Scoring Off The Ice: Ice Kings, #2

by Stacey Lynn

  “Can I do anything?”

  She smiles at me over her shoulder. “Stir the sauce and turn down the heat? It will have to simmer for awhile.” Her brows pucker as she bends down and grabs a carton of wipes and a fresh diaper. “Is that okay? If I stay and eat, too?”

  It’s cute she thought of preparing an entire meal for me and assumed herself in it without asking. “You’re welcome to stay as long as you want.”

  Paisley’s gaze softens and her lips part. I see a hint of her tongue as she runs it along her lip before she turns back to the task of cleaning up Angelo. I’ve surprised her. I hope she understands I mean it, and not only because I’m still scared of being around Angelo alone.

  I mean it because I want to get to know Paisley more. See if there’s anything between us more than me thinking she’s beautiful.

  Chapter Ten

  Paisley

  * * *

  My focus is lasered in on a squirming Angelo. He kicks and wiggles while I wrestle him to get the diaper on him. Perhaps cooking a meal that will take an hour to make wasn’t the smartest decision. Now I feel like a jerk, essentially inviting myself into Mikah’s home.

  He doesn’t seem to mind, but he’s probably lonely for company. It’s best if I keep my head down, keep things cordial between Mikah and I, and focus on my education and degree.

  Unfortunately, keeping my head down and doing the right or best thing doesn’t sound like any fun. I like this guy. I like how sweet he is with Angelo and every time he smiles down at this cute little guy, my heart squeezes.

  Mikah has a neon sign hanging over his head blinking DANGEROUS in all capitals.

  The exact thing I’m attracted to.

  Fight against it this time.

  It will probably help the fight if I stop thinking about how good looking he is.

  “Have you bathed him?” I ask, turning. His gaze darts from somewhere south of my waist to my eyes. Was he looking at my ass? The part of me interested in him wants to smile, maybe shake my hips a bit to check.

  Not smart, girl. Not smart.

  I shush my inner and silent conscience. She makes too much sense. Sometimes she also sounds like my overprotective but loving father.

  “Uh.” He scratches his fingers against the scruff of his jaw. “Hannah bought me a bathtub, I think it’s somewhere.”

  “Scared to do it by yourself?”

  He doesn’t hesitate. “Very much so.”

  “I can teach you. After dinner, maybe?”

  “I will take you up on all of it, the dinner and bath and teaching me how to use that thing.” He points toward the carrier again and since Angelo is clean and currently happy it’s a good time.

  “Let’s start with that.” I set Angelo in the swing and strap him in.

  When I’m ready, Mikah already has it in his hands. His thick blond brows are pulled close together, lips in a pout. “It doesn’t look like it should be so difficult.”

  I take it from him and finger the straps to first make sure they’re not twisted. I won’t fully know until it’s on him but everything looks good. The baby blue and white plaid on that thick strap that will go around his waist makes me smile. I peek up at him, stunned to find his eyes on me, intense and unwavering. Perhaps questioning what in the heck I’m doing.

  “To be honest, I’ve never used one of these but we’re both smart enough to figure it out together, right?”

  “Let’s hope so.” He cracks a small smile.

  God. He’s so much more beautiful up close, it unsettles me.

  “Think of it as a backward book bag. And slide your arms through this part.”

  I hold it up to show him and he does what I’m suggesting, wiggling his broad shoulders through the small openings. It doesn’t take me long at all to figure out what is making it so difficult.

  A laugh bubbles in my throat and comes out in a choking sound.

  “What?” He twists, but my hands are on his shoulders. “What’s so funny?”

  “Hold still.” I’m still laughing. The problem is he simply didn’t make the shoulder straps longer and he’s been trying to shove his arms through holes the size meant for arms the size of mine when his are four times larger. “Let me loosen these straps here.”

  “I did that.”

  “Not enough.” I snort. It can’t be helped. Does he not realize how big he is? And hard? And warm? Heat from him radiates through his shirt to my fingertips while I do my best to avoid touching him, but it can’t be helped.

  My fingers sizzle with the energy he puts off and when the clasp on the strap sticks, I press my hand to his shoulder, curve around the breadth of him and freeze.

  He smells so good. Fresh like soap and a hint of cologne, most likely his body wash. I barely come up to his shoulder and when he shifts a bit, the tips of his hair brush my fingers that are doing more than sizzling.

  There’s a current coursing through me, straight from the apex of my thighs to my skin pressed to his.

  “Are you okay?”

  If by okay he means am I ready to jump him and climb him like a tree and slam my mouth to his then yup. Totally okay.

  Another hard tug on the clasp loosens the strap that had bent but I’m able to quickly adjust his right side. I do the same to the other, this time careful not to touch him.

  I might combust from heat and lust if I get my hands on him again.

  “Here. Take this.” My voice sounds gritty and I clear my throat. I hold out another clasp that will wrap around his waist. “I think once you get the shoulders on, you tighten this one so this big strap on your lower back evens out the weight.”

  “All right. So, I slide him in here.”

  The actual fabric that will hold Angelo is clipped together and I can see why he’s confused.

  “No.” I slide to his front and reach up. “There are clips at the top and bottom. Undo the top ones and the holder part will fall down. Then we can slide his legs in, lift everything and clip it back in place.”

  I focus on the carrier. The reaction I’m experiencing being so close to Mikah might scare him away. Heck, it’s freaking me out. He’s everything wrong for me wrapped up in the most tempting, beautiful package. I’ve never excelled in self-control.

  He reaches for the clips at his chest where I’ve indicated and at the last second, a blast of heat and strength is wrapped around my wrist.

  “Paisley.”

  Oh goodness. I’m losing it and he’s noticing.

  “Yeah?” Even his feet are pretty. I know this because they’re bare, peeking out from those sweatpants tight at his ankles. And I know this because I’m staring at them.

  I think his feet are hot. What is wrong with me?

  “Look at me.”

  I know what he’ll see if I do. Skin flushed like I’ve just gone running. Eyes wide. Pupils dilated. He’ll see the throb of my pulse at the base of my throat which is going erratic.

  All because of being close to him. I should definitely call the doctor. Is there a hot guy syndrome with symptoms that mirror a stroke? I really need to look into it.

  “I’ll get Angelo. You work on those clips—”

  “Look at me,” he repeats himself. This time deeper. Slower. There’s a rumble in his voice that forces me to comply.

  “What?” I peek up and blink quickly. Perhaps it’ll wash away the desire I’m one hundred percent certain is plastered on my face.

  And yet… shit.

  I see the same thing on him. His jaw is hard. Cheekbones sharp in a totally sexy way. His lips are pressed into a firm line and that beautiful nose of his that is surprisingly straight given his career, has nostrils which are flared.

  His chest heaves and he swallows. I need to step back. Put space between us… between whatever this crazy, swirling sudden heat is. My lips part. My mouth is dry as the summer heat in Vegas and I lick my lips, seeking moisture.

  His blue eyes, darkening, drop to my mouth and he heaves another thick breath. “Paisley.”

/>   I can’t do this. I can’t kiss him right now. Or ever. It’s not smart.

  I tug my hand from his grip and rub where he’s branded me with my other hand. “Let’s see if Angelo likes this. He’ll probably love being held and it’ll give you freedom to get other things done.”

  I’m babbling. I don’t care. My voice is higher than normal and faster. It happens when I’m nervous. I unclip Angelo from his swing and am rewarded with a few kicks of his pudgy legs and a toothless big smile.

  “Hey cutie,” I coo. Yes. I’ll focus on the baby. The dinner I must get back to.

  There’s a salad. Maybe garlic bread. Noodles. Maybe I should let him eat alone. I can eat that frozen meal I still have. Desperate times and all that.

  “Hey sweetie. We’re going to try something new, okay?” I bounce him a few times and he giggles. I smile wide. Angelo is so darn cute. He’s the best distraction. “And you be happy, okay? No crying. You’ll love this.”

  I spin to head back to Mikah, only he’s moved in my attempt to flee from him. He’s right here. The baby carrier slaps my arm holding Angelo, he’s so close and my gaze jumps to him.

  “Let’s try this.”

  I focus on getting Angelo’s legs through the small holes, adjusting the straps when one seems too tight for his thigh and then Mikah and I both fold up the back that will support him.

  “I’ve got it now.”

  “Good.” I step back, staying close in case he fumbles, but he doesn’t. His large hands with veins on the back and strong fingers somehow move with ease and no visible nerves as he clips the top ones back together.

  “You can adjust these straps on him as he grows to give him more room. The ones at your back were too small.”

  “Of course.” His hand brushes the top of Angelo’s head. So softly. Not at all as firm as he held me.

  Like I need the reminder. I still feel him on my skin.

  Yes, I’ve been branded by a simple touch. Not good.

  I hurry to the kitchen, trying to ignore Mikah and Angelo, but the sound of Mikah murmuring to his son is too precious to block out. His son.

  Good grief. He has a baby. For a moment my imagination runs away with me. To us on a date. Hiring babysitters. Being called back home early because Angelo is sick. A life change. A drastic one.

  I still like to drink too much and stay out too late and I like dating.

  I’m twenty-two years old. I’m not ready to settle down. Have a baby. Or be with a man with a baby.

  And what happens when he travels? I imagine it being like a single parent during the season.

  All the cons crush down on me, wiping out the physical desire for Mikah in an instant.

  My imagination is psychotic. I have us touching and then jumping straight to life-changing drama.

  Pack away your crazy, Paisley.

  Friends. I can give him friends. It’s all we should be.

  I am actually thinking of listening to the voice of reason in my brain.

  Huh. I suppose there’s a first time for everything.

  Chapter Eleven

  Mikah

  * * *

  Something changed. As soon as I touched her, I felt it. That connection. More intense than any spark I’ve ever felt unless I’m lacing up skates and going through my pre-game rituals. More fiery than the thrill of scoring a goal, beating a competitor for the puck on a breakaway.

  When I touched Paisley earlier, it felt like waking up from a dream. Seeing everything for the first time.

  I saw a future I want. A woman at my side. Helping me. Supporting her. I saw a woman who has such a big heart she’s willing to drop her life to not only help, but cook a meal for a practical stranger. And yet it disappeared once I had Angelo in the carrier.

  Angelo is getting drowsy in the carrier, his eyes slowly closing before widening. Repeat. I keep my rhythm of bounce, bounce, step until he becomes limp in the carrier. I’ve learned if I move him too quickly after he falls asleep he wakes right back up.

  Paisley is draining the hot water from the noodles and the scent of garlic bread is coming from the oven.

  My stomach rumbles and I groan at the smell.

  “This is going to be the best meal I’ve ever had.”

  “You say that because you haven’t eaten in two days.”

  She smirks at me and it’s the first time since she ran from me in the living room she’s even looked at me.

  “True.”

  She grins before setting the strainer over the hot pot. “As soon as the bread is done, you can eat.”

  “We.” I’ve been suspecting she’s going to try to leave as soon as she can.

  But she wants to stay. Otherwise she wouldn’t have made such a huge salad and so much bread that I could feed my team.

  Something is working in her eyes, but it’s me who should be scared. It’s me who should push her away.

  I will not do that.

  I like the way my body responds to her too much.

  When I was with Angela that weekend, it was for experience. Sure, she’s a beautiful woman and I had no problem being attracted to her. But it was mechanics. Finally having sex, learning, practice.

  We both knew the score.

  I’ve never touched a woman and had such a heat shoot straight to my groin before.

  I want Paisley.

  So we’ll start with dinner.

  “I should go.” She glances at the door, and the corner of her lip disappears between her teeth. “I have class tomorrow.”

  “You said you’d help teach me to bathe Angelo.” I’ll use him if I have to. I doubt she’ll say no to him.

  She glances at me and I swear I hear her think. Perhaps she knows what I’m doing.

  “Please,” I say. I keep my distance as much as I can. “You cooked this meal. Sit with me, eat, and if you can help with Angelo I would be grateful. I like your company.”

  It’s not much. I’m not smooth with women. Or I have never tried to be. The language difference and accent makes it difficult to feel smooth. I still screw up slang sometimes. Or use the wrong word. I feel more likely to be laughed at hitting on a beautiful woman I’m attracted to than getting her attention in a better way. I have not yet had those nerves with Paisley.

  Her gentle presence makes it easy to be comfortable and myself.

  “Okay.”

  Since Angelo is still asleep, I go to my room where I unclip everything the opposite way we put him in. He stays asleep when I put him in the small bed.

  Success. I’ve done this. I’m learning quickly.

  I brush my finger across his forehead and hold my breath while he squirms. He settles and at the last second, I remember to grab the baby monitor from the nightstand and turn on the one that stays on my nightstand.

  Back in the kitchen, Paisley has two settings placed at the table, across from each other. I drag one of the placemats to the end of the table so I can sit closer to her and meet her at the island where all the food is set up.

  My stomach rumbles again and Paisley giggles.

  “My stomach already loves what you’ve made.”

  “You should be grateful. This is one of the few things I can make decently.”

  “You don’t cook?”

  “Well, I try, but let’s just say I know how to confidently use a fire extinguisher.” She winks at me. She can easily make fun of herself in a way that’s light and fun. Shrugging, she says, “Mostly, I think cooking for one seems like a hassle. Like there will always be leftovers for days.”

  “You did make enough to feed a family,” I tease and I hope the tone is right.

  She glances at the food spread all over my island. Her eyes turn as large as supper plates as she takes in the overflowing bowl of bread she’s not only cooked but cut and set up like we’re hosting a party. Or she’s trying to impress.

  “I guess I did.” She shrugs a shoulder and slides down, filling her plate with food and a bowl for the salad. I do the same, my helpings twice as much as hers
and that’s only because it’s all the plate can hold. I meet her at the table, aware she’s scooted away from where I moved the other placemat.

  It’s still better than being across from her.

  “Damn.” I was right before. I groan as the first taste of spaghetti hits my mouth. Garlic. Spices. The sauce is thick and flavorful. “God. This is incredible.”

  She shoots me a glance and tucks back into her own dish. “Thank you.”

  I’m so hungry, I shove the food into my mouth so fast I probably look like a slob. I don’t care. I’m starving and this is just what I need. Paisley doesn’t seem concerned at all about the lack of conversation. She’s staring out the window, eating almost as fast as me.

  I imagine as soon as we’re done, she will bathe Angelo and take off before I can thank her.

  Only I don’t have enough experience—or game as my teammates call it—to get her to stay.

  I don’t know why she moved away from me so quickly but I know she liked it when I touched her.

  And almost kissed her. I bet her pink lips will be soft. They’re round, her bottom more full. And I can’t help but watch her swallow. The slide of her throat. Every time she wraps her lips around her fork I start thinking of other things she can do with her mouth.

  If it makes me a jerk, I’m not sure I care.

  As soon as I had that weekend with Angela, everything changed. I loved sex. Loved running my hand over a woman’s breasts, the punch of heat when I brushed her slick center. Discovering how I could get nipples to harden and then what I can do with my tongue to get Angela’s hips to buck against my mouth was like solving a puzzle. And all women are different. The only reason I haven’t done more is because I don’t want weekend hook-ups. I get enough attention walking down the sidewalk or when I’m out to eat. The gaping, wide-eyed looks. It’s only cute if they’re kids doing the gaping. But women?

  I have never liked the attention from them. That gleam of pursuit for a goal and not a person makes my skin itch.

  Yet, here I am with Paisley who didn’t know who I was until a couple days ago and I can barely get her to look at me.