Destiny on Ice (Boys of Winter #1)

by S. R. Grey

  After formal introductions are made, Brent’s dad says, “I can’t believe I’m finally meeting the famous life coach.”

  “Probably more like infamous,” I murmur.

  If his dad knows anything about my termination, or that video leaked by Brent, he probably questions my abilities.

  But instead of nodding in agreement at my own slight against myself, he smiles up at me, kindness in his eyes. “Infamous, my ass,” he scoffs. “I’ve only heard great things about you, young lady.”

  “Thank you,” I reply, blushing.

  Mr. Oliver goes on, “In fact, too bad my son didn’t have you come up here sooner. You probably could’ve straightened out this old-coot-with-a-bad-ticker’s way of thinking. Up until this wake-up call, I thought I was invincible.”

  “Too stubborn for his own good,” Mrs. Oliver chimes in.

  I nudge Brent. “Sounds like someone else I know.”

  Mr. Oliver lets out a chuckle. “Ah, your woman knows you well, son.”

  Turning about six shades of red, Brent murmurs, “Dad, please.” And then, leaning down to me, he whispers in my ear, “Sorry about that.”

  His parents don’t know we’ve not yet talked things out, but they are clearly Team Braubrey.

  Mr. Oliver, pushing around the pillows behind him and getting more comfortable in his hospital bed, asks Brent to fill him in on all the latest hockey games and scores, which Brent does. Since I’ve been diligently following league action I’m able to throw in a few updates of my own.

  “This one’s a keeper, for sure,” he says to Brent after I give him a pretty thorough recap of a Minnesota Wild game from the other night.

  “Billy,” Mrs. Oliver chastises.

  I suppose she’s beginning to sense her son’s—and my own—uneasiness at all these relationship references.

  Clearing her throat, she brings up what everyone seems to resort to when at a loss for words—the weather.

  “Has anyone noticed lately how unseasonably warm it’s been up here? I sure hope it cools down soon. I was hoping for a white Christmas, but I don’t think it’s in the cards for us this year. Maybe we’ll have some snow by New Year’s.”

  “Mom loves snow,” Brent then informs me.

  Mr. Oliver interjects. “That’s only ’cause she doesn’t have to shovel it.”

  Brent’s mom reaches over and caresses her husband’s face lovingly. “There’ll be no shoveling for you, mister, for a good, long time.”

  “Guess that means we’ll have to think of other things to occupy our time when we’re all snowed in,” Mr. Oliver says to his wife with a suggestive wink.

  “Annnnd that’s our cue to go,” Brent says.

  “Oh, stay, honey,” his mother replies. “Your father’s just being silly. Must be all the drugs they have him on.”

  Mr. Oliver harrumphs, and Mrs. Oliver shushes him.

  Brent, chuckling at his parents’ cute banter, and clearly loving that they care so much about each other, says, “I’m kind of hungry, anyway, Mom. Aubrey and I can come back up after we grab a quick bite down in the cafeteria.”

  “Don’t be too long,” she says.

  “We won’t,” he assures her as we head for the door.

  Down in the cafeteria, as we move through the line, picking out sandwiches and a side of carrot sticks with dipping sauce I insist on having, I finally share with Brent what Lainey told me about how contract addendums have to be signed by both parties to be enforceable.

  As I finish with my explanation, I add, “And I don’t think Mr. Dolby ever signed the addendum that day we met.”

  “Whoa, what?” Brent stops in his tracks, but I can’t go on since we’re at the register. He pays for our food quickly, and then says, “Let’s talk about it once we sit.”

  “That works for me.”

  We choose a table far away from everyone, and once we’re seated, he clears his throat and asks, “So what is it exactly that you’re saying about the updated contract?”

  I take a bite out of a carrot stick. “It may not be valid.”

  “Have you checked to see if Dolby signed it?”

  I shake my head. “Not yet. I was about to search for the paperwork when you arrived at the townhouse last night. But I’m almost certain he never signed anything.”

  Brent leans back in his chair, his sandwich untouched. “Shit, if that’s the case then we could’ve been together all this time.”

  I nod as I dip another carrot in a cup of yogurt sauce. “Hmm, maybe.”

  He must sense my reticence, as he’s quick to add, “Aubrey, I know I have a lot to apologize for. And I’ve had weeks to go over everything that happened. I think it comes down to three things.” He pauses, then releases a breath, like he’s gearing up. “One, I never should’ve gone through your laptop bag. Two, I shouldn’t have released that video without talking to you first. And three, I definitely should’ve told you about the strip club and the video right from the start.” Sighing, he adds, “I’m sorry I fucked up so epically, babe.”

  I know Brent’s sorry, and frankly I can’t hold something against him that I’m not even mad about anymore. Plus, his dad is sick, and I’d be a real bitch to drag this thing out, especially when I want to be with him.

  “You’re forgiven, Brent,” I say. “And actually you have been for a while. It’s all water under the bridge.”

  “That may be true,” he says. “But I think if we’re getting back together I still need to own up to what I did.”

  I like his accountability—it’s a good change for him—but right now I’m more focused on the first part of what he said. “Are we getting back together, then?” I ask.

  “I want to. As long as you do too, Aubrey.”

  Why fight what my heart is telling me to do. “I want to be back with you, Brent. I want us to be a couple again.”

  Reaching across the table to place his hand over mine, he says, “I guess it doesn’t much matter what we want. We still have to wait till you find the new contract, the one with the addendum, to see if we’re free to pursue this relationship.”

  “No.” I shake my head. “I don’t care if the addendum is signed or not. I want to be with you no matter what.”

  He raises a brow, making him look more adorable than ever. “Are you saying fuck the consequences, Aubrey?

  Rising from my seat and leaning my whole body across the table, I press my lips to his. “Absolutely,” I murmur.

  Al is Forever My Bitch

  My dad’s surgery goes extremely well. He comes through the operation with flying colors.

  With my father out of the woods, on Christmas Day I fly back to Chicago with Aubrey to search her apartment for the contract. Her sister is gone, having flown back to Pennsylvania to spend time with her folks.

  Good ole Al is still with us, though.

  When we take a break from searching, we order ham dinners from a little café around the corner that’s open for the holiday. We eat with the green alligator at the table with us.

  Afterward, when Aubrey’s busy clearing our plates, I make her stop so I can bend her over the table.

  “What are you doing?” she asks, laughing.

  “Having dessert,” I inform her.

  I make sure Al has a good view when I lift up her pretty velvet skirt and pull her panties down her legs.

  When I start pounding into Aubrey, she finally notices Al. “We should turn him away,” she breathes out roughly, breathless from our activity.

  “No,” I counter. “I like that he’s watching. He’s forever my bitch now.”

  She stills and looks back at me over her shoulder. I stop moving, but remain inside of her. “What?” I ask.

  “I can’t believe you are seriously this jealous of a stuffed alligator.”

  I shrug. “Maybe I am, but just a little. What can I say? I hold grudges. And that little stuffed bastard deserves it. He had me so worked up that day back in October.”

  “You’re silly, Brent.”


  “I’ll show you silly, woman,” I warn. And with my eyes on my new bitch, Al, I add, “I’m gonna show him how it’s done.” I pull all the way out, and then slam back into Aubrey at a new angle, one that has her grabbing the sides of the table and screaming out my name.

  I smirk at Al. He wishes he could be me.

  After the exhibitionist sexing, the table is cleared—with a time-out for showering—and then Aubrey and I resume searching for the addendum.

  “I found it!” Aubrey calls out from the kitchen an hour into the hunt.

  I’m in the adjoined dining room so I rush in to where she’s standing, contract in hand.

  “Did Dolby sign it?” I ask, knowing this is still important, even though Aubrey claims she wants us to be together regardless of what we find.

  She hands the document to me. “I’m afraid to look. You check.”

  I peer down at the paper, an innocuous document that still ultimately holds our fate.

  It only takes a few seconds for me to find the line I’m searching for.

  “Babe…” I look up from the papers, smiling. “He never signed shit. The line for his signature is completely blank.”

  Her eyes widen. “Holy crap, no way! Do you know what this means, Brent?”

  I grab her up in my arms. “It means we can be together, Aubrey. We can tell the world how much we love each other. And there’s not a damn thing anyone can ever do about it.”

  Lainey Likes the Wrong Damn Hockey Player

  “Too bad I have that stupid work assignment coming up,” I say to Brent.

  I don’t want to rain on our parade of happiness, but the truth remains that I have a job commitment—the upcoming client in LA—that promises to separate us.

  “Shit.” He rubs his hand down his chiseled face. “I was hoping things could go back to the way they were. You know, you coming to the games to watch me play, traveling with the team, that sort of thing.”

  He doesn’t add that he simply likes me being there for him. And I want to be there for him. Hell, I want to be Brent’s, well, everything.

  Blowing out a frustrated breath, I say, “There’s another issue we have to address.”

  “What’s that?”

  “I have to call my boss. He needs to know about our relationship, and it’s better he hears about it from me, as opposed to through the media.”

  “True,” Brent agrees.

  I contact Mr. Delahunty the very next day and inform him of the change in my relationship status. I’m careful to let on like our romantic relationship started after the contract was terminated, a minor detail to protect us all.

  Mr. Delahunty seems to suspect otherwise—he’s no dummy—but he leaves it be. He then tells me the celebrity in LA I’m supposed to take on as a new client in early January has been admitted to the hospital for “exhaustion,” a common code word for rehab.

  This dude is sure to be a pain in the ass, I can tell already. But then again, aren’t they all?

  Mr. Delahunty finishes the call by saying, “We don’t need you to fly out to LA until February.”

  I’m thrilled, and when I disconnect I relay the good news to Brent.

  “This is awesome, Aubs. That gives us the whole month of January before you have to leave.”

  I’m excited to have plenty of time ahead to spend with Brent, but there’s another concern we’ve neglected to address. “How should we announce to the world—to the hockey world, at least—that we’re together?”

  “Maybe we should release a sex tape?” he suggests with a waggle of his brows.

  “You’re twisted,” I retort.

  But then he leans back against the counter in my kitchen, and for this one crazy minute I don’t want him to be kidding. In his faded jeans and white button-down shirt Brent looks sexy as hell, so much so that I actually find myself considering the sex tape idea.

  Taking a step toward him, I suggestively throw out, “Whether we make a tape or not, we should rehearse first.”

  “Definitely,” he wholeheartedly agrees.

  There’s never going to be a sex tape release, but that afternoon we rehearse as if there is.

  Later that night we return to Las Vegas for Brent’s game, which is the next day. It’s not until seven in the evening, though, so when he arrives home after an early morning practice, we end up hanging out and talking in his living room.

  Talking of course leads to making out. And then things, as they always do, get heated pretty quickly.

  When half my clothes are scattered across the living room floor, I remember to remind Brent to close the blinds.

  “Eh, no one can see us in here,” he says. “And even if they could, who cares? I say we leave the blinds as they are.”

  He’s hovering over me, and I smack one of his rock-solid biceps. “Ow.” I shake out my hand. “Your damn muscles are getting harder all the time. I swear they’re like freaking steel.”

  Brent chuckles smugly. He loves when I stroke his ego like that. But it’s true, so once I’ve determined nothing is broken, I go on, “For the record, the answer to your big idea of leaving the blinds open is a big fat no. Get up and close the freaking things, Brent.”

  “Okay, okay.” He stands and heads over to the windows. “It was just a random thought.”

  I flip over onto my stomach and stare at him, shaking my head. “What is it with you and exhibitionism?”

  He cocks a brow as he looks over at me. “What do you mean?”

  “Well, yesterday there was the sex tape idea.”

  “That was a joke, Aubrey.”

  “Still, you were really into having sex in front of Al back in Chicago.”

  Brent levels me with an oh-please look. “He’s a stuffed animal, babe.”

  “A stuffed animal you’re clearly jealous of. Like, insanely so.”

  “So what if I am?” When I start laughing, he warns, “You’re going to pay for giggling at me like that.”

  With the blinds all closed, he stalks toward me.

  I scoot back.

  When he continues his pursuit, I stand and try to take off. But Brent’s way too fast. He catches me in a heartbeat and scoops me up in his arms. Amid my half-hearted protests, he tosses me onto the sofa. He joins me and the rest of our clothes are discarded.

  Safe to say there’s no more talk of Al.

  Afterward, the issue we never resolved comes up—how should we let everyone know we’re officially dating.

  I suddenly have an idea. “Hey, New Year’s Eve is coming up. Didn’t you mention something about Nolan throwing a party?”

  “He is having one,” Brent confirms. “But I have to warn you now it’ll be a huge drink-fest.”

  “We don’t have to get drunk.” I turn in Brent’s arms to face him. “I mean, I’m sure we’ll have a glass of champagne to ring in the New Year. But we can pass on the hard stuff. Besides, Benny will be there, right?”

  “He’s supposed to go.”

  “Well, he won’t be drinking at all. We can hang with him.”

  Brent nods. “Okay, sure, that’ll work.” Suddenly, after a moment of contemplation, he throws out, “Do you think we should invite Lainey to the party? She’s on Christmas break, and we could finally introduce her to Benny.”

  Though we’ve always believed those two would be a cute couple, I have my reservations.

  “Uh, I don’t know,” I hedge. “Benny may be clean and sober these days, but he still has a raging puck bunny problem.”

  Brent can’t argue with me on that one. But he does bring up a good point when he remarks, “It’s not like anyone is suggesting marriage here. We don’t even know if they’ll like each other.”

  “True.” After a long pause, I carefully inquire, “Benny doesn’t have any diseases, does he?”

  “God, Aubrey.”

  “What? I need to know for Lainey’s sake. He’s a super slut, so it’s not an outrageous thing to ask.”

  Brent sighs, and then he assures me, “He�
�s clean, Aubrey. Not only does he use protection, like, all the time, but we get tested for shit like that every couple months. You know that. That’s why you agreed to go on the pill. You told me you wanted to ditch the condoms as much as I do, remember?”

  He’s right. We’re tired of the hassle. Plus, since we want each other pretty much all the time, it’d be nice to be more spontaneous.

  With my worries about Benny lifted, I invite Lainey out to Las Vegas for Nolan’s little gathering. She accepts, and I fly her out the next day.

  New Year’s Eve rolls around, and as planned we all convene at the party at Nolan’s palatial home down the street. Brent and I don’t make a formal announcement that we’re together, but it’s pretty clear to everyone when we walk in the door arm-in-arm that we’re official.

  Funny, no one seems surprised. A lot of the guys knew all along, but like Benny and Nolan, they were trying to be cool about it to keep our secret under wraps.

  The one person our relationship is news to is Brent’s agent, Jock. He’s at the party too, so we spring it on him at his favorite spot to hang—the bar.

  Surprising to both Brent and me, Jock loves that we’re together.

  “This is going to do a lot to rehabilitate your image after that lap dance video,” he tells Brent before downing what’s left of his whiskey on the rocks.

  Sad to report that, yes, Brent lost two endorsement deals because of that stupid video. Consequently, Jock is not about to let an opportunity to remake Brent’s image as a committed relationship guy flitter away.

  As the next hour goes by, Jock remains by our sides. He makes certain we’re in lots of selfies, mostly with other players and their significant others, ensuring we’ll be plastered all over social media by tomorrow.

  Lainey hangs with us as we make the rounds with Jock, but she’s sure to bow out of the photos, lest she be pegged as Brent’s girlfriend, seeing as we look so similar.

  Another scandal is all we need.

  “So, Aubrey,” Lainey begins as she pulls me away from Brent and Jock so we can talk.

  I almost topple over in the five-inch heels I’m wearing, leaving me to mumble, “I swear I’ll never get used to high heels.” Lainey crosses her arms, looking impatient, and I ask, “What?”