by Ellis, Aven
Table of Contents
THE DEFINITION OF ICING
Acknowledgements
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Epilogue
THE DEFINITION OF ICING
A Dallas Demons Hockey Romance
AVEN ELLIS
SOUL MATE PUBLISHING
New York
BY AVEN ELLIS
Connectivity
Waiting for Prince Harry
Chronicles of a Lincoln Park Fashionista
Surviving The Rachel
THE DEFINITION OF ICING
Copyright©2015
AVEN ELLIS
Cover Design by Christy Caughie
This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, business establishments, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
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Published in the United States of America by
Soul Mate Publishing
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Macedon, New York, 14502
ISBN: 978-1-61935-822-5
www.SoulMatePublishing.com
The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.
For Deborah Gilbert
Thank you for believing in me,
my words, and my characters.
This one is for you.
Acknowledgements
First and foremost, thank you to Deborah Gilbert at Soul Mate Publishing for continuing to embrace my stories about love and hockey players and letting me be me as a writer. I adore you woman!
Thank you to my Beta Baes-This book would not exist without your endless support, brainstorming, cheerleading and encouragement. I love you ladies. You truly are the best.
Thank you to Valerie, Lauren, Holly, Claudia, Alexandra and Amanda for your help in the proofing process. Your eyes are invaluable to me!
Christy Caughie, thank you for the beautiful cover.
As always, I have to thank my Lovelies for reading my words and always believing in me. Love you girls.
Thank you to fellow authors Kathryn Biel, CeCe Carroll, and Lauren Linwood for support and being there whenever I need you. Love you.
To my Twinnie, Holly Martin, I wouldn’t be here without you. Thank you with all my heart.
Thank you to the book blogging community for reading my words and supporting my books. You all are amazing.
And lastly to Alexandra, who has put in so much time on all of my works, and for being my rock when I need one. I love you.
Chapter 1
Soufflé: A light, airy, fluffy dessert that is perfection—unless it falls and collapses while baking — Kenley
I think I’m melting.
I have my car air conditioner going full blast, but the temperature never feels comfortable. My back is sweaty against the leather seat of my car, and the outdoor temperature reading I’m getting is 107F. Ah, another delightful August afternoon in Dallas, with clear blue skies and the ever present sun beaming down on the city.
High rises surround me as I navigate my way to the office building I’m seeking. And I hope I find it soon. I’m not sure my cargo will last much longer when my car feels like the inside of a convection oven.
Finally, I locate the address I need. I swing in through the parking garage and push my sunglasses up on my forehead so I can see in the dark light, and wind around and around until I find a spot. Nerves get the better of me as I arrive at my destination, so I reach for my phone after I put the car in ‘park’ and dial Lexi, my best friend and roommate.
“Okay, I’m here, Lexi,” I say. “Tell me I can appear cozy and romantic when I’m sweltering. Tell me I can pull this off.”
Because the brutally scorching day is not in the least optimal for the Valentine’s Day photo shoot I’m doing for the Dallas Details magazine February issue. But it’s hard to think of cozy winter nights wrapped in a sweater in front of a fire and being romantic when it’s so hot outside that you feel as if a hair dryer is blasting you the second you open your car door.
“Kenley, you’re going to be fantastic,” Lexi says confidently. “Now how are the chocolates?”
I reach across the passenger seat and lift the lid of my cooler. My cargo—exotic chocolate bars, truffles, and chocolate-dipped strawberries—are in pristine, chilled condition.
“They’re good,” I say, relieved. “The Confection Consultations woman will not display melted, warped chocolates in this photo shoot.”
Thank God for that. I started Confection Consultations six months ago, and my business of teaching people about the art of chocolate confections and elegant desserts is beginning to grow. Someone on the editorial staff took one of my classes on chocolate tasting last month, and I got this phone call out of the blue to be featured in Dallas Details. Getting to showcase my business in Dallas Details—in a Valentine’s photo shoot with some Dallas Demons hockey players, no less—will be a huge publicity generator for Confection Consultations.
I bite down on my lower lip as an anxious feeling sweeps over me. I hope they see the chocolate, I think, gripping my steering wheel as I peer at the tall glass building where the shoot is taking place. Please let them hear what I’m saying. I want them to ask about my background, how I’ve spent the past year of my life studying chocolate making in Europe and that I’m educated—
“Hey,” Lexi says, interrupting my thoughts, “don’t worry about things you can’t control. They’ll see your intelligence. They will.”
I smile. Lexi Stewart knows me inside and out. She knew what doubt was running through my head before I could even say it aloud. Apparently being f
riends since we were six does that to people.
“Okay,” I say, nodding. “Well, I’m going to go in now.”
“Good luck. Call me the second you’re out. And if you get to see Harrison Flynn with his shirt off, I will hate you forever,” Lexi declares.
I laugh. “He’s the ginger one, right?”
“Seriously, Kenley, how do you not have him memorized?”
“Because I’m not into hockey players,” I say. “Don’t they have missing teeth?”
“Arrrgh! You’re wasting the biggest opportunity ever,” Lexi declares. “I’m sitting here working on a graphic design for a boring bank, and you get to spend the afternoon with hockey players. And you don’t even think they’re hot. This is a tragedy of epic proportions.”
I can’t help but laugh at her dramatic interpretation. “Um . . . I’m sorry?” I offer.
She laughs with me, and I end the call. I drop my cell into my tote and lower down the visor, checking my appearance in the mirror one more time.
My appearance, which has been a blessing and a curse throughout my 24 years.
I see the light-blue eyes, the long, golden-blond hair with the natural beach-style waves, the warm skin that appears sun-kissed even when it’s not.
Ever since I was a little girl, people have fixated on my appearance. “Kenley is such a beautiful little girl,” they would say when I was small. As I grew older, the attention came from boys and men, and I was always noticed for my appearance.
The beautiful girl.
The flawless girl.
And that was where a lot of people stopped.
Nobody wanted to know what I thought. What my talents were. I couldn’t possibly have a brain because I had beauty. I was the girl the guys wanted to get with, to claim as a trophy, to show off that they had. But I wasn’t the girl they wanted to have a conversation with or truly get to know on a meaningful level. And this pattern repeated itself over and over, right down to the last relationship I had two years ago.
Yes, I know I got lucky in the genetics lottery. But I have flaws, plenty of them, as a matter of fact. And a lot of people assume that life is problem-free if you’re blessed with what others perceive as beauty, and nothing could be further from the truth.
Yet what draws people to me is also an obstacle as far as seeing the person who exists under the surface.
However, when I talk about chocolate and get people to taste it, they suddenly hear me. They get lost in the pleasure of chocolate, the sensation of eating it, the way it makes them feel. They don’t see me as the beautiful blond girl, but rather the woman who knows about chocolate and can teach them about it. And that is why I love my business and want to make it successful.
I get out of my Volvo, and oh, yes, we’re at hair dryer level high today, and shut the door. I go to the passenger side and retrieve my cooler and my tote, as well as the hanging garment bag I had in the backseat. Now that I’m saddled down like a mule, I head toward the building.
I’ve lived in the Dallas area my entire life—and only went as far as Fort Worth to go to TCU for college—but today’s heat is bad even for a native. I can’t imagine what someone new to Dallas must think of it here. Other than the heat rivals that of the sun. Ugh.
I’m sweating by the time I reach the door, and a businessman sees me struggling and holds the door open for me.
“Thank you so much,” I say, flashing him a smile.
“You’re welcome. Do you need any help?”
“No, thank you, though,” I say confidently.
And I make it to the reception desk before my tote bag oh-so-elegantly drops right off my shoulder and to the crook of my elbow. Of course, I can’t fix that until I put down my garment bag and cooler. Shit, I totally should have taken that guy up on his offer, as everything is about to land on the lobby floor.
“Hi,” I say, smiling at the receptionist while I try to keep from dropping one of my bags. “I’m here for—”
“The Dallas Details photo shoot?” she says knowingly, grabbing a visitor’s badge.
I wrinkle my brow and rest my garment bag on the countertop. Okay, for all she knows I could be here to have a podiatrist check out a hideous wart on my toe.
“Yes,” I say, ignoring her instant—yet correct—assessment of me. “Kenley Hunter with Confection Consultations.”
She nods and verifies my information in her computer. I sign in, get my visitor’s badge, and she directs me to an elevator bank across the marble lobby.
I reload my stuff and walk across the tiles, my heeled sandals clicking against the floor and echoing loudly. Okay, this is it. Huge career opportunity. I need to go in there and be myself. I’ll present my knowledge as a chocolate consultant in the photo shoot the best way I can.
I reach the floor for the photo studio and get off. I check in again, and a woman greets me. She’s in her late-40’s, I’d guess, with short pixie hair and huge, round oversized glasses. She’s wearing a simple white shirt, but accessorized with a giraffe-print scarf. A pair of designer skinny jeans and high heels completes her outfit.
“Hi, I’m Jillian Daniels, creative director,” she says, smiling at me. “We’re so excited to have you take part in our shoot today. Come on back.”
“Nice to meet you, Jillian. And I’m happy to be involved,” I say.
I follow Jillian back to the studio, where a photo shoot is going on right now. First, I notice it’s freezing in here. Music from the band Muse is blaring loudly. And then I realize who I’m watching. The photographer is taking pictures of Harrison Flynn. I know it’s him because of the infamous red hair and the jersey he’s wearing. Lexi is going to totally freak.
A pretty brunette with a black sheath dress and a vintage-style red and pink hearts apron is with him, her tape measure wrapped around Harrison as she pretends to pull him closer to her.
“As you can see we’re shooting Harrison and Kylie Flynn right now,” she says. “They’re our Valentine’s Day couple for the spread. Kylie is an apron designer, so we thought this would be a cute photo for them to do.”
I nod as I watch them. Harrison has his hand around his wife’s waist, and they’re laughing and joking and I can see how much he loves her when he looks at her.
For a moment, I wonder what that’s like. To have a man gaze at you with nothing but love in his eyes. I thought I’d experienced that before, but not really. Not love for the real me, the inside me—
“Kenley, if you’ll come this way, we have some outfits for you to try on,” Jillian says, interrupting my thoughts.
I follow her to an area and see a few other people milling around, no doubt other participants in the shoot.
“I brought an outfit,” I say. “It’s a pink cashmere cardigan, very Valentine-ish, and—”
“Oh, we have something special for you,” she says breezily, moving toward a rack and flipping to a tag that says ‘Kenley’ on it.
“Hey, Jillian, after you review the Flynn pictures, do you want to do Nate Johansson next?” the photographer yells out.
Jillian reaches for a hanger. “Yes, Todd, that sounds excellent.” Then she turns to me. “While you go into wardrobe and makeup, we’ll shoot Nate, and then you’ll be up.”
I nod, although I have no idea who Nate is other than some hockey player. I remember Lexi being very excited about him being traded here two months ago. But I couldn’t pick the guy out of a lineup if I had to.
I wonder if he has all his teeth, I muse.
“Here’s the concept,” Jillian says, whipping out a miniscule black slip dress. “You’re going to be the Seductress of Chocolate.”
“W-What? What do you mean?” I ask.
“Kenley, you’re a gorgeous woman. When we first heard of you, of how breathtaking you were and how you worked with chocolate
, we immediately knew we wanted to play that up as part of our feature.”
My hopes—of being seen as something other than the hot girl—are folding like a soufflé gone wrong. Collapsing all around me as I realize they want me to be sexy and slutty and nothing more than a pretty prop.
“Excuse me, I have to see these pictures for a moment,” Jillian says, thrusting the dress in my hand.
I put down my cooler and tote, then hang the garment bag up on the rack. I hold out the dress.
Christ, it’s miniscule. Who could fit into this?
Claire could, I think, visualizing my niece. But she’s four.
I stretch it out, and there is no way my boobs are going to stay in place in this thing. And I’m only a B-cup!
The music changes to DJ Snake and Lil Jon and Jillian returns.
“I don’t think this dress reflects who I am as a businesswoman,” I say, using the calmest, most rational voice I can muster. “I do, however, have a pink cashmere cardigan from J. Crew that would work perfectly with my Trina Turk dress with a flared skirt.”
Jillian twists her lips in thought. “Well, that’s not the vision we had in mind. Let me have Todd explain it to you.”
“No, I understand perfectly fine,” I say, my voice growing firmer. “I’m simply telling you I have reservations about this dress.”
Or lack of it.
Jillian acts as though she doesn’t hear me, and we walk over to Todd, who is showing pictures to Harrison and Kylie.
“Todd, I’m so sorry to interrupt, but this is Kenley Hunter of Confection Consultations,” Jillian says, her voice taking on a soothing tone.
