Hot on Ice: A Hockey Romance Anthology

by Avery Flynn

  She didn’t know what she asked of him. Didn’t realize that every time he took her in his arms and kissed her, they risked it going too far.

  “You…what?” she asked, walking her fingertips up his shirt.

  “Need to go home,” he answered, capturing her hand with his own before she provided more temptation than he could resist.

  “Kiss me goodnight first,” she ordered, going up on tiptoes.

  Their breath mingled, and he practically groaned as he sank into the insanity that was the feel of her mouth under his.

  She was only ten months younger than her brother, he reminded himself. Which only made her four months younger than him. They were practically the same age. It wasn’t taking advantage to pull her just a little closer. To be lost in the feel of her tongue against his own.

  When her fingertips dragged through his hair, he allowed her to tilt his head and increase the angle of their embrace. He even pulled her closer, drowning in the way she’d sigh his name every so often.

  If loving Maisie was wrong, he never, ever wanted to be right.

  2

  Present

  Maisie Miller stood ankle deep in a puddle of cold rainwater and considered her beat up car with no little disgust. “Now isn’t the time for you to fail me, Bessie.”

  Bessie, her white car with one black door, didn’t seem moved by her words whatsoever, but Maisie couldn’t even blame the vehicle for lack of response. She supposed the whole situation was her own fault. After all, she’d been told by the mechanic that she should park the vehicle until she could afford the rest of the repairs—the deer had taken quite a toll on the car, leaving Bessie with what Maisie liked to think of as internal bleeding. But she hadn’t listened, sure that the relatively short, half hour drive wouldn’t be too much for her. Yet, the sputtering led to stalling, and now she was stranded a few miles short of her destination.

  Considering her options, she looked back and forth down the empty state route in front of her. Unless some better option magically popped out of the sky, it looked like she was going to have to hoof it to the center of her hometown, where they’d planned a reception for the local golden boy, Oliver Tremblay.

  But she couldn’t leave the Silver Wonder behind, so she slogged to the back door and considered her masterpiece. Built of an empty water jug, various plastic containers, all bolted together with an old bit of metal bar she found in the garage, it didn’t look like its sum parts anymore. No, it was clearly a marvelous replica of the cup, just like Ollie’s team just won for their skating game thing—hockey. Why couldn’t she seem to remember that? Whatever. She’d added hot glue to the bowl and bands for texture, then spray painted the whole thing silver. It looked just like the pictures of the award his team won, based on her research, and was probably a lot lighter than the real thing, due to her choice of materials.

  She knew he’d love it. He had to.

  Hauling the giant silver creation out of her backseat, she hefted it over her head like she’d seen people do in the celebratory hockey videos online. Yeah, she’d much rather wave around the Silver Wonder, and he would, too. She just knew it. Not to mention he’d get to keep her gift, while she’d read that he only got to have the real thing for a day.

  Which was dumb, in her opinion. If they won it, why didn’t they get to keep it? Whatever, sports weren’t her thing. Crafting was, and she just needed to get the Silver Wonder to him.

  Then he’d realize he still loved her, and they’d live happily ever after with a dog or some shit. Her plan was solid.

  The ground, however, was not solid—due to an unseasonable chilly, rainy day—so she nearly fell on her ass trying to get Silver Wonder past her car alongside the road. Abandoning the car, she began walking in the general direction of town. “Any time now, universe. You can make this easy on me a-a-any time now.”

  Her feet were wet, cold, and she found it awkward to carry the Silver Wonder. Perhaps she shouldn’t have tried to make a scale model, but she figured he’d find it more impressive if it was the right size. She also hadn’t planned to carry it while taking a hike, but she was used to adjusting on the fly to whatever life threw her way.

  “Seriously, this is harshing my mood. Anytime, universe.”

  Since it never failed her, she wasn’t surprised when the universe provided an answer. She heard a car approaching after she’d walked less than a mile. Pulling her scarf back around her neck—apparently, a bit of it had become unbound and dragged behind her, leaving the end sodden—she turned to wave the Silver Wonder over her head to get the approaching vehicle’s attention.

  The little four door car pulled alongside her, clicking their hazards on before the passenger side window rolled down. “Are you okay?” the man inside asked.

  He was balding, wore glasses, and looked a bit like the bad guy in a movie she’d watched last week, but she reminded herself that she had an active imagination and most people were not, in fact, serial killers. “My car broke down, back there?” She pointed that general direction. “Past that curve. I’m trying to get to town.” She shrugged, plastering on a fake smile. “Could you give me a lift?”

  The man didn’t jump at the option of having her in his car, lending more credence to her not a serial killer theory. “Uh, I don’t know where we’d put that… sculpture?”

  “It’s the Cup,” she explained, inserting false cheer into her tone. “I made it for an old friend who is coming to town today. I have to take it with me. Maybe we could stuff it in the back…” Glancing in his back seat, she noticed it was filled mostly with boxes and large plastic globes.

  “Or we can leave it here, and I can give you a ride to the nearest garage, so you can get a tow. As a matter of fact, do you want to just use my phone to call for a tow? Or do you have a phone?” the man asked.

  She didn’t want to explain that she’d accidentally flushed her phone down the toilet the day before and hadn’t gotten it replaced yet. Putting Silver Wonder on the ground at her feet, Maisie reached in the window to offer her hand. “Let me introduce myself. My name is Maisie. And I just can’t leave this here. I need to bring it. It is a gift, you see? I can fix the car later, I just have to get—”

  “What are you doing?” a familiar voice asked.

  A shiver of awareness—or perhaps chill, because she was rather cold and wet—skated up her spine. Maisie turned slowly to see the man of her dreams leaning on a big old silver truck, baseball cap pulled low over his forehead.

  “Ollie!” she cried.

  Launching herself at him, she hardly noticed when her would-be rescuer pulled back onto the road before speeding away, mumbling something that sounded suspiciously like, “Weirdo.”

  Ollie held up a single hand, stopping her before she jumped into his arms. “Maisie, who was that?”

  Glancing over her shoulder, she shrugged again. “Some guy.”

  “Do you often stand alongside the road talking to strangers?” he asked.

  She’d be offended by his emotionless tone, but that was Ollie. He was unreadable, unbreakable, and as unchanging as the ice he skated on. One of her best gal pals claimed the man had a heart of ice, and that was why he skated so well, but Maisie knew better.

  There was a warmer Ollie under the façade. She’d seen it—she knew he was still in there.

  Somewhere. Currently frozen over, but still… in there. “No, my car broke down.”

  “Is that part of the car?” he gestured toward Silver Wonder.

  “No, that’s for you!” Since he clearly wasn’t going to sweep her into his brawny arms and give her the hug she’d been hoping for, Maisie picked Silver Wonder back up and showed it to him. “See? I made it. So, you can have the cup thing forever. Isn’t it great?”

  He reached out a single hand and scraped at a bit of the side with his fingernail. She hadn’t realized she’d painted over a label until he managed to peel it off, exposing the water jug—used for a water cooler of some kind—beneath the silver paint. “It sur
e is something.”

  “Look, we don’t have to fix my car now. We’ll deal with that later. For now, let’s get going to your welcome home party, then we can come back later. Help me get this into your truck?” Grinning at him, she again offered her masterpiece to him.

  In her head, she’d imagined this moment happening much differently. When she met up with him again, she was supposed to look flawless. Like a delicate female fucking flower, all ripe and in the prime of her bloom, ready to be plucked by a man like him. Her makeup was supposed to be on point, as she’d practiced it for hours after watching tutorials, to be sure she could present the best possible Maisie-package to him. Instead, she was rumpled, windblown, and a little soggy from her short hike. He was supposed to smile a gentle smile when taking Silver Wonder from her hands—maybe call her a craft goddess before leaning down to bestow a pleasant kiss on her lips.

  He wasn’t supposed to be still expressionless, with one brow raised as he gazed at Silver Wonder, and practically ignore her altogether.

  “Can we put it in the back of the truck?” He didn’t sound like the knight from a fairy tale at all.

  “No, we cannot put it in the back. It is made of plastic. It might blow out and be destroyed.” She glared at him, but he merely shrugged, apparently not understanding what a great and horrible disservice to mankind the destruction of her masterpiece would be to the world.

  Sighing, he took Silver Wonder and stuck it in the extended backseat of the truck, not being careful whatsoever when he put his seat back into place. He also didn’t hold the passenger door for her, simply getting in his side and popping the lock so she could get in or not, up to her.

  She stomped her foot, sloshing more cold water up the side of her pant leg. This wasn’t going according to plan at all. Some small part of her wanted to cry over that, to curl up and accept defeat.

  But that wasn’t Maisie. She could find the silver lining in anything. She’d manage to make this work, she just needed a new plan. Optimism reinforced with a brief internal pep talk, she climbed awkwardly into the truck and turned in the seat to face him. “Welcome home,” she said softly.

  He grunted before gesturing with his thumb toward her. “Buckle up.”

  With a huff, she obeyed, reminding herself that she hadn’t seen him for a while. Maybe he needed time to remember how much he loved her. That was okay, she had time. She’d wait him out. As the truck rumbled to life, she smiled at the somewhat gray day outside. Even with the mud, it was pretty in a magical, storybook kind of way. Like misty England, but in the countryside…

  Ollie couldn’t help but think that everything looked dirty. The sky was a leaden color, not unlike drier lint. Nothing beautiful inhabited the landscape around him—trees, muddy fields, yellowed crops. The occasional farmhouse, or a mundane ranch style… and even a trailer or two. All in all, it looked like the before picture, which should be followed by some kind of glorious after.

  He’d found his better after picture—his life since he’d shaken free of the muddy, backwater nowhere and made a name for himself in hockey. Coming back was masochistic, at best. Nothing but bad memories and old sadness, well-worn by time and economic failure, lingered in this town anymore.

  So, why come back for his day with the Cup? Quite simply, obligation.

  His life had become a series of obligations. He showed up when they wanted to snap his picture. He trained because he needed to stay in great shape, even if their team was a merry bunch of shoulda beens, never coulda beens, and has beens, glitzed up with an occasional star or two. It all paid off when he showed up on the ice, did his job, sank or passed some fantastic goals, and their team managed to win.

  But what did he do…just because he wanted to do it?

  Not a helluva lot.

  Which was nothing like the over-the-top exuberance that always seemed to waft around Maisie Miller. She radiated joy, even when she shouldn’t. It led him to razz her about it, back in the day. Pointing out shit like the fact that only idiots were always happy.

  Not that anything he’d ever said to get a rise out of her actually managed to upset her. She was unsinkable, unbreakable, and magnetic.

  Too magnetic, he reminded himself, gripping the steering wheel a bit tighter. He’d slipped a few times, stolen kisses he knew better than to take. The memory of them still burned like some kind of mental tattoo, forever imprinted on his soul. She wasn’t for him, a knowledge he’d grown up with, and tampering with her was worse than taking advantage of an innocent.

  She was all that was light and happiness and hope, while he? Died inside a long time ago. Glancing over at her, he considered her somewhat rumpled appearance. Did she have to always look like she’d just rolled out of bed after a particularly deviant sexual experience? Of course she did—that was Maisie. Or maybe it was his perverted mind imagining her doing just that being projected onto her appearance. Who knew?

  But he knew one thing for sure. He needed to stay as far from her as possible for his brief stay in town. She didn’t need someone like him darkening her effervescence. She needed a man who was as hopeful and wide eyed as herself. The two of them together?

  Yeah, that was a match made in hell. A truth he’d long ago accepted…so why was he still sneaking peeks at her like he missed her or something?

  “Are you excited to be home? I think I’d be excited if I were you. I mean, you’re coming back a star! How great is that?” Maisie bubbled.

  He wasn’t sure if it was an actual question, since it sounded more rhetorical to him, so he didn’t respond.

  “Do you realize, I still haven’t gone anywhere?” Her voice drifted off at the end, a note of sadness almost tapering off the word so that it raked nails of guilt across his gut.

  And there she went, doing it again. Hitting the brakes on the truck, he pulled to the side of the road. He released his seatbelt before facing her. “Nothing is stopping you,” he pointed out.

  She just stared back at him, those big eyes of hers all wide and sweet. “Yeah, well… not all of us get to be the star. Someone has to remain a mere mortal, or else who would worship people like you? Do you know, they planned a whole week of events for you and—”

  She kept talking, but he tuned her out, studying her face and the curve of her neck. The way she waved one hand for emphasis as she spoke. The way she smelled—some magically Maisie scent that was both cotton candy sweet, like a child, and yet filled with musky undertones that sucked him in like a bee to a flower.

  If this town was celebrating anything, it should be celebrating Maisie. From what he knew about her contributions to the area, she deserved it.

  He’d just played some hockey.

  That note of sadness was still there, resonating under her effervescent words like a throb of pain, and he couldn’t stand it. He leaned forward, capturing her neck to tug her close so he could slant his lips carefully over hers. The kiss was intended to be almost a kindness—an I see you kind of moment. But nothing was ever that simple between him and Maisie, so it spun into more. Her lips seemed to cling to his, sucking him in until he couldn’t resist dipping his tongue in for just a taste of her sweetness.

  Breaking the embrace before he gave into temptation and tugged her into his lap, he refastened his seatbelt then put the car back in gear. “Thanks for the plastic trophy,” he said aloud.

  But what he was thinking was, I’m fucked.

  3

  September 2nd, 2001

  He still wouldn’t hold her hand in public, but they weren’t in public. They were in the woods, walking side by side, while she rambled about a book she’d read. He listened, not interrupting until she finished talking, unlike most of her family. Then again, he always listened. That was one of the amazing things about Ollie.

  “So, basically, he thought he was going on an adventure to prove his love to the one girl, but it turned out he found love on the way to bring her the star. Isn’t that romantic?” Glancing up at him, she caught her breath. Something about the
way he looked at her lately, it set her blood on fire.

  Perhaps an overly teenage girl response, kinda like writing his name with a heart on her notebook, but she didn’t think her feelings for Ollie were typical for her age. Was it normal to love someone so much that your chest didn’t feel big enough to hold it all? Was it normal to be so enchanted just by the feel of his fingers twined with hers?

  She stopped walking to face him. “Well? Do you think it was romantic?”

  “That one was an actual question? Sometimes, in the midst of your stories, you phrase things like questions, then you answer yourself, so I wasn’t sure which this was.” His tone was playful, and his hand brushing across the hair at her temple added a level of warmth that kept her from being offended.

  “Do I really answer myself?” she asked, rubbing her thumb across his knuckles.

  “If I wait long enough, sometimes.” He brushed a kiss across her forehead. “Don’t overthink it. I like it when you do that. I like that you get so excited to share things with me that you can’t wait for an answer. It is part of your unique charm.”

  Pouting, she considered him through her lashes. “Unique is just another word for weird, you know.”

  She could literally see when his expression changed. When his eyes went from playful to hungry. It made her shiver, waking the craving for his flesh which seemed to never quite be sated.

  He said, “Unique, in this case, means special.”

  His nose rubbed against hers until she tilted her head to graze her lips across his cheek, like a shadow of a kiss. “I like being special to you.”

  “You are,” he answered, before dragging his mouth over hers. The kiss was too short, a tease rather than something fulfilling. “Sometimes too special.”

  Her frown settled more firmly into place. “How can someone be too special? Special is a good thing.”