Player on Ice (Boys of Winter Book 5)

by S. R. Grey

  “Figures,” I murmur as I pass by her closed door.

  The water is still pounding away but I don’t allow myself, even for a second, to imagine Cara’s sexy, naked body in there, all wet and sudsed up.

  Fuck, who the hell am I kidding?

  That’s the only image in my perverted mind.

  “I wonder if she needs someone to soap up her back.”

  Don’t go there, my brain says.

  Hey, no, let’s stop in and check, my cock counters.

  It’s hard to be a man sometimes.

  Shaking my head, the one that does the sensible thinking, I practically run down the long hallway, away from the naked, showering Cara.

  I choose the bedroom farthest away from hers to avoid temptation. That’s what Cara is, by the way. She’s evil temptation. She’s Eve with the apple. And I’m dumb old Adam.

  Oh, great, now all I can imagine is Cara curving her fingers and beckoning me to take a bite of the forbidden fruit—her forbidden fruit.

  Fuck!

  Dropping my bags, I head off to my own shower, where I need to take care of what was interrupted earlier. A good release will have me thinking clearly in no time.

  And it works.

  Feeling a million times better after I emerge from the shower, I dry off and throw on a pair of tan cargo shorts and a red and black Wolves’ tee.

  I have to admit I find it weird, though, that the water’s still pounding away down the hall.

  “Shit, the girl must really like to be clean,” I murmur.

  My stomach growls in agreement. Or maybe that’s a reminder that I haven’t eaten in hours. Come to think of it, I’m starving.

  I head back down the hall so I can go whip up some dinner. I must be losing it, though, as I swear I hear a small moan and my name when I pass by Cara’s door.

  Nah, that can’t be right.

  Shit, I have to get this girl out of my head before she drives me batty.

  Good thing cooking always clears my mind. I’m no master chef, mind you, but I know my way around the kitchen.

  Noel promised the place would be fully stocked, and he wasn’t kidding. There are thick-cut steaks, boneless chicken breasts, pre-pressed burgers, breads of all sorts, and a ton of fresh vegetables and fruits.

  One thing for sure, Cara and I will be well fed for however long we’re on the island.

  And that has me thinking just how long she plans on staying. I should’ve asked Noel if he has any idea. My own plan has always been to hang around for at least a month, maybe longer. I need time for people to forget about the playoff debacle.

  But now with all this good food, plus the fact I can run on the beach to stay in shape, there’s absolutely no need for me to rush back to Las Vegas. I could feasibly live this island life till training camp. That is, if I really wanted to.

  “And I may,” I muse out loud as I toss two steaks onto the stove-top grill.

  “Hey,” a soft feminine voice rings out from behind me.

  Startled, I twist around to find Cara standing there, seemingly much more relaxed than earlier. She also looks really cute in her cropped jean shorts and a blue tank top. Thank God she doesn’t seem to be harboring any ill will toward me.

  Cool, I feel the same. I’d like nothing more than to put our awkward first encounter behind us.

  “Hey there,” I say, not unkindly.

  I also give her a friendly smile and an acknowledging nod before turning back around to resume what I was doing.

  Coming up from behind me and slinking around to the side of the counter like a stealthy cat, she says softly, “How’s your head? Are you feeling all right?”

  “Um, yeah,” I reply, confused. “I’m good.”

  “Oh, okay.” Leaning her hip casually against the counter, she continues, “I was worried you might be suffering some kind of after-effects from the, uh, planter incident.”

  “Really, why’s that?”

  “It sounded like you were talking when I walked in.”

  “Oh, that.” I laugh. “I was talking to myself, thinking out loud.”

  She cocks her head curiously as she asks, “What were you thinking about?”

  I start chopping vegetables—peppers and onions—to grill along with the steaks.

  “I was thinking how I may stick around on the island longer than I originally planned.”

  “Mmm…” Cara nods, then glances around the beautiful state-of-the-art kitchen we’re in. “I can see why. Not only is the whole island gorgeous, but this house is amazing.”

  “Right?”

  I stop chopping long enough to add, “So what about you? Do you have any idea how long you’re staying?”

  She hops up onto the counter, her slightly bronzed legs swinging. “Hoping to get rid of me already, huh?” she says.

  Reaching over, she snatches a sliver of sweet pepper from the pile I just sliced.

  Mock-swatting at her hand, I protest, “Hey, no stealing ingredients during meal prep. And to answer your question, no, I’m not looking to get rid of you. I was just curious, is all.”

  Nodding, she bites into the pepper.

  After a minute, she says, “I don’t really know how long I’m staying. Noelle and I were originally thinking a few weeks, but now I guess I’m playing it by ear.”

  “Wow. That sounds pretty loose and easy. Is there no job to get back to in…wait, where do you live? Vegas, I’m guessing, since you and Noelle are friends. Is that right?”

  “Yes, I live in Las Vegas,” she confirms.

  But for some reason she seems incredibly nervous all of a sudden, even as she says, “And no, I don’t have a job. I, um, inherited some money that I live off of.”

  I nod. “That’s cool.”

  After I slide the veggies onto the grill, where they start sizzling along with the steaks, I hold up my hands and assure her, “Hey, there’s no judgment on my part. I think it’s great you have that kind of freedom.”

  Still looking inexplicably strained, she nods tightly and murmurs a soft, “Mmm-hmm.”

  Weird, maybe she has some on-the-down-low profession. Sheesh, I hope she’s not a sex worker.

  Or maybe I do.

  No, wait, I’m not going there.

  Thankfully, she interrupts my off-the-rails musings when she says, “Those steaks smell really delicious.”

  Cool, we can talk about dinner. That’s a safe subject.

  “I’m glad you think so,” I say, “since one of them is for you.”

  She looks surprised as she asks, “Seriously?”

  “Yes, of course. I wouldn’t cook for myself and leave you hanging.”

  I get a cute smile for that. “That’s sweet of you, Jaxon. I appreciate it.”

  I shrug. “What can I say? That’s me, just your average, ordinary, sweet guy.”

  “Hardly ordinary.” She laughs. “More like Mr. Star Hockey Player.”

  “Ah, that. I was wondering how you knew who I am. But now it all makes sense. Seeing as you live in Las Vegas, Cara Milne, I assume you’re a Wolves fan?”

  I raise a brow.

  But she doesn’t answer my question.

  Instead, she exclaims, “Hey, how do you know my name?”

  I fess up. “I called Noel while you were upstairs.”

  Stifling a snicker, she says, “Worried I was a psycho trespasser, huh?”

  I turn the steaks and shrug. “Eh, one can never be too careful these days. Not to mention, you did throw a rather large and heavy planter at my head.”

  She winces. “Yeah, about that… I really am sorry. That wasn’t cool.”

  “Don’t worry about it. I’m fine.” Sheepishly, I add, “I’m sorry too…for what I was doing when you walked up. I truly thought I was alone.”

  She turns about ten shades of red and glances away. “Can we just pretend that never happened? Maybe we can start over?”

  “Sure. Let’s do that right now.” I wipe my hands on a towel and hold a hand out to her. “Hi, I’m J
axon.”

  She takes my hand, shakes, and says, “Nice to meet you, Jaxon. I’m Cara.”

  Since the steaks are done, I take them off the grill, along with the peppers and onions. Then I divide everything evenly onto two plates.

  “So, Cara, would you like to join me out back on the patio for a lovely dinner? We can rewrite our history out there too.”

  “Sure.” Another blush. She’s so cute. “I’d love to have dinner with you, Jaxon. And let’s rewrite away.”

  I Almost Take Out Holland Again

  It’s really dark out on the patio, so Jaxon lights a bunch of candles to illuminate our outdoor meal.

  I watch as he does. Damn, he looks good in low light. There’s a touch of sexy scruff on his strong jaw and his hair is damp and slicked back, most likely from a recent shower.

  During dinner, we do what we planned—we rewrite our short but bumpy history.

  And you know what? It’s all good. Jaxon is nothing but sweet and courteous as we eat. He has great table manners too. Maybe I misjudged him and he’s not such a pig after all.

  I hope it’s true, since by the time we’re finished eating I’m officially having a good time.

  But then, just as I’m letting my guard down, I slip back into panic mode when, out of the blue, Jaxon says, “So, you never answered my question in the kitchen. Are you a Wolves fan or not?”

  Yikes, I better tread carefully.

  If I reveal just how much of a rabid hockey fan I really am, Wolves fanatic in particular, it might lead to more in-depth hockey talk. I could easily slip up and reveal my secret blog identity. As evidenced by my most recent post, Mr. Hockeypants has a very specific—and not always nice—take on things.

  So to play it safe, I hedge. “Um, yes, the Wolves are cool. But I don’t know all that much about the team. I guess you could say that I’m not really into hockey all that much.”

  Ugh, my heart. It hurts to say such things about the sport I love.

  But wow, I’m not the only one affected by my words. They’re just about killing poor Jaxon. Like, for real killing him, no joke. He is totally choking.

  So much for rewriting history, we’re just repeating it here.

  “Oh my God, are you all right?” I gasp, standing.

  He shakes his head. He was taking a drink of water when I responded to his question. Was it really that disturbing of a reply?

  I don’t know, but I do know I better move my ass and save him.

  I race over to his side of the little wrought iron table we’re seated at and start pounding him on the back.

  “Are you okay, Jaxon?”

  He coughs and sputters, “I might be if you’d quit hitting me so hard.”

  “Oops.” I drop my hand and step back. “I guess I was getting a little overzealous there, yeah?”

  “You think?” Looking up at me, though with a twinkle in his green eyes, he says, “I’m beginning to think you may be a danger to my health, Miss Milne.”

  Hmm, does he mean because I’m always assaulting him in some way?

  Or is it something else entirely?

  From the dark lust swirling in his eyes, I think it may be the latter.

  I go ahead and lose myself in those stormy greens, as I feel pretty much the same way. There’s an undeniable chemistry between us. Too bad we can’t act upon it.

  Get the hell away from him, a little voice screams. Before you do something you’ll both regret.

  My conscience is right.

  Stumbling over to my side of the table, I sit down with a thud. But because I’m all discombobulated now, I begin to ramble.

  “I really am sorry, Jaxon. I’m sorry to pound on your back like that. I just didn’t want you to choke to death. I mean, where’s the closest hospital even? I think over on the mainland. We’d probably have to medevac you out of here.”

  He chuckles and agrees, “Yes, probably. So thank you for helping me to avoid an embarrassing situation like that.”

  “Hmm, maybe it’s not me that’s a danger to your health.” I glance around to where we are. “Maybe we just need to stay off this patio from now on.”

  I’m totally joking, but he plays along, nodding thoughtfully. “It does already seem to be the scene of many crimes.”

  “Right?” I agree. “And to think, this is only our first day.”

  “Heaven help us,” he says, raking his hand through his hair.

  I try not to think about how one of the many crimes involved me catching him with that very same hand wrapped around his cock.

  Oh, how I wish he’d be a repeat offender on that one.

  “Yeah, that was hot,” I murmur on a sigh.

  “What was hot?” he asks.

  Wonderful, he just has to have great hearing too.

  “Uh, um,” I stammer, pointing down to the tiny bit of steak left on my plate. “I was just thinking how the food was really hot, which is, uh, good since no one wants cold steak.”

  God, kill me now. I’m embarrassing myself.

  A smile plays at Jaxon’s lips. He obviously knows I’m not talking about the steak, but he lets it slide.

  “Well, I’m glad it was hot,” he says. “And since there’s hardly any left, I’m guessing it means you liked it.”

  “Liked it? I loved it,” I exclaim.

  That gets us back on track, and we talk a few minutes about dinner.

  But then I decide to ask, “So, Jaxon, you obviously live in Vegas now, but where do you hail from?”

  He chuckles. “I guarantee you’ve never heard of the place.”

  “Try me,” I say.

  That earns me a raised brow, but I don’t care. Shut up, a little harmless flirtation won’t hurt anyone.

  Smiling, he says, “I’m from Thunder Bay, Ontario.”

  I shiver even though it must be eighty degrees. “Yikes, that even sounds cold,” I murmur.

  “It is cold,” he confirms. “The winters are brutal. But it makes for lots of great frozen ponds to skate on and play hockey on. That was my life while I was growing up.”

  “That sounds fun.” I lean back in my chair and wave toward the moonlit sandy beach, where the waves are hitting the shore in rhythmic crashes. “So which do you prefer?” I ask. “Do you like it hot or cold?”

  He thinks about it. “Well, I’ll always love home because, well, it’s home. But this is much nicer weather-wise. So I guess when it comes to climate, I prefer hot.”

  I agree. “This is rather perfect.”

  An island breeze blows just then, making all the candles flicker.

  “Hey,” Jaxon says, “I have an idea. Would you want to take a walk down on the beach? It’s such a beautiful night, and I bet the surf rolling in is really warm.”

  Hmm, do I want to take a stroll on a moonlit beach with a gorgeous, hot hockey player?

  “Hell yeah,” I blurt out, way more enthusiastically than necessary.

  “Okay, then.” Jaxon chuckles. Standing, he sweeps his hand out in front of him. “Ladies first.”

  I kick off my sandals and walk down the wooden steps into the cool sand.

  Jaxon follows, ditching his beat-up Chucks before joining me.

  “This is nice,” he says as we begin walking down to the water.

  And you know what? It really is.

  I just hope it stays this way.

  Give Me Back My Effing Balls

  Surprisingly, as the days go by, Cara and I get along exceedingly well. Guess rewriting our history is working out. There are no more near-death experiences, and we just enjoy island life. We even fall into a bit of a routine—hanging out on the beach during the day, sharing meals together all the time, and taking long walks on the beach every single night.

  I really like those walks the best, but I don’t tell Cara. I don’t want to give her the wrong impression.

  Strolling under the moonlight, the waves lapping at our feet, could easily be construed as something romantic.

  And that could lead to her thinking
we’re a burgeoning couple.

  Perish the thought!

  We most definitely are not. We are simply friends, nothing more. I mean, I barely even beat off to her anymore.

  Okay, that’s a lie. I do all the time. But keeping shit platonic between us outside of fantasy life is rule number one. There isn’t now, nor will there ever be, anything but good ole friendship between me and Cara Milne.

  We haven’t discussed it or anything, it’s just understood. I think that’s why we don’t do anything stupid, like hold hands or become overly touchy.

  Man, though, there are times I’d like to, like tonight.

  We’ve been walking along the beach for a while now this beautiful evening, and I’ve been sneaking in surreptitious glances over at Cara every chance I get.

  Why does she have to look so damn pretty tonight?

  Her long auburn hair is blowing in the warm breeze and that sexy dress she has on is killing me. The flimsy thing’s all flowy and shit, like it’s made of gauze. I swear it’s practically see-through.

  Hey, that gives me an idea…

  It’s mischievous and she might call me out on it, but what the hell.

  As soon as the next wave crashes in, I kneel down and skim my hand through the foamy surf.

  “Mmm, the water’s so nice and warm tonight,” I murmur.

  Cara rolls her eyes and shakes her head. “It’s always nice and warm, Jaxon.”

  “Oh”—I raise a brow—“is that right, Miss Know-it-All. In that case, I guess you won’t mind a little”—I toss a big scoop of water at her, aiming for her breasts—“splash.”

  Score! I hit those babies perfectly.

  Cara jumps back, exclaiming, “Jaxon! I can’t believe you just did that.”

  Shit, I did. And that gauzy material is totally fucking transparent when wet.

  Fuck me, Cara’s not wearing a bra, either. Her dark nipples, puckered and pert, stick to the material so completely that she may as well be nude up top.

  I suddenly want nothing more than to peel away that dress and do very bad things to her.

  But I must control myself.

  Voice raspy with lust, I retort, “Believe it, baby.”