by Stacey Lynn
She came with Paisley this morning because after the open skate, Paisley and I are going over to Coach Woods’s house for a dinner with the rest of the team while Viola takes Angelo home. Currently, Paisley is standing, bouncing Angelo in one arm with the largest and most ridiculous pair of noise-canceling headphones over his ears I’ve seen. He’s bundled so warmly I can’t even see his face, but still…
My son is here. With a girl that I am quickly falling for. In the last few weeks, her constant energy and kindness and faith in me has grown to levels so deep I sometimes don’t know what to do with them. And that doesn’t count the depth of what I feel for Angelo.
It’s amazing two weeks ago I was worried about not bonding with him enough. Not loving him enough. But somehow, in the last week or so, he’s become everything to me.
He wakes me at night once or twice. He still has screaming fits, I don’t know what to do with it sometimes. He’s also started smiling. And when he’s on his back, he rolls to his side like he’s trying to roll over. When I tickle his belly, I can pull the biggest laughs from him. I now have a hundred videos of his giggles on my phone. And almost every night, Paisley and I put him to bed together, she quietly teases me in her loving way of how overprotective I am becoming of him.
A far cry from a man who only weeks ago laughed at the thought of putting bumpers on the corner of my tables. I now have every outlet blocked, every cabinet door and drawer locked even though he still won’t crawl for months.
Emotions threaten to overwhelm as I take the ice, smiling at them cheering me on. Paisley grabs one of Angelo’s furry covered fists—she insisted on dressing him like a teddy bear—and waves it in the air.
The practice is tough, but like always, Jude and Jason and I fall into our forward line like the trio we usually are. Jason misses a pass or two, which causes me to check on him once the second line takes over. We’re scrimmaging, with the first line playing the back-ups and the second and third lines backing up each other, against us. The line that takes over us are usually bench players, some who are only fortunate to travel with the team once or twice a year. Then there’s Klaus Newman, the right-winger who was switched from second line to first last season when Jude was hurt.
He’s incredible. I can see Coach watching him with intense focus. A ball grows in my throat at that. Any of us can lose our line. We can be switched up and sometimes are, but the Taylors and I have had great success when together. But that doesn’t mean Jude isn’t worried about Newman taking his. Last season, when Newman played with us, we gelled quickly and powerfully. We were practically unstoppable, winning eight games on a ten-day away road stretch.
Jason spent most of it worried on Jude’s behalf, but now, he’s the one I’m more worried about. He’s skating like he’s angry at the team, slap shots coming too quick, wrist shots weak. He should have been put in the sin bin for a tripping call against Duke Fletcher, one of our team’s defensemen, and I’m pretty sure he’s ready to rip off his gloves and have a go at Hendrix.
Which makes no sense. We’re on the same team and Hendrix is one of his closest friends.
I squirt the bottle in the holder in front of our bench into my mouth and tap his stick. “What’s going on? Pissed at something?”
He sucks back at his own water, his gaze on the ice. Jaw hard, Eyes narrowed. “Nope.”
From anyone else, I would believe them. But Jason likes to talk and joke. He’s loud and boisterous and even though he takes his career seriously, he usually treats hockey like one big, fun game.
“How’s Sawyer and Tessa? They find her ex yet?”
“Yeah. They found him. He’s in Nova Scotia.”
He shoves to his feet, apparently done with my questioning. He and Sawyer went to college together. Were roommates for three years before Sawyer graduated a year before him. After Jude, Sawyer is probably like a brother to him so it’s understandable he’s pissed about Tessa.
But there has to be something else. Jason rarely lets anything get to him outside an opponent in the rink.
The whistle is called, and he and I jump the boards, quickly skating to take the puck from Hendrix and getting back to it. For the next hour, everything else is pushed out of my mind. My focus and life is zoned in on a three-inch rubber disc. And when practice is done, I glance to the end of the rink where the free skaters are lined up, anxiously stepping in their rented skates to come out with us. Before I meet them though, I skate to Paisley. She’s standing with Angelo at the home team bench. Ice flies up in the air as I pull to a stop. I pull Angelo from her arms while planting a kiss on her lips.
“So, we’re here. Wanna tell us why?” She’s taller than me since she’s standing in the raised bench area and smiling down at me.
“Yeah. I believe it’s time I go public with this little guy.” I’ve planned this but didn’t tell her. I don’t want Paisley to be aware of cameras or press or nervous about it and once she said she was skipping class to come, I made sure the sports reporters who would be here would make time for me first.
“What?”
I gesture toward the guy coming our way, cameramen behind him. When I turn back to Paisley, her blue eyes are as large as the hockey puck and her skin the color of ice. “You… you want me here? For this?”
“Off camera,” I assure her. It’s not like she’s his mom, although I definitely like the sound and thought of it. “I wanted you close.”
“Okay. Yeah. Sure. I’m here for you. Always.” Her smile is shaky, and she reaches out, brushes a hand over the teddy bear hat on Angelo’s head.
She straightens it and takes the headphones from him. “We should probably make him look cute, then.”
The reporter, Niklas Karlsson, is a former professional hockey player. He now works for the major hockey network and is most known for his on-ice interviews immediately following the games.
“Mikah Lutzgo.” He stops his skate at my side, shock apparent on his features as he takes in Angelo. “Long time no see apparently.”
“Lots has changed,” I agree. “Which is why I wanted to talk to you today. Niklas, I’d like you to meet my son, Angelo.”
It grates on me he still has Angela’s last name. For three weeks my lawyer has tried to get in contact with her and she hasn’t once answered. For someone who originally claims to be easy to find, Luke is now talking about hiring a private investigator. At some point, we might have to go backward and bring the police in. I probably should have it done the correct way from the first night, but I didn’t want everything to go public. Plus, I was the fool who trusted her.
Now Angela has me worried. If she was so anxious to get rid of him, why is she hiding or dragging her feet on fully letting him go?
That is a worry for another day, and fortunately for me, Niklas doesn’t ask his last name. Instead, he has the camera on, his back to Paisley so she doesn’t have to worry about being on camera, although I don’t care.
He welcomes Angelo into the Ice Kings family and we joke about baby spit-up and sleepless nights. It takes a few minutes, but it’s done.
Hockey fans across the world will now know I’m a father…even my own.
When Niklas leaves, I hand Angelo back to Paisley. She leans down and brushes her lips across mine. Hers are freezing. Mine are still hot from practice. I’m learning Paisley is always cold. Even when it’s ninety outside, she can have cold toes.
“You look so sexy in all your gear and holding Angelo, talking about how much you love him.”
“You look sexy all the time. But mostly when you have nothing on.”
Her cheeks turn bright pink, nothing to do with the cold and she shakes her head. “Go play with the kids. I’ll get him to Viola and meet you outside the locker room later.”
“Deal.”
I kiss her again and I’m bumped into the boards when Hendrix skates by. “Oh. Sorry.”
He winks. He’s not sorry. He’s skating backward, holding onto a small boy who looks part terrified and part ecstati
c to be on the ice with him.
“On it.”
I skate away from Paisley only to reach the end of the rink when Jude skates up next to me. “Let’s go, slowpoke.”
Slowpoke my ass. I’ll show him.
I grab one of the older boys and narrow my eyes, pointing at him. “We will race this fool and win, right?”
The kid’s ankles shake in his skates. “Uh. Yeah. Yeah, definitely.”
I elbow Jude so hard he almost falls to the ice, pull the kid onto the ice and shout, “Let’s go!”
Chapter Twenty-Six
Paisley
* * *
I cannot believe the day I’m having. Skipping a day of classes has never been so much fun, not even in undergrad. Those days of missed classes were usually due to hangovers where I spent the day on the couch, chugging water, and prepping for the next night of partying ahead.
Today has been for hockey. It might be a sport I still know absolutely nothing about, despite Mikah’s attempts to teach me, but I cannot deny the appeal after watching him practice all morning.
The way they glide across the ice so fast like they’re flying, and then can come to such a quick stop without falling on their ass, sending ice into the air. Every time a stick met the puck, the sound of wood on rubber slapped into the air like a fist through a wall.
And yeah, they’re covered under so much padding and protection it’s not like you can check out their backsides like in other sports, but to me, it only adds to the attractiveness of Mikah. He hides so much muscle and power and control beneath his gear, and I’m one of the very few who have seen it fully unleashed.
Needless to say by the time I see him take the ice of open skate with dozens of kids and parents, I’m not only turned on, but I’m seeing an entirely different side of him as he laughs and plays with the kids. He dishes out high-fives and fist bumps and words of encouragement so easily it makes me wonder how he’s ever doubted himself when it comes to Angelo.
He’s a natural. On the ice. With kids. In bed.
I’m beginning to think there’s absolutely nothing Mikah can’t excel at when given the opportunity to flourish.
An arm lands on my shoulder and I’m pulled toward Katie and out of my moment of drooling over Mikah.
“Hey you. Like hockey yet?”
I smile at her. “It’s growing on me, definitely. How’s Jude doing?”
I know he was injured last season and was unable to play for most of it. He’s been on the ice all spring and summer, practicing for this return.
“Nervous, but that’s only mentally. Physically he’s stronger than ever.”
“Probably because he had a good therapist.”
“Please.” She laughs and drops her arm from me. “Like he listens to me. Every time I try to help him with his stretches it leads to something unconducive to his healing, so I stopped.”
A very unfeminine snort comes from me, and I shake my head. Katie’s hilarious. “His parents aren’t here, are they? I thought they were coming.”
“Oh. They’ll be here. And trust me, you’ll have to sit close to us at the first game. John Senior, his dad and his mom Sonya are something else. The first time I watched a game with them I almost peed my pants laughing so hard at him.” Her gaze lands on Jude on the ice, smiling and waving as he slides a young girl on skates through his legs and back to her feet. “They’re at Joey’s training camp early this week out in Vegas, though. They travel a lot during the season, trying to catch as many games from all their boys as they can. This year was actually supposed to be Joey’s for them to be at for the first game, but they wanted to be here for Jude.”
A flash of something appears in her eyes and they narrow.
“You’re worried.”
“Nerves, like Jude, probably. We’ll shake it off. As soon as the first game is over, everything will be fine. You are coming though, right?”
I’ve considered it, although Mikah hasn’t said anything about me coming, but after today I’m not sure I want to miss it. Jude and Jason’s parents seem entertaining alone at least. Plus, I hear they sometimes bring out puppies on the ice during one of the breaks.
Puppies on ice? How can I miss it?
“Probably.”
“Good. I’ll make sure Mikah gets you seats near us. Now come on, the guys will be out here for a while and then need to clean up. And I’m starving. I hear the team has food we can eat in one of the suites. You in?”
Happily. I’m all in. With hockey. With Mikah. With Angelo. Crazy how a few weeks ago I was drudging through my building, exhausted, and I have an entirely different life that leaves little time for any moping or exhaustion.
“Yeah. I’m in.” I grab her hand and squeeze. “Show me the way. And maybe… maybe teach me something about hockey while we’re at it.”
She pulls me along right after it. “Anything you need, girl, I’m here.”
My hand is fisted along the line of buttons on Mikah’s dress shirt. I’m pulling him down the hallway to my door, avoiding going back to his place quite yet. We still have time before he sends Viola home for the night so I’m taking a short detour to my couch. Or my bed.
Wherever we land.
Mikah is smiling down at me, part playful, part heady with desire. We have definitely found our rhythm together over the last week. I take, he gives. He gives and I take. I am fortunate he appears to enjoy giving more than taking. I’ve dated the reverse in the past and it doesn’t end well—usually with him satisfied, and me still wanting. Sometimes he lets be in charge, but it’s never for long. It’s more the illusion of control, anyway, like right now. He’s willingly allowing me to pretend I can actually move him with force.
“Do you know what I’ve been thinking of all day?”
He bites his bottom lip, glances at my fist, wrinkling his perfectly pressed light blue dress shirt. “Ruining my clothes?”
“No.” I yank him to me, thrilled when he stumbles from the surprise and kiss him. “I’ve been thinking of how hot you look in your uniform, how it hides all your muscles and your sexy body. And I love that that’s all for me—”
“It is. All of it.”
“And it’s a total turn-on I’m one of the few women to see it. All those women who follow you on social media. Who freak out with hearts in their eyes emojis with every picture you post, and I’m one of the few who know how completely amazing you are.” I take my other hand holding my keys and clutch and press it to his chest. “All of you. Inside and out.”
Without a word, he slides my keys from my grip and skates his arm around me, unlocking my door and guiding us in. “You say things I don’t know how to handle.”
I drop my clutch and kick the door closed as we turn sideways to get through the doorway. “I can think of a few ways you can handle me?”
“Yeah?” He kisses my cheek, the hinge of my jaw.
As he does, he undoes the knot at my waist of my gray wrap dress, an outfit I changed into after Katie and I grabbed food. The wives and girlfriends were allowed the visiting team’s locker rooms to change if we wanted so I took up the opportunity to slide out of my jeans and winter coat I’d worn for the practice and into a casual and comfortable dress with flutter sleeves at the shoulders and a straight neckline. The skirt flutters and moves, thanks mostly to the way it wraps and ties at my waist and brushes and floats along the tops of my knees when I move. I have on a pair of strappy, red sandals with a two-inch heel, but even with the help of height I still have to hold on to his shoulders to be tall enough to kiss him back.
Our mouths press together and like every time he kisses me, my body warms to the tips of my toes and fingertips. Everything about being with Mikah is effortless. From the way our bodies work together to the way we seem to be in sync with what we want out of life.
He wants a family.
I want to help him with his, and then someday create one of our own. It should scare me. We’re still getting to know each other.
I also know my fat
her took one look at my mom when they were nineteen, freshmen on the community college campus they were attending and knew without a doubt he was going to marry her. It took her one week to agree she would someday marry him. Two years later, they made it happen.
As crazy as it sounds, I feel the same way about Mikah. I’m falling for him, quickly, and I don’t care I don’t have a parachute attached to guarantee my safety.
I unbutton his shirt, barely noticing he’s moving us backward, into the living room until my knees hit the armrest of my couch.
Mikah unwraps my dress and growls down my throat as his hand meets my heated skin, presses them to the back until he’s cupping my backside. I’m wearing a thong, and when his calloused fingers meet the sensitive flesh of my ass, I roll my hips into him, yanking his shirt from the waist of his khaki shorts.
God, he feels so good. All the time. I have a running list of what he looks best in. It changes with every new outfit he puts on.
He’s hard behind his shorts and my hands dive to his waistband to free him. In outfits. In his black boxer briefs. Possibly his white ones. Everything he’s in is a turn on to me, and I hurry to see all of him. His hair below his navel is coarse, perfect, not too thick but teases to the glorious gift of all of him, and I shove my hands there, fingers into his waistband of both shorts and briefs where he’s warm.
Hard.
Long.
He throbs in my hand as I find him and squeeze.
A curse is swallowed into my throat.
“This what you wanted when you yanked me down the hall?” he teases, thrusting into my grip.
“Yes.” I meet his gaze, no shame in my admission, only pure need hopefully showing in my eyes.
Mikah shoves down his shorts and stands in front of me, all six feet one inch of him, lean but muscled. A bit of weight on his abs that don’t show bricks but make his strength clear.
“Turn around and I’ll give it to you, then.”
