Hot on Ice: A Hockey Romance Anthology

by Avery Flynn

  Not that she seemed to think she’d gone above and beyond. “Sure,” she said, one shoulder lifting in a demi-shrug. “I guess I have a pretty good handle on the day-to-day operations at Seventeen.”

  “Pretty good? You created a filing system that was implemented in every firehouse in the city last year, not to mention at RFD headquarters.” Finn rode out the shock on her face for a second before caving in to add, “Your captain likes to brag about you. He told me about it after they got back from their call.”

  “Okay, first of all, I only came up with a new filing system because the old one was stupid, and everyone else just happened to like the way mine works,” January argued, albeit without heat. “Secondly, I might work hard to make the administrative side of the firehouse run smoothly, but that’s what the department hired me to do.”

  Finn swallowed the urge to laugh even though damn, it was strong. “You seem to go pretty far above and beyond normal job requirements, January—and before you argue and tell me ‘it’s nothing’, remember I’m a workaholic too. I know one when I see one.”

  Laughing softly, she said, “Okay, maybe a little, but come on. I love my job, and those guys are like family. Plus, they risk an awful lot.”

  “They do,” Finn agreed, his stomach knotting at the all-too-stark reality of exactly how much was on the line during fire calls. “They’re still lucky to have you looking out for them.”

  “Thank you.” January’s cheeks colored a far too sexy shade of pink. Luckily for Finn’s libido, they arrived at the restaurant before he could dwell on all the parts of her that might flush the same color under the right circumstances, and he handed the SUV over to the valet. Turning to escort her up the spotless dark red runner leading to a set of heavy double doors, they’d barely made it four steps over the Italian marble floors before the restaurant manager greeted them with a smile.

  “Mr. Donnelly, how lovely to see you and your guest. Chef Rossi is thrilled to be preparing her signature tasting menu for you both this evening. Your table upstairs in the Skyline Room is ready and waiting. Right this way, please.”

  “Okay,” January murmured once they’d been seated in a plush semi-circular booth with an admittedly spectacular view of the city. “So really, how did you manage this? Because I’m fairly certain we’re sitting at the best table in the house, and a personal tasting menu from Angelina Rossi on a Friday night is practically unheard of.”

  He lifted one suit-clad shoulder, then casually let it drop. “I just came in earlier today and asked to speak with the manager. He was very accommodating.”

  “Oh, is that all?” Her expression broadcast her doubt loud and freaking clear, and ah hell, of course she was too smart for that. He might as well come clean.

  “That, and I brought the Cup with me.” Finn might not have wanted to make a big deal (okay, any deal) about having the Cup for the day, but he had to admit, seeing everyone’s excitement over the thing at both the firehouse and the restaurant had been pretty cool. The chef had even been impressed enough to offer the tasting menu.

  January laughed. “Between that and your charm, I really shouldn’t be surprised.”

  One honey-colored eyebrow arched, and even though Finn knew he shouldn’t flirt with her, the sassy little look on her face turned him on too much to resist.

  “I told you to pick whatever you wanted,” he said, letting the insinuation hang in the slight, softly lit space between them. “Now are you going to let me give it to you, or not?”

  But she didn’t even blink as she leaned in toward him, and fuck if that didn’t turn Finn on even more. “So that’s the deal? Tonight, I get whatever I want?”

  His cock tightened along with his voice. “That’s the deal.”

  “Good. Because you and I have a lot of catching up to do, and I don’t plan on wasting a second.”

  5

  January was having an out of body experience. But between the rich decadence of the pinot noir the waiter had brought out to accompany their tasting menu and the borderline extravagant atmosphere of the cozy, candlelit dining room, everything around her was surreal.

  And that was before she factored in the drop-dead gorgeous man sitting less than two feet away from her.

  Covertly, she slid a glance at Finn as he listened to the waiter describe the different whiskeys available from La Lumière’s private reserve. Although January had spent over an hour with him this morning at Station Seventeen (not to mention nearly five years as his best friend), the difference between gruff, tough, T-shirt-and-jeans-Finn and the Finn beside her put night and day to shame. He’d shaved and (mostly) tamed his dark hair, which curled softly over his ears and at the nape of his neck. His black suit was cut to perfection, flawlessly outlining his broad shoulders as his charcoal-colored shirt did the same for the lean, muscular plane of his chest, and oh God, there was no way around the truth.

  He might only be here for a few days, but she wanted Finn Donnelly.

  Bad.

  “So,” January said with a shade more enthusiasm than necessary. “This view is honestly incredible. Although being a famous hockey player, you’ve probably seen your fair share of swanky restaurants.”

  “The view is stunning,” Finn replied, keeping his gaze firmly fastened to hers as he spoke, and January’s heart thrummed faster in her chest. “But I’m hardly fancy. Or famous.”

  Her laughter popped out, scattering her nerves along the way. “Uh, you play a highly popular sport at the professional level. The anchors on SportsCenter nicknamed you and Flynn Kazakov ‘The F-Bombs’, for Pete’s sake. I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but you aren’t exactly small potatoes.”

  “Okay, how about this? I don’t feel famous. Although I will admit, the thing with Kazakov is pretty accurate.” Finn paused as the waiter quietly delivered his drink, the amber liquid glinting against the intricately cut crystal as Finn lifted it for a sip before continuing. “I mean, I travel a lot, which is pretty cool, and sometimes I get recognized if I’m out in New Orleans, but other than that, I’m still just a guy who likes to play hockey.”

  “Funny, I’m still just a girl who likes to watch hockey,” January said, and Finn assessed her with a smirk that made the space between her hips flood with heat.

  “You still a Rogues fan?”

  Of course he would remember how diehard she was for the Charlotte-based team. “Maybe.”

  “A yes if I ever heard one. For the record, your poker face still sucks.”

  January caved, but only because she had no other choice. “I’m a hometown girl, born and bred. So sue me. Do you like New Orleans?”

  “I’m obviously on the road a lot, but yeah. It’s home.”

  His smile was completely at odds with the noncommittal tone he’d tried to pin to the words, and it looked like her poker face wasn’t the only one that needed some polishing.

  “A yes if I ever heard one,” she volleyed, running a finger around the rim of her wine glass. “You seem to have some nice camaraderie with the guys on the Rage.”

  “You follow the Rage?” His brows betrayed his surprise by traveling up toward his tousled hairline, but January met his flirty look with one of her own.

  “Just because I was mad at you doesn’t mean I’m blind, Finnegan. The Rage’s Cinderella season was pretty tough to miss.”

  She saw the intention of a smart reply flicker through his eyes in the soft light of the restaurant, and her belly tightened in anticipation. But he pulled it back just shy of launch, opting for another draw from his glass before going with, “Yeah, the guys and I are tight. I’m up for a new contract right now, and when I get it, New Orleans will be home for a good long time. It’s actually the other reason I came back here.”

  Now that got her attention. “Oh?”

  Finn lifted his chin in a barely there nod, his expression suddenly serious. “When my old man died, he left me his house.”

  “The one over in North Point?”

  He’d never been parti
cularly chatty about his family, but the fact that his father had never attended a single one of his hockey games—not even the Tier 1 championship game where Finn had scored a hat trick that included the game-winning goal at the buzzer—had spoken volumes. Along with the fact that in nearly five years of best friendship with Finn, January had never met the man, nor had she ever been to the house in question.

  “Yeah.” Finn’s shoulders tightened against the high back of the booth, forming a rigid line beneath the crisp fabric of his suit jacket. “He never moved after I left. Lived there until…you know.”

  For a second, January considered an about-face subject change. But she’d never shied away from anything with Finn in the past. Starting now seemed stupid.

  “I was sorry to hear that he’d passed away,” she said, reaching out to brush her fingers over his. Although the obituary had oddly not mentioned Finn, or anyone at all in terms of family, there weren’t too many Seamus Donnellys in Remington. She’d connected the dots with ease when she’d read it in the paper the year before last.

  “Don’t be.” Seeming to hear the rough edges of his words after they’d emerged, Finn added, “I mean, that’s really nice of you. But he’d been sick for a long time, and we weren’t tight. Anyway.” He threw back the rest of the liquor in his glass in one quick movement. “I figured since I’d be here in Remington and I’ve got a little time now that it’s the off-season, I’d go ahead and meet with a realtor to get the place on the market.”

  “Wow.” January’s heart kicked beneath the thin silk of her dress. “You really are tying up loose ends, huh?”

  Finn nodded. “Guess it’s just time,” he said, his expression softening by a degree before he continued. “What about you? Are you and your old man still thick as thieves?”

  January’s smile was as quick as it was genuine as she thought of her own father. “Of course. He’s running the intelligence unit at the Thirty-Third now. They catch all sorts of crazy cases. Last fall they broke up a huge forced prostitution ring. A couple of national news outlets even picked up the story.”

  “Damn.” The look on Finn’s face was both reverent and impressed. “He’s running the whole unit? Guess you come by that workaholic side of yours honestly.”

  “My father raised me all by himself, and I’ve always been a quintessential Daddy’s Girl,” she reminded him with a laugh. “Did you really think I wouldn’t follow in his footsteps as far as my work habits are concerned?”

  “Truth? Not even for a second,” Finn said with a laugh of his own.

  The conversation shifted back to work and family (her) and hockey (him). With each passing course in the tasting menu, the laughter—and the wine—flowed a little more freely. For every story January told him about working at Station Seventeen, Finn matched it with one from the Rage, until finally, she was certain that Cup or no, the manager was going to come boot them from their table for having more fun than should be allowed in public.

  “You seriously had a guy on squad put Kool-Aid powder in another firefighter’s gloves?” Finn asked, his eyes all mischief.

  January finished the last of her pinot noir before grinning in affirmation. “The firefighters don’t usually mess with each other’s gear too much for safety reasons, but yeah. Dempsey went all-in, too. Purple in one glove and blue in the other. Faurier sweat himself right into a rainbow.”

  “Please tell me it stains. Because I owe our right-winger Ford Callaghan one, and that would be priceless.”

  “For about three days,” January confirmed. Tucking an errant strand of loose hair behind her ear, she sat back against the booth, a pang of nostalgia moving through her chest. Falling back into step with Finn had been so seamless, and God, she’d spent so much time being mad at him that she hadn’t fully realized how much she’d missed him.

  “This was really nice,” she said, twirling her finger to encircle the two of them in an invisible loop. “Seeing you again and being able to catch up.”

  “Nice?” Finn’s lips curved with a hint of wickedness that made her blush a foregone conclusion. “I’m thinking I need to up my game.”

  “Believe me, your game doesn’t need a thing.”

  She heard the words only after they were out, her cheeks flushing in their wake. God, hadn’t she learned her lesson when she’d tried to kiss him seven years ago? Finn might have taken her to dinner to make up for shutting her out after he’d left Remington, and yeah, he’d borderline flirted with her tonight, just as he had all through high school. But he borderline flirted with nearly all women, and he’d been wildly clear the night she’d kissed him. He saw her as a friend. Nothing more.

  Finn cleared his throat and shifted back, but mercifully glossed over her verbal indiscretion. “So what now?”

  “Wasn’t this enough?” Brows sky-high, January gestured to the mostly empty dessert plates and the definitely empty wine glasses on the table in front of them, but funny, he didn’t budge.

  “No.”

  “No?” She tried—truly—to keep her shock under wraps, but between Finn’s unyielding expression and the absolute certainty of his answer, it was pretty much a total no-go.

  “You said it yourself, right? Catching up has been nice.” His tone laced around the word with just enough teasing humor to lighten the mood. “And I do have seven years to make up for.”

  “After tonight?” January sent a glance around the lush, candlelit restaurant and laughed. “I think we’re even.”

  “Oh, I think we’re just getting started. They still run the fountains in front of the Plaza on the weekends, right?”

  “Yeah.” She stretched her answer out into a question. The fountains in front of the Plaza hotel were one of the biggest attractions in all of Remington. Rather than being set in a traditional pool, though, like the huge shows in Las Vegas, they were arranged over the flagstones in front of the hotel itself, so people could get as up close and personal with the aquatics display as they dared. The fountains had always been one of January’s favorite things, even if she did manage to miscalculate the timing of the spray and get soaked way more often than not.

  A fact which Finn clearly remembered. “What do you say we go tempt fate a little and check it out?”

  Attraction pulled, low and deep in January’s belly. Between the glint in his eye and the dare in his voice, Finn was tempting so much more than fate. But the truth was, she had missed him. What’s more, she didn’t want their night to end just yet, either.

  “I say be careful what you wish for, Finnegan Donnelly. You just might get it.”

  A few quick actions had their check taken care of and Finn’s SUV brought around by the valet, and a few quick minutes had them back at the Plaza. Although the sun had long since set, the night air was warm enough to still be plenty comfortable as they walked around to the front of the five-story hotel. She was a bit surprised they had the impending display to themselves, although it was getting late, and it looked as if the last show had been over for a while, the bystanders obviously scattered.

  “I take it the waterworks are still timed,” Finn said, pointing toward the wide circle of flagstones gleaming in the soft light being cast down from the Plaza behind them. A half-wall of stacked stone ringed the area in four arcs around the fountains, beyond which only the bravest (or the most waterproof) people ventured, and January’s heels clicked to a stop just shy of the nearest one.

  “Mmm hmm. There’s a ten-minute show at the top of every hour on the weekend. They added colored lights to the mix a few years ago, too. The added effect on the water is really cool.”

  “Sounds like I’ve missed a thing or two since I’ve been gone.”

  Finn shifted, the sleeve of his jacket brushing over her bare skin enough to capture her breath in her throat. Unable to help it, January shivered, making Finn’s brow tuck slightly in concern.

  “Are you cold?” He moved to start sliding his jacket from his shoulders, but oh God, Finn in less clothes would probably send her right
over the edge.

  “Oh, no. I’m…” Definitely not cold. Definitely still attracted to you. Definitely dying for you to lift up my dress and do dirty, unspeakable, orgasm-worthy things to me until I can’t remember my name. “Good! Good. I’m good.” Also, a complete and utter tangle of horny-girl hormones, but now so wasn’t the time to split hairs.

  “Shitty poker face,” Finn reminded her. “Here, take my jacket.”

  He was out of the thing before January could renew her protest. Slipping the material over her shoulders, he turned her to straighten the jacket into place. The move put them face to face, their bodies so close that she could feel the heat of his exhale as it coasted over her cheek, and her sex clenched with need. She’d wanted Finn so much for so long, and here he was, right in front of her after seven years.

  Her heart slammed, but her mouth opened anyway. “Finn, I—”

  Before she could say anything else, the fountains sprang to life. Finn didn’t so much as flinch—which made one of them, at least— and he reached down to find her fingers beneath the too-long sleeve of her borrowed jacket instead.

  “Did you still want to tempt fate?”

  His stare flickered over the water arcing up in gentle waves, some high, some lower, all of them moving in tandem to an unspoken rhythm. January nodded, a smile taking over her mouth as she curled her hand around his. Finn returned his stare to hers, but only for a second before he shocked the hell out of her by turning toward the break in the wall and leading her closer to the water.

  “Maybe you should be careful what you wish for. When I tempt fate, I go all in.”

  Without so much as another word, he stepped over the threshold of the outer circle of flagstones. The mist from the fountains settled over them in a cool spray, and January’s lips parted in a gasp of surprise.

  “This is crazy!” she said, although she was laughing hard enough to seriously weaken any heat her protest might have carried. “We’re going to get soaked.”