and soften my tone. Hopefully it’s enough of an apology.

  “Come on. You can thank me downstairs by keeping me company.”

  He guides Lizzie and I out of his room on the third floor and toward the end of a hallway where he led us up earlier.

  “And with that,” Lizzie says and waves her cup in the air, turning her back to us. “I’ll see you two later! Text me when you want to go, Katie, but I’m going to find me my own hunk of something fun for the night.”

  The hallway is crowded with girls and guys, and at her declaration she receives several verbal offers that make me blush from the ludeness of them. I’m not a prude, but Lizzie is… well, she’s something else.

  Jude locks his door and dumps his keys into his front pocket. “Your friend… what’s her name?”

  “Lizzie.” I take a sip of beer. It tastes like wet cardboard and yeast, and I’m not a fan. Cheap college keg beer might be the reason I stopped coming to parties. “She’s wacky, but good people.”

  “And when she drinks, does she make good choices?”

  His tone is thick and solemn. Like he’s actually concerned and for a moment I’m thrown. Then I realize I’m judging him again and hide my cringe with another drink.

  “She’s smart.”

  “Good.” His hand lands on my lower back as we start walking. He’s so warm that heat travels through my thin gray tunic length sweater and travels up my spine around to my front and straight to my nipples. “So what’s your story, Katie?”

  “Kate,” I automatically correct and at my back, his fingers dig in.

  “Kate. Your story?”

  He’s leading me down the stairs where the noise is getting louder but instead of taking me to the main floor where the party is now in full effect, at the landing to the second floor, he pushes me down a hall. “There’s a gaming room back this way. It’ll be quieter, if that’s okay?”

  I should tell him no. No, it’s not okay. I don’t want to be in a room alone with him. I came with Lizzie and I should stay with her. The buddy system and all that. Yet, his hand on me is making me stupid because I can’t find the word to tell him.

  He takes me to a room with French doors swung wide open that’s filled with pool tables and ping-pong tables. There’s an air hockey table as well as two old school arcade games, Pac-Man and Return of Zelda.

  We’re also not alone. There are a half-dozen guys in the room, some lounging around on a couch that has seen better days, and a couple are at one of the pool tables. A few girls are playing ping-pong. We’re far enough from the main floor where the music is muted even though the bass is still coming through the walls and floor, but in here it’s quiet enough where you don’t have to shout to be heard.

  “Wow. This is cool.” So totally unexpected, too.

  “What’s your poison?” Jude asks.

  It takes me a millisecond to decide.

  I want this hockey boy to show me what he’s got.

  He kicks my butt in four games of air hockey. He’s also tossed my red cup as soon as it’s emptied and grabbed us a couple beers from a fridge in the room. Which is good, because I wouldn’t have trusted him to take my cup downstairs and refill it. I’ve always followed the rule to never drink out of something you don’t pour yourself or see being poured. But what I like is that he never gave me the option. He just held up a bottled beer when he grabbed one for himself and asked if I wanted it.

  We’ve laughed and talked, smack-talked for well over an hour. His teammates have come and gone, filtering in and out and neither have paid much attention to us except for his teammates occasionally singing his name to the same tune of the song.

  “Does that ever bother you?” I ask when Wolfboy walks in and does the same. It takes me a second to recognize him now that he’s wearing a faded hoodie sweatshirt with Chicago College Huskies name and logo on it.

  Jude has his hip braced on the edge of the air hockey table, one hand loosely holding his beer. The other on the table. He’s relaxed, with a slight pink on his cheeks showing he’s had a few drinks, but he’s not drunk. At least, if he is, he hides it well.

  “I grew used to it around eighth grade when a friend of mine found the song listening to his parents’ old forty-fives. I barely hear it anymore. Why do you insist on being Kate and not Katie?”

  His question throws me, and while there’s no easy answer, it’s also not complicated. “You have to earn Katie with me.”

  “And I haven’t done that? With the free beer and excellent company?”

  “Hockey star, you’re not even close.”

  He throws his head back and laughs.

  I’m surprised at how much fun I’ve had. Jude and I have hung out and talked all night long like we’ve known each other for years. He’s easy to look at, easier to talk to, and he’s also a very gracious winner.

  We’ve kept conversations mostly to school and the hockey season. They don’t have any games until after finals and then outside of a few days off for Christmas, the team is staying on campus for practice. As soon as Christmas is over, their season starts in full force, beginning with a five-day, three-game trip to Boston to play in some Invitational at Harvard. When I’ve teased him on his stats, or how good he really is, with all seriousness in his eyes and not a single hint of arrogance, he’s informed me he’s one of the top five watched wingers in the country.

  He says it all with humility and grace, it’s easy to get swept up in the excitement with him.

  And me? I’m having a hard time understanding why he seemingly decided within a split second of catching me in the air hours ago, that he was going to spend the rest of the night with me, especially when handfuls of those scantily dressed girls have swooped into the room, pleaded with him to come down and dance with them and he’s essentially ignored them all.

  For me.

  Which makes no sense.

  I don’t even come close on a scale of one to
ten with those girls in the looks department. My ass is too big, my hips twice as wide. I have a muffin top I work to hide and breasts that can hardly be contained in any bra outside of sports bras.

  Even with all those extra curvy measurements, I’m not one to usually lack such confidence, but it’s hard to feel beautiful when the competition for Jude’s attention is stacked against me.

  Jude Taylor breaks the scale with his hard features, kind eyes, and soft smile.

  He’s an enigma, and I still can’t believe I’ve spent all night talking to him instead of hanging out with Lizzie. She’s found us once or twice, both times with her arms wrapped around a different guy’s arm, and I should probably get going so I’m not late for work in the morning. It’s well past my earlier self-imposed midnight curfew.

  As if the thought has made me snap back to reality, I yawn, covering my mouth with the back of my hand that’s holding an empty bottle.

  “I should find Lizzie and head back to our place.”

  Jude hesitates, taking a sip of his own drink. “You two live close?”

  “Apartment on the East side of campus.” It’s about three miles away and there’s no way I’ll take the El home at this time, even if Lizzie comes with me. “We’ll grab an Uber.”

  “Let me take you.”

  I’m already pulling my phone out of my pocket. “That’s not necessary.”

  My screen has a message and ugh. Lizzie. I’m not surprised at the message on my screen. Staying with the goalie. Let Jude know so he can get my coat to me? Be safe! Dust those webs off. He’s HAWT.

  “Problems?”

  I must be frowning at her message. He’s a shadow looming over me, the width of his shoulders wide enough to protect me from anything that would come my way.

  “I’ve been ditched for your goalie, apparently.”

  “Dubiak?”

  “That guy?” My eyes widen. “Oh. Wow.”

  “Yeah, not the prettiest guy on the squad but he’s a hell of a good guy. She’ll be good with him. So about that ride home?”

  I’m hesitant. If I let him take me home, it’s quite possible he’s muddled my senses enough to invite him inside. Perhaps give him a tour of my own room. Compare cleaning strategies. But that’s stupid. He might be easy and fun to talk to, but he’s not the stability I need in my life.

  His hockey schedule alone is too erratic for me. There’s no future with us outside friendship.

  “Thanks, Jude. But I can take care of myself.” After all, I learned how years before I could drive a car.

  He rolls his lips together and for the first time all night, he’s not all laughter and smiles and teasing. He must be thinking of something possibly arguing with me, but instead, he nods. “All right. Let’s go get your coat.”

  I follow him through the house. It’s almost two, and the house is quieting down although there are still dozens of guys and girls spread through the hallways, a myriad of noises coming through from behind closed doors that make it obvious what’s happening on the other side.

  My cheeks burn as I realize it and I hurry to stay close to Jude as he weaves me through the hall, up the stairs for my coat and then back downstairs to the front porch. I’m re-bundled in my zipped coat, mittens on my hands while I wait for my Uber to show up.

  Jude has his hands shoved into his jeans, no coat, and he seems oblivious to the freezing weather. Perhaps for a guy who lives on the ice, he is.

  “I wish you’d let me take you home. I don’t like the idea of sending you in a car alone at this hour.”

  “I have pepper spray. I’ll be all right.” I always keep it zipped in my coat pocket and when I’m in a car alone, one hand is wrapped around it just in case.

  He huffs. “You’re something else, Katie. At least send me a text to let me know you got home okay?”

  He’s so serious. Heaven forbid Jude ends up being a nice guy.

  It’ll be that much harder to keep myself from falling for him.

  “Sure.” I tug off a mitten and unlock my phone, handing it to him. “Add your number. I’ll text you when I get to my place.”

  It’s the least I can do, I suppose. And truthfully, it feels nice to have someone looking out for me. Outside of Lizzie, the list of people who do is next to nothing.

  He types in his number, presses a few more buttons and I imagine he’s sent himself a text so he has my number and then he hands it back. When I go to take it from him, he tugs on it, yanking me close to him.

  “I’ve had a good night with you, Katie.”

  His head is bent. Dark locks fall over his ears and forehead. My hand is at his shoulder where it landed to stop myself from slamming into his chest. And he’s still warm. It’s crazy.

  “Me too, Jude.”

  “And I really want to kiss you, but I don’t think you’ll allow that, will you?”

  He can read me like a book. I want it too, if I’m being honest. I really want Jude Taylor to kiss me. It’s highly possible I want him to do more too, but that’s when I know it’s best to not.

  Quick burning lust usually turns to ash before I’m ready for the party to end. No, I need the promise of a slow, long-burning flame that won’t go out when the first harsh wind blows.

  That’s what Jude is—the promise of a really good time for a short amount of time.

  “No,” I whisper, but the two letters trip over themselves on their way out my throat. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

  He licks his lips and I’m pulled to the motion, watching his tongue swipe along the seam, the way he rolls his lips inward and lets them fall back. With another swift move, his arms are around me and he holds me tight to him. He’s hugging me and it’s so cute, so sweet, I almost miss his groan as he bends and shoves his face in my neck.

  “You’re killing me, Katie. But be warned, someday you’re going to want to kiss me, and I promise you now, I’m going to let you.”

  Car lights pull up the street, and he loosens his hold on me. Slowly, I step away even though I don’t want to pull myself away from him.

  He walks me to the Uber that pulls up out front and after a quick check of the license plate and ensuring the Uber sticker is affixed to the front window, I open the back door and wait for the driver to say my name.

  When I turn back to Jude, he’s right there, chest right in front of my face, chin tipped down. He’s so damn handsome, he’s mesmerizing.

  I want to kiss him. I want to feel his lips, the scrape of his beard, the weight of his body and the ability in all those muscles.

  “Thanks for a good night, Jude.” I press my hand to his cheek and step back. “I had fun.”

  “Don’t forget to text.”

  I think of him all the way home and all the way to my bedroom. I think of Jude Taylor while I brush my teeth and remove my makeup. I think of him while I dress for bed and lay out my clothes for a morning that will be here far too soon.

  When I’m finally in bed, I hesitate before texting him. It’s after three.

  But I remember the way he looked at me when he insisted I let him know I’m safe. He means it. I don’t want to risk worrying him for no good reason, even if he probably fell asleep right after I left.

  Home safe. Have a good practice tomorrow.

  So much for him being asleep. He responds almost immediately, like he’s been waiting for my text.

  Good. Another comes after. I still, really… really want to kiss you. When can I see you again?

  Now. I think. But that’s foolish.

  There’s not a chance of a future between us despite what a good guy he appears to be. And I’m done with the short-term meaningless flings. I want to find someone who matters. Who will last. I want stability and a nice calm life.

  Jude’s life is completely antithetical to everything I want out of life.

  It takes effort, but I don’t reply to the text.

  Instead, I turn off my lamp, roll to the side, close my eyes, and try not to dream about Jude Taylor.
r />   I fail.

  Epically.

  Chapter Four

  It’s crunch time. Within a few days, my second-to-last semester of my undergraduate program is officially behind me. I’ve aced the two finals I’ve already taken, sealing my spot once again on the Dean’s List, but I still have two more finals to go.

  To say I haven’t slept much in the last week is an understatement. At this point, I’m pretty sure only coffee and energy drinks are running through my veins.

  Lizzie finished her finals this afternoon and decreed our apartment a party-fest for all of our friends who are either done with their finals or avoiding studying for their last few, so I’m hidden in the quietest corner of the campus library I can find, intent on staying until they kick me out in a few more hours.

  My earbuds are filled with musical sounds from the focus app I downloaded to my phone, and while the noise takes some getting used to, I’m impressed with how well it works. I have protein bars hidden in my backpack along with one last energy drink to stay awake. Nothing can stop my focus from acing my genetics and final statistics class.

  I barely catch movement to my side, just the hint of a shadow moving near me before a thump vibrates on my study table meant for four and a large, black backpack is set on the other side of the table from me.

  I jump in my seat, taking out my AirPods to inform whoever it is I want to be alone only to freeze with my hand on one pod.

  “What are you doing here?” I ask Jude, who lazily collapses into the chair across from me.

  His light eyes zone in on me and those full lips lift into a smile. Darn. It’s only been a few days but I’ve already forgotten how absolutely good-looking he is.

  “You haven’t returned my calls or texts, so I took drastic measures.”

  Puh-lease. There were no drastic measures involved. He’s found me and only one person knows my favorite, zoned out, studying spot.