Hard Checked: Ice Kings, #4

by Lynn, Stacey

  “We didn’t—”

  I lift a hand to stop him. I don’t have the energy for any more lies. Intentional or otherwise.

  “You did. At least some of you did, and I get it. She changed. I changed. It’s just such a huge goddamn mess I can’t describe, and she wanted it to stay private… but it’s over. The divorce papers say sixty days.”

  I met with the attorney, and since there wasn’t anything to fight because she asked for nothing, it could end faster. I just have to sign everything.

  Another lingering taste of vomit pools in my throat and I drain the last of my second beer.

  “I’m sorry, man. It sucks all around. I just wish we could have had all been there for y’all. Or at least known so we could protect Madison from all the babies and shit. I mean, now I feel like a dick.”

  “You weren’t. And I got it. Just didn’t make it easier.”

  Another set of drinks arrive at our table, served by a pair of small hands, with a tiny little broken heart tattoo on a ring finger and dark purple nail polish.

  “Thanks, Gigi,” I say, lifting my head and grinning at her.

  She smirks at me. “No problem, hotshot. Dad wanted me to give you these but says it’s last call.”

  “Damn,” Jason groans. “I didn’t realize it was so late.”

  “You can take off. I’m good.”

  “You sure?”

  “Yeah.”

  He turns to Gigi who’s taken our empties and is starting to walk away.

  I try. I try really hard to not let my gaze drop to her short, cut-off sweat shorts, to the length of her legs beneath them. The shape of her calves or to notice the dark red polish on her toenails.

  I fail.

  Miserably.

  There’s something so damn attractive about her petite size.

  I grip my new beer bottle harder and take a healthy swig.

  “Hey Gigi,” Jason calls out. “Keep this loser company for me so he doesn’t get shitfaced before practice tomorrow?”

  “Me?” She’s turned, gaze bouncing from me to Jason and she frowns. “You need my help?”

  “No—”

  “Yes—” Jason says at the exact time I disagree.

  She smirks at Jason. “Seems to me he doesn’t need it.”

  “Sometimes this asshole doesn’t know what he needs.” He slaps the table and slides out, holding out his arm in a gesture for Gigi to take his spot.

  “Jason—”

  He shrugs and holds out his fist. “I’ll pay the tab. You get home safely, yeah?”

  “Yeah,” I grumble and return his fist pump.

  “And you’ll thank me for this someday, too.”

  I watch him go, frowning.

  What the fuck does that mean?

  “I can pretend to sit here until he leaves if you want to be alone.”

  Her voice does something to me. Like a bug is happily leaping in my gut when she looks down at me, all that teal hair and new nose ring and tattoo peeking out from the wide collar of her sweatshirt.

  It’s the collar I’m noticing. And the tattoo.

  Not the thin, white strap of her bra.

  Shit.

  “You can sit. Please. You want Jason’s last beer?”

  “Nah.” Her nose crinkles and the soft light above the bar flints on her nose ring. I quickly look away as she slides in. “I’ve never acquired the taste for beer. No matter what kind it is, it always tastes like wet cardboard.”

  “You know what cardboard tastes like?”

  “Yeah. Like beer.” She grins.

  I grin back.

  This girl is funny. Well-traveled.

  Divorced. Cute. And fun.

  The exact kind of temptation I do not need in my life right now. Yet as I sit across from her, taking in every little nuance about her like the freckle on the back of her hand, that broken heart tattoo… I can’t for the life of me think of an excuse to leave.

  * * *

  This is, quite possibly, the most absolute asinine thing I’ve ever done in my life.

  I met Madison at school. When it came time to ask her out on our first date, we’d already been “going together” for weeks so of course I asked her to our school’s homecoming dance.

  That was the last time I’ve officially asked someone on a date.

  This is not a date.

  Right. It’s not a date… not exactly.

  I’ll ignore my sweaty palms making the cardboard coffee cups in my hand in danger of falling from my grip. And I can definitely not feel my pulse going slightly erratic. And I’m not hot.

  It’s the weather. Sixties in February isn’t unheard of, but it feels freaking hot with the early morning sun rising while I stand on the metal, rickety landing at the top of Gigi’s apartment.

  Because I’m back here.

  Like an idiot.

  Although this time, Bruiser is with me.

  It’s been two weeks since I saw her last and I’ve realized a few things since then. I like the way I feel when I’m around Gigi.

  I can’t stop thinking about her.

  We have a week of home games ahead of us, but I don’t have to be at the arena until three.

  Which means I’m here, hoping Gigi plans on going somewhere to take pictures today.

  I don’t like being at home and I like being outside.

  So does Gigi.

  There’s no harm in asking a newly made friend if I can spend the day with her again, right?

  Right. So, it’s not a date. It’s a guy asking a friend to hang out.

  “Man up and knock on the door, asshole.”

  It takes a hot minute to juggle the coffee due to the hotness of the cups and the sweat on my palms but when I finally grow the balls to knock, the door swings open almost immediately and Gigi is there, smirk on her face.

  “I was wondering how long it was going to take you to knock or if you were going to disappear.”

  “Wha… what?” I stumble.

  She saw me practically doing a toddler “have to go pee and have to go pee now” dance and let me.

  “Want to come in?” Both of the cups are pulled from my hands and she steps back, her ass holding open the door.

  Still wearing that damn smile.

  Her hair is crazy wild, pulled back from her face and it’s one of the few times I remember it not being in a ponytail or in those buns at the sides of her head.

  I didn’t realize how long it was.

  Or thick.

  Or beautiful with the stripes of colors.

  And… hell. I like it.

  “So, I brought you coffee,” I say, further stumbling over my words.

  “I gathered,” she says, happily sipping from one of the cups, still wearing that grin and looking like she’s fighting a back a laugh. “Any reason why you’re here today? I don’t think you need to apologize for anything?”

  Funny woman.

  “No, no apologies. It’s just that…” I got home from Nashville last night only to realize I was thinking about heading to the bar. Because I kept thinking about her and the last time we were together. I didn’t stay there long after Jason left, but in the time we spent together, I spent a lot of time laughing.

  And I swear every time I smiled or laughed, she grinned like she’d won something.

  Fuck if that didn’t feel good.

  We’d sat and talked long after the bar was closed. She shooed everyone out, and while she did that, I took a seat at the bar. Somehow, it felt natural. Like I was meant to talk to her for hours. It wasn’t until I gathered my keys to leave, I realized I’d be headed back to my house, alone.

  For a moment, I’d wanted to see if I could crash at her place, but that wasn’t the right thing to do.

  Although, hell… I’m not sure what is the right thing to do anymore. I’ve been doing that for fifteen years and look where it got me.

  Here. Which, oddly enough, feels like a pretty damn good place to be.

  “There are bugs outside. And i
f you’re dropping off the coffees and taking off, I’m keeping both of them.”

  Her head tilts toward inside and yeah… I should probably stop acting like an idiot any minute now.

  “I stopped by today to see if you were going anywhere before your shift. Thought I could go with you again?”

  “You did?”

  “I like being outside. Seemed fun. Plus, I promised Bruiser I’d spend the morning with him and while he hates car rides, he loves walks. And hikes. And swimming which is strange for his breed.”

  And… I’m still sounding like a socially inept nervous idiot, and yeah… I’m going to be quiet now.

  “So… walk? Pictures? You headed anywhere?”

  “I wasn’t, but if you want company, I can come with you.”

  “I’d like that,” I say, on a rush so fast I think I surprise us both. I know I’ve surprised myself, but Gigi smiles again at me, shaking her head like she thinks I’m adorable as my dog who she hasn’t even met yet.

  “Let me do something with this mop” —she points to her head— “and grab some shoes.”

  She all but shoves a coffee into my hand and I grip it before the top can fly off and splash us both.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Gigi

  I have no idea how I seem to find myself in the strangest situations when it comes to Sebastian, but when I saw him headed up my staircase this morning, the metal rattling beneath his heavy steps, I’m pretty sure I had a mini heart attack.

  He’s here to hang out? With me?

  And his dog? Who’s the cutest little ball of white fluffy fur. Bruiser, which made me snicker at his name, hopped up into my lap and declared my lap his before I could buckle my seat belt in Sebastian’s Maserati.

  And holy crap, I’m sitting in a Maserati.

  I’m not even letting my mind wander to how much this luxurious Italian chunk of steel with buttery soft leather costs. Although I’m certain I’ll Google it later.

  “So, where’d we leave off last time?” Sebastian asks.

  My cheeks heat. From what I can remember from a couple of weeks ago, before he said goodnight, I left off wanting to run my fingertips down his beard. Prickly? Soft? I’m dying to know. Then I wanted to flip a curl of his long hair behind his ear. He has one stubborn curl. It doesn’t matter how many times he runs his hand through his hair, there’s always one chunk on his right side that flips outward, curling opposite of everything else.

  I want to tame it. About as much as I want to see Sebastian untamed.

  Probably not what he’s looking for.

  “Uh… what?”

  “With your travels.” He gives me a quick glance before returning to the road. “You were telling me about your time in Turkey.”

  “Oh. Right.” See? Foolish. I need to figure out a way to stop my runaway thoughts when it comes to Sebastian. “Turkey.” I laugh softly and shake my head at my naivety back then.

  “What is it?”

  If I’m not mistaken, he has a small smile twitching behind his beard and it momentarily distracts me. He’s just so… potent with his masculinity, but it’s understated, not macho manly, just confident.

  “Turkey,” I say, getting back on point. “Probably not my greatest idea for my first stop.”

  “Dangerous?”

  “Yep.” I pop the ‘p’ and fight a shiver at the glare he gives me. Before he can ask, I carry on. “More in theory than anything I saw, but life is so different in much of it. It was my first glance at a really eye-opening different way of living. I did a lot of reading before I left, so I was prepared, but nothing really could have prepared me for the concern of terrorism in Ankara. It wasn’t, well, it wasn’t safe for me alone at night, which I tried to avoid in most places anyway, but there was the way I had to dress, as well. It was just…” There’s really no way to describe Turkey with its traditions and history and beautiful hot springs in areas I was able to tour with a group on camels. Or vibrant colors in the shopping districts which made the cities come alive and yet the women were mostly still dressed in long sleeves, bodies fully covered. I’d packed for those scenarios and made sure I had a headscarf to visit a mosque, but even then, there was an eerie feeling that followed me there.

  “It was gorgeous,” I say, on a sigh, thinking of everything I experienced. “I rode a camel. Visited a mosque. Saw more beautiful landmarks and historical sites I can still so vividly see in my dreams. And then there were the Hammam. Incredible.”

  “The what?”

  “Oh. Turkish bathhouses. So cool.”

  His hand makes a squeaking sound on the steering wheel as he makes the turn into a park area near Freedom Park. “The bathhouses?”

  “Yeah. Public bathhouses. The one I went to had a room, similar to a sauna with all this dry heat. When you’re done you can receive a massage, and then you rinse off and relax in a communal, cool bath.”

  “Right.” He clears his throat. “Ready for that walk?”

  If only I could understand what brought on this sudden rigidness in his posture.

  “Sure,” I drawl out, handing over Bruiser. He leaps into my face and kisses my cheek, paws flail in the air when Sebastian takes him.

  The vision of him curling the little ball of fluff in his strong arms makes me snort.

  “What?”

  “Nothing,” I say, covering my laughter.

  “That’s not a nothing sound,” Sebastian says. He slides on Bruiser’s harness and clips the leash, which seems like an impossible task given Bruiser’s constant flailing and bouncing around. If I didn’t know the dog was real, I’d think it was fake, stuffed with springs and long-lasting batteries.

  “It’s just… you… you’re all… that…” I flip my hand in a circle at his face and point to Bruiser. What am I doing?! I must look ridiculous with all my stammering and hand flailing. “And Bruiser is all tiny and sweet.”

  “Are you suggesting I’m not sweet?”

  “Um. Kind of… prickly?”

  He huffs a laugh and shakes his head as he reaches for the door, he looks at me over his shoulder and that look, I swear, it has a direct connection to the tops of my thighs. “You say the oddest things.”

  I shrug and open my door, grabbing my small backpack where I stowed my camera and snacks. Hiking makes me hungry. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

  “You should.”

  I meet him at the driver’s door and even with the thin layer of hazy clouds and my sunglasses, it’s still bright so I place my hand over my eyes to shield the sun and tilt my head back. “So, where are we headed?”

  “Greenway Creek. Thought you might be able to get pics on it.”

  “Lead the way, then.” I’ve been here frequently, but like with hiking, I have a feeling Sebastian and I approach our walks differently. It’d taken him a while to slow to my pace, and it’s not because I’m out of shape, but because I’m constantly scanning the trees and areas for anything interesting and photo op worthy. He approached our first hike together as a man on a mission, to reach the peak in the shortest time possible. That was, until he kept losing me every time I stopped to snap a photo.

  As if he remembers, he slows to my pace as we hit the trail, Bruiser on his right side, me on his left and for as spastic as the dog was in my lap in the car, he’s completely calm on the walk, sniffing happily and little pink tongue lolling out of his mouth.

  “So, after Turkey,” Sebastian says, “where’d you go next?”

  “I went to Greece first, down to Athens. I was there about five days, maybe? Although I could have stayed for a month and not gotten bored. The people. The history… and dear Lord, the food was incredible. Then I traveled up through Macedonia, stayed for a few days to travel to the Millennium Cross, which was one of the most breathtaking sights I saw.”

  “What is it?”

  “The Cross?” I elbow him in the side. “It’s a cross.”

  He laughs softly and I tally up another win for me. In truth, I’m not paying at
tention to our walk or anything photo-worthy. I’m next to Sebastian who unlike the last time I was talking about my photographs, of which one of them is the Cross I’m currently talking about, this time he’s hanging on every word. Interested.

  In what I have to say.

  Just remember that he’s not interested in you.

  Right. I’m a diversion. I’m not an idiot. He might enjoy my company, but I suspect that the only reason he’s here with me is because then he’s not alone.

  I’ll take what I can get, even if I understand it more than he does, but I need to be careful.

  “Where’d you go?” he asks, and he takes a couple steps in front of me, turns and looks down at me. The shade cover is so thick he has his sunglasses shoved to the top of his head and that hair…. Man, I want to run my fingers through it.

  “What?”

  “You just stopped talking.”

  “Sorry.” Right, because my mind went down a rabbit trail of warning. “Anyway, Macedonia has this Cross that’s over two hundred feet high. It’s at the top of the mountain near the capital city and I had to take a gondola ride to get there. Scary as heck, but once I was there, I stayed for hours, sitting, thinking, seeing the land from such a high viewpoint. I didn’t want to leave.”

  “You like the quiet.” He turns and keeps walking.

  It sounds like a reprimand. “You don’t?”

  I have to hurry up to him, his strides are so long. Someone should tell him he has a pretty quick triggered attitude problem. He can go from smiling and kind to that prickly attitude I accused him of earlier faster than I can snap my fingers.

  It’s not going to be me, though.

  Even irritated, I like his company too much.

  Which is a red flag I should be heeding.

  Unfortunately, I’ve always enjoyed the thrill of danger.

  “I think I’m too active to be quiet,” he says finally, brows furrowed like maybe this upsets him.

  I shouldn’t spend so much time trying to figure him out.

  “But on your days off, what do you usually do? Don’t you ever rest? Chill out and watch a movie?”

  “A movie is your idea of quiet?” He peers down at me and I swear behind that beard a corner of his lips has kicked up.