Hot on Ice: A Hockey Romance Anthology

by Avery Flynn

  “To whom?”

  Yeah, that prim and proper princess thing really had his dick taking notice—uncomfortably. “Your friend, Jessie James, the ESPN Reporter. What did you tell her?”

  “About what?”

  “About me.”

  “Absolutely nothing. There’s nothing to tell.”

  What the hell did that mean? “It looked like the two of you were doing a lot of talking about nothing.”

  She scooted her chair back around the table. She was turning red again, a sure sign she was hiding something she was embarrassed about.

  He let the silence linger—as silent as things could get at Goldy’s. The place was always full to exploding. He took a sip of coffee without breaking eye contact.

  “You heard most of it. Jessie had seen us outside and asked why I hadn’t mentioned you or the fact that we had a thing.”

  “A thing?”

  “A relationship. You heard me tell her we don’t.”

  Yeah, and he’d been unprepared for the feeling of taking an elbow to the jaw that comment seemed to garner. Since he didn’t know what label to paste on this thing going on between them, he didn’t argue the point. He didn’t do relationships, so it couldn’t be that. All he’d done were one- or two-night stands, yet this wasn’t that either. “She doesn’t know about me?”

  Trish raised an eyebrow. “Knowing Jessie, she has every one of your stats just waiting to tumble out of that sports-computer brain of hers. She probably has the number of penalties you’ve gotten since the peewee leagues memorized along with the amount of time you spent in the penalty box, the number of noses you’ve broken, and the fights you started. You get the picture.”

  Was she completely oblivious to his real question or was she just dodging the answer? He couldn’t go into these interviews blind. He was pissed, he’d admit it. It wasn’t often he got pissed at people who weren’t skating and trying to beat him with sticks, probably because he didn’t spend time with people who weren’t teammates, coaches, trainers, or opponents. He liked opponents. He knew where he stood with them. He leaned forward, which for a big guy like him, had him arching over the small table so their faces were just inches apart. “Did you tell her—“ despite the forced whisper, his voice seemed unnaturally deep and growled up through his core, “—that you taught me to fuckin’ read?”

  Trish’s eyes widened and she pulled away as far as her chair back would allow, her flash of fear hit him in the solar plexus but he couldn’t put a lid on the volcano inside him which was about to erupt.

  “Did you tell her you spent hundreds of hours tutoring me so I didn’t flunk out?”

  The fear morphed into anger so quickly, he wondered if he’d imagined it—he hadn’t. Anger was better, and good for her. He didn’t want to be the only one in the room filled with chatter, laughter, and clinking of mimosa glasses in morning toasts to be pissed as hell.

  “Am I going to walk into those interviews and find out everyone and their fuckin’ mothers know how fucked up I am?”

  Trish’s hand came up, palm open. He tensed his jaw wondering how loud a slap would be and if everyone around them in the crowded restaurant would hear it. He closed his eyes waiting for it, but instead of the slap or punch he expected, he felt a small, cool hand caress the side of his face and jaw. His eyes were still closed and he was afraid to open them—not sure what he’d see, not sure if he even wanted to know what she was doing, not sure what the feelings rocketing through him with the speed of slap shots were or what the fuck they meant. He swallowed hard and opened his eyes to find her watching him as if she’d just found the missing last piece of a puzzle she’d been sitting on the whole time without realizing it. There was no fear, or worse, pity in her gaze, but after that flash of awareness there was just what? Acceptance and something else he’d never seen in her or anyone else’s eyes, something that made him want to jump for joy or run screaming from the restaurant and never see her again. His stomach flipped and, even though he knew he should pull away, his body wouldn’t do what his brain told it to. He was a statue stuck to her hand, staring at her while unlabeled and confusing-as-hell feelings mixed with anger and fear skated over every inch of his skin.

  “No, I would never do that to you. I’ve never told anyone—not even Karma—about what we worked on during our tutoring sessions. I never will.”

  Blood rushed through his ears, his heart raced like he’d been skating timed laps for the last hour, and he had the urge to lift Trish right out of her chair, throw her over his shoulder, take her to a dark cave, and have his way with her. Damn, his self-control, something he’d always prided himself on, was shot to shit. He might get into a lot of fights on the ice, but that was his job. He’d never lost his temper—ever. He’d always stayed in control—that’s what made him one of the best enforcers in hockey. Rage makes a man dangerous and sloppy. He wasn’t either. But this urge had nothing to do with temper or rage, no, it was primal—just as dangerous, and more difficult to control.

  7

  Trish did her best to ignore Karma flitting around Humpin’ Hannah’s in shorts, a tight tank top, and cowboy boots. She was the only one Trish knew who could pull that off and still look awesome.

  Leave it to Karma to somehow come up with the idea of having a slightly smaller version of a penalty box built and installed in the bar—complete with Plexiglas and swinging door. Trish hadn’t seen it the night before, but then she’d been hyper-focused on Stryker, not to mention the two, too close together, double dirty martinis. Those were a mistake.

  Stryker was stuck in the penalty box being interviewed by a reporter. To say he didn’t look at all happy about it was the understatement of the millennium. He was clearly uncomfortable and, though it was hard to tell with the lights bouncing off the Plexiglas, it didn’t look as if he had much to say—not a good thing while being interviewed.

  Trish looked away from Stryker to Karma who stared at Stryker wearing a grin Trish was very familiar with—it was the same grin Karma had worn every time she was in the process of formulating or executing a nefarious plan to fix up her cousin, one of her friends, or brothers—all of which she succeeded in doing. The pieces on Karma’s chess board didn’t seem excited about it while in the heat of the game, but there was no arguing with the happiness of the six couples Karma had manipulated into falling in love and marrying. All of them were still going strong and multiplying at an alarming rate.

  Truth be told, Trish had always been secretly in awe of Karma’s prowess—not that she’d ever admit to it. There was no way she’d encourage Karma’s urge to manipulate people, but, with Karma, it would be like encouraging the sun to rise in the East—completely unnecessary.

  Karma had been doing it since birth, and over the years, Trish had watched her play her brothers and cousin like a maestro in a room full of Stradivariuses. The poor guys—all über-intelligent—somehow never saw it coming.

  Until now, Trish had always enjoyed her front row seat to the Karma show. However, the thought of having to watch Karma wield her strange superpower on Stryker was enough to make her sick. Had this been Karma’s plan all along? Trish thought Karma would be happy with the extra money she’d make and the ton of free advertising and media attention The Cup would generate. But no, leave it to Karma to want more. Had she planned to not only use Stryker for free publicity but to fix him up with some woman while Trish was stuck performing the role of ringmaster in a circus of Karma’s making? This made American Horror Story look like a preschool cartoon.

  Trish’s blood congealed to the consistency of sludge as her heart tried to pump it around her body. It pulsed through her temples, neck, and wrists, and she wondered if she was coming down with an instant case of the flu. Her head pounded, her stomach roiled, and she felt clammy. Maybe she shouldn’t have had that heavy breakfast at Goldy’s, especially since she was still recovering from a hangover. She refocused on Karma, her best friend and business partner. “Don’t you dare,” She said the words slowly a
nd as firmly as she knew how.

  Karma’s attention veered from Stryker to Trish, but now, instead of that evil grin, it held a huge question mark.

  “Don’t look at me like you don’t know what I’m talking about. I saw that look you aimed at Stryker and I’m not allowing it. I will not stand by while you manipulate Stryker and some floozy into marriage.”

  Karma waved away Trish’s objection like a pesky fly. “I wouldn’t set him up with a floozy. Besides, in all my machinations, it’s not as if I’m the one who does the choosing of said floozy, the guys do. They just don’t realize it. Calm down, Trish, the thing you have to understand is that men are inherently stupid when it comes to love and women. It takes them a long time to figure out the woman they love is standing right in front of them. Sometimes it takes them so long that they miss the opportunity all together. I do nothing but ensure that they don’t miss out on a lifetime of happiness.”

  “Of course you’d think that. You’re a legend in your own mind.” Trish ran her hands through her hair and leaned forward over the bar so they were eye to eye. “Karma, I’ve sat on the sidelines and watched you manipulate your friends and loved ones since we were kids. I won’t allow you to do that to Stryker.”

  “You won’t huh? Why? Have any of my little manipulations turned out badly?”

  “Not in the end they haven’t, but even you have to admit that things were touch-and-go for every last one of them. And I know for a fact that not one of the people you’ve manipulated were happy to have been your little play thing. Leave Stryker alone.”

  Karma lasered in. “Does this have anything to do with the rumor that you and Stryker were seen making out both at Guido’s and up against your car on Main Street last night while my pizza cooled?”

  “How do you know about that?”

  “Too shocked to even deny it, huh? Curiouser and curiouser. Maybe you just want to keep Stryker all to yourself. I suppose that’s understandable. I mean look at the man.” She pointed in the direction of the penalty box. “Even with his grumpy face on, he’s hot, maybe hotter than when he’s not grumpy. You know, some guys have that whole sexy mad look that makes women want to toss their panties at them. I’ve seen it before. They call Stryker The Enforcer, I bet there are any number of women that would like to take a full-body check from him.”

  “I don’t want him for myself.” Liar, liar, pants on fire. “I said I’d be his handler for the week, but I’m not going to put up with you making his life any more miserable than it already is. Look at him,” Trish flashed a wave toward the penalty box, “he hates this. Still, he was nice enough to agree to one week. After that, he’ll be out of here so fast, he’ll leave skid marks. Promise me you’ll stop this.”

  “Sure, okay. I promise not to fix him up with any other women.”

  Karma’s dead pan capitulation had Trish’s molars grinding. There was a catch, and Karma knew Trish knew it. After all, she’d never seen Karma give up on anything she’d set her mind to—ever. Karma was the most persistent, determined, stubborn person on the planet. No one deterred her from the task, so why had she given in so easily? Now, all she had to do was figure out the catch. Trish was smart, but Karma was smart and just a little bit evil. Trish was no match and she knew it. “I’ll be watching.”

  Karma shot her that evil grin again and backed away. “I’m sure you will.”

  Karma patted herself on the back, something she did a lot, and stepped away from a very confused and flustered Trish Reynolds. Trish might not be happy with Karma’s machinations at first, but she would definitely enjoy the result, after all, the ends justified the means, didn’t they?

  Karma strode to the other end of the long bar and checked her text messages. She had a legion of well-placed contacts all over the city feeding her information on a twenty-four-hour basis. Her contacts took her a lifetime to establish and worked like a charm. Nothing got by her when it came to the people she loved, and her spies were always happy to pass on information in exchange for free beers or drinks. Karma not only knew what Trish and Stryker had ordered at Goldy’s before they’d even finished their meal, but someone was kind enough to text her a video of Trish caressing the face of what looked like a very angry Stryker.

  Karma watched as Stryker went from irate and threatening to confused, before sliding right into the masculine version of putty in Trish’s hand. Trish had tamed the wild beast with just a touch. Amazing. They had a connection so powerful, Karma felt it through her iPhone. Trish was like The Enforcer Whisperer. She’d left both Karma and Stryker too shocked to speak. If Karma had any question about Stryker and Trish belonging together before, seeing the video erased it as if it never existed.

  A tall man came up behind Karma, his body blocking the light streaming through the front windows, and popped her personal space bubble. The fact that they were behind the bar meant that the person breathing down her neck worked for her, and the only one with the balls to invade her personal space was her friend and bartender, Kevin.

  “What are you up to?”

  Bingo. His deep voice with just a hint of a threat rumbled around her. She clicked her phone to clear the screen and turned, stepping back at the same time so she wouldn’t run into Kevin’s chest. She had to look up to meet his gaze, even wearing her cowboy boots.

  From the set of his jaw, she knew she wasn’t going to get away with the lie that popped into her head so she didn’t even try it. “Oh, nothing much, I just got a text from a friend.”

  That wasn’t even a lie and Kevin didn’t believe it. He knew her too well and read her better than just about anyone. The last time Karma was able to pull something over on him was when she’d fixed him up with his wife. Needless to say he was very familiar with her penchant for meddling.

  “Was the text about Trish and Stryker? Did you have anything to do with that viral YouTube video?”

  She did her best to look innocent, which was a real stretch, even though she was. “I swear on my mother’s life that I had absolutely nothing to do with that video.”

  Kevin released a breath—relief evident. “Okay, I know you’d never swear on your mother’s life if you were lying, but that doesn’t mean you’re not up to something diabolical now that you think those two need a push in the right direction. Do yourself and your friends a favor and stay out of their business.”

  “All I’m guilty of is watching the video like two hundred and fifty million other people. So sue me. Though, just between you and me, I can’t say I didn’t enjoy it. Man, did you see it? The only ones who don’t know they were made for each other are the two of them. Amazingly enough, Stryker may be faster on the upswing than Trish when it comes to figuring things out—which in and of itself is stupefying. I didn’t know there was anyone smarter than Trish.”

  “Trish is book-smart. When you’re talking about matters of the heart, you’re dealing with feelings, not intelligence. With her heart, Trish always plays it safe, and Stryker is definitely not safe. If she’s going to take a chance with a guy like him, she’d be better off making the decision to jump on her own, and not get a push from her best friend. Stay out of it and just be there for her in case she doesn’t land well. Don’t give her reason to blame you for the crash.”

  “Who says they’re going to crash? Trish gets Stryker, she sees past the whole Enforcer persona to the real guy hidden by his size and bluster, and she knows how to reach into his soul and give him what he needs.”

  Kevin took a surreptitious look at Trish, sitting there with her heart in her eyes watching Stryker being grilled by the reporter. “I might agree with you when it comes to Trish being able to give Stryker what he needs, but have you ever thought about Trish’s needs? Does she need to be tied to a guy who will be gone half the year? Does she have the trust and self-confidence to be happy here in Boise while he has puck bunnies throwing themselves at him wherever he goes?”

  “Of course she does. She’s the most together person I know.”

  When Kevin gave
her a look that said she was nuts, she pushed him. “Trish Reynolds is—”

  “Playing out of her league and she knows it. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not saying that she doesn’t deserve a guy like Stryker. If anything, he doesn’t deserve her. I just don’t think she’s cut out for the life he leads. She’s a homebody. She’s happy to live a simple life here in Boise. She’s a marriage and family kind of woman. I’m not sure Stryker can say the same. He looks like the kind of guy who doesn’t do commitment. Trish has commitment tattooed on her forehead. The last thing I want to see is you lose your friendships with either of them. If you meddle in their relationship, you put not only your friendships in jeopardy, but your business partnership. Let Trish and Stryker make their own decisions and stay the hell out of it.”

  “I will.” Maybe. Okay, she’d definitely consider it. She never thought her help would strain her friendship with Trish or Stryker, after all, she would only be helping them get their heads out of their respective asses to see what everyone else on planet Earth saw: that they were made for each other. But Kevin was right, whatever she did might affect the business she, Trish, and Mary Claire owned.

  When she fixed up her brothers and pseudo-cousin with their significant others, she knew, no matter what happened, there was no way in the world she’d ever lose them. They were family and her family always stuck together no matter what. She couldn’t lose them if she’d tried, and there had been a time or two she’d given it her best shot.

  Still, Kevin’s warning about her plan of perfection somehow adversely affecting her relationship with her best friends and partners in The Three French Hens set her back on her heels, literally. She’d made a huge investment in The Three French Hens—they all had, and she loved Mary Claire and Trish like sisters. Nothing had ever come between them. Ever. This wouldn’t either—she hoped. She tapped the favorites on her phone and called the shop.