by RJ Scott
Nicky punched him as he hobbled around the island in the middle of their kitchen. “You gave her the wrong jersey,” he grumbled.
Ryan feigned being hurt and then turned to face them, his gaze focused on Kat. “She wouldn’t want to admit to being related to you,” he teased.
She held out her fist and he bumped it, like normal. When they weren’t arguing between them, they liked nothing more than ganging up on Nicky. Time-honored tradition.
“When are you moving out?” Nicky snapped back. He limped in, falling into his usual place in the right-hand corner of the huge black sofa.
The huge place was laughably male: dark furniture, white walls and tiles, and a gleaming silver kitchen. Every so often, Kat would sneak in splashes of color—the scarlet cushions that Nicky was leaning against were all her doing.
“Soon as I find a house like here where I don’t pay rent.” Ryan smirked. “You want coffee, Kat?”
She nodded and he pulled a mug from the cupboard. It never failed to make her smile when she saw the thirty or so Dragons mugs in there, alongside Dragons tea towels and Dragons cutlery. The boys basically took everything the Dragons put logos on and gave away for free.
Beats paying for it, Nicky had once said.
She leaned on the counter next to Ryan. “Okay?” she asked.
He looked right at her. “You being nice to me, Kitty Kat?” he teased as he would have normally done. As he did whenever he was here with her and Nicky.
“Once,” she responded quickly. “Don’t expect it again.”
He grinned at her and looked back over his shoulder at Nicky, who was now dozing on the sofa in front of some home improvement show.
They didn’t have to act if he couldn’t hear, but what if he did? What if he wasn’t actually asleep?
Ryan must have had the same thoughts because he didn’t immediately act on the heat in his eyes, although when he passed her the coffee, he brushed his hand on hers. The shock of the touch was enough to have her needing a kiss.
He must have guessed what she thought because his gaze dipped to her lips and he abruptly turned away. “You want to take this outside?” he asked instead.
The house had a patio area with a heater and a grill. No pool, but the lake was a short walk over parkland. Kat had known Nicky and Ryan went swimming in the icy waters.
She hesitated by Nicky, stroking his hair back from his forehead. She could tell he was asleep—years of practice sharing a room with her protective brother. He didn’t even move when she pressed a kiss to the top of his head.
After she had grabbed a blanket from the sofa, she followed Ryan outside. The blanket was the scarlet and black of the Dragons, typically. Kat sat in the chair nearest the heater.
Summers in Vermont were beautiful, but a patio this close to the house was in the shade in the day, and she always got chilled sitting out here when darkness fell.
Ryan pulled shut the patio doors and took the chair next to her.
“How are you?” He looked at her so earnestly, not touching her, just watching. “How was shift?”
She could do this; she could talk about the people she’d seen today in broad strokes. “This guy tried to abseil down the side of his building. But that wasn’t the worst of it. He was dressed as Spiderman, all ready to propose to his girlfriend in the second-floor apartment. He got stuck and the fire guys had to get him down. He broke his wrist where the rope caught him. Poor guy.”
“Grand gesture went wrong, then.”
“Yeah, big time.”
He didn’t press for more; he never did, for all his teasing and poking at her, he never asked her whenever he saw her after a shift. But something inside her wanted to share.
“Was called out to a heart attack as well. Sad, an eighty-two-year-old man. His wife was eighty last September. They’d been married sixty years.”
“Was it a bad one?”
She nodded, recalling the way the wife had sat with her husband, holding his hand as he died, her back straight, smiling so it would be the last thing he saw.
“But a good one too,” she said as if that would make sense to Ryan. “They’d had so many good years—grandchildren, great-grandchildren. Those ones are okay. It’s the kids we lose that are the really hard ones.”
Where was this all coming from? She didn’t share with anyone, never mind Ryan. She knew what people thought about her being a paramedic. Hell, the minute people found out who her brother was, they couldn’t believe she didn’t just live off him.
“I admire what you do.”
“But you’re as bad as Nicky at wanting me to give it up.”
He huffed a little and hunched forward in his chair. “Not for the same reasons,” he said, but he didn’t expand.
“Nicky doesn’t want me to do anything that means he has to let me out of the cotton wool he wants to wrap me in.”
“You don’t blame him for that, though?” Ryan looked serious as he said it. “He’s been parents and brother to you for so many years. You’re the last thing he has, the most precious thing in his life. I get that.”
“I know.” She smiled at the way Ryan was defending his best friend in the entire world—no exaggeration on her part. “So how do you feel about it, then?” She was curious to see how he was different from Nicky.
“Sorry?”
“You said, and I quote, ‘not for the same reasons.’” She even added one-handed air quotes, her coffee wobbling in the other hand. “And if you start the explanation with I’m like a sister to you—”
He looked horrified and then a little sheepish. Nicky often teased that Kat had two brothers, and Ryan would do anything for her.
And then Ryan dipped his gaze and looked everywhere except at her, tapping his fingers on the side of the chair. “You make me laugh.”
She placed the coffee on the table. This sounded like it was going to be good. “I make you laugh?”
“I recall the first time I met you, you remember? Freezing cold day and my team lost 11–3 to his team, and your brother was so pissed when I hooked him.”
“You were a kid. You weren’t supposed to be hooking other kids.”
“He was way too good, and my team was losing with a capital L. Anyway, it was an accident. And after we were done shouting, we grinned, and it was done.”
“You’re still saying it’s an accident, then.”
He ignored her. “I recall you came over after the game and fussed around him, and he was trying to be this big guy who could handle a two-inch gash in his shin, and you turned to me…. You remember what you said?”
“Absolutely. I know I looked at you, and I was so angry that you’d done it, and with as much sarcasm as I could muster, I told you it was very clever.”
“You were so tiny, and you looked at me like I was dirt, and I knew, even though I was older, and heavier, and taller, and a boy, that you could knock me on my ass.”
“Boys were always easy to topple.” She smirked. “Girls know all the ways to level a man.”
He leaned toward her and glanced through the doors. Seemingly satisfied that Nicky was asleep, he shuffled his chair a little closer.
“What would you do now? To bring me to my knees?”
Heat pooled in her, and she squirmed at the lowered voice and the promise of sin in Ryan’s eyes. He was teasing her, lowering the tone, wanting her to flounder at the power he had over her. She rose to it, just like he probably knew she would.
“First off,” she said, leaning into him a little, “I’d step right close and get my hands on your fly, and then I’d slip the buttons and pull the material so it dipped to your hips. Then….” She trailed away.
He blinked at her. “Then what?”
“I’d have to think. How bad were you to me?”
“Very bad,” he whispered.
“Then I’d make you put your hands flat on the counter.”
“This is in the kitchen?”
“Uh-huh. I’d tell you not to move, and you w
ouldn’t. You’d leave your hands there, and I would get my hands on you, pull you out enough so I could get my lips around you, and I would suck you until all you could say was my name over and over…. And then, when you were going to come, I would let you go… and I would walk away.”
Ryan pressed a hand to his groin. “Fuck,” he near whined.
“And then….”
“There’s more?”
“Oh yeah, there’s more.” She didn’t know where she was getting this from, this fantasy where she brought a man to his knees with need for what she could give him. “I’d pull off your jersey and lean on the opposite counter, and I’d push my hands down the front of my sweats, and I’d tell you not to move, and I’d rub myself….”
A full whine—and Ryan abruptly stood. “I need to show you something,” he snapped.
“What?” She looked up at him innocently.
He held out a hand and she took it, and he tugged her down the yard to the lake lookout and the trees that gave the house privacy. As soon as they were out of sight of the house, he pushed her, none too gently, against a tree. “Do it,” he said. His voice brooked no argument. “Touch yourself.”
She should feel embarrassed. She’d never done this, not with her college boyfriend, not with Evan. But the way Ryan was looking at her, as if he wanted to devour her, had her loosening her sweats, and slowly she pushed a hand in. She was wet, just at the thought of what he could do to her, and she pushed the sweats lower.
“Ryan?” she asked uncertainly.
“Show me how you get off when you’re on your own. Show me where I need to put my hands, my mouth.”
Oh fuck, she was going to come just from his words alone, but she pressed against herself, pushing aside the soft cotton, showing him what she was doing, and he was mesmerized, staring at her, staying back with his hands in fists at his side.
“Ryan…”
“Go on.” He stepped a little closer, pressing a hand on his fly and biting his lower lip.
Heat pooled in her, she was wet and needy and orgasm was so close.
“I don’t want this alone,” she murmured, as she dipped fingers inside and pressed her thumb to her clit. “Please.”
And that was it. Ryan went to his knees, and the big man was right at the core of her. He pressed his thumbs to her hipbones, just watching.
“You kill me,” he muttered. He leaned in, his tongue pushing aside her thumb, and with his tongue and her fingers, his hands holding her hips, she peaked and pressed hard against his face, biting back the groan of completion.
The wash of orgasm had her stumbling, but he caught her and held her as he pushed a hand into his jeans and finished himself off, all the time looking up at her through hooded eyes.
Ryan Flynn was here, on his knees, this big strong man who could change a game by easily pushing a skater into the boards.
And she had done that.
He pressed his face to her belly, to her shirt, and then he stood on wobbly legs and held her tight, and buried his face in her hair.
“Fuck” was all he could say.
Yep. That pretty much sums it up.
CHAPTER 12
Somehow they kept the secret they were together, but how they managed it, Ryan didn’t know. They still texted jokes, sarcasm, and news, and twice in the last week they’d managed a few hours together.
What they were doing was mind-blowing. Every part of Ryan was alive with the fact he was with Kat. Training camp was brutal and consumed every ounce of energy he had, which, added to her shifts, cut into the time they had together. But hell, every spare minute they could find, they met up.
And yes, the guilt was there. Every time Loki looked at him a certain way or started up the teasing—Loki wouldn’t leave the mystery-girlfriend idea alone—Ryan felt like he didn’t deserve his happiness. Loki constantly teased Ryan, chirping at him, saying he wanted to meet this girl who’d held Ryan’s attention way more than a puck bunny would. Ryan pushed away the need to explain every time Loki said anything; he griped instead about there being no fucking secrets on the team.
Ryan compartmentalized the two things that centered him: the burning need for Kat versus the team and Loki. Never more so than now, when the team were getting on his back for the mystery girl. They were running shoot-out drills, and as a defenseman, Ryan was less likely to be called in a real shoot-out situation, but he was involved in the drill, because last season he’d actually managed to get five goals and twice as many assists on the board. He wasn’t a two-way guy like some other Ds were, but he could pull shots out if he needed to.
“Your turn, loser. The net is the thing down at the other end.”
Simba tapped Ryan’s stick, and Ryan sent him the dirtiest look he could muster. Simba chuckled at the look; nothing fazed him, not even a surly defenseman who’d already missed four shots out of five.
“Fuckface,” Ryan muttered, then collected the puck on his stick and began to skate down to where Drago occupied the net.
Drago was one of the best goalies in the Eastern Conference, a commanding presence for any skater to go up against. The Dragons had so nearly made the playoffs largely because of Drago and his shutouts, when he let nothing past him. Fast and determined, the forwards made the Dragons’ goals, and solid and strong Drago guarded the net like a real dragon guarding his hoard. Hence his nickname, which someone had said was a name that suited a dragon.
That was, of course, after no one could agree on how to actually say the word Smaug, the name of the dragon from Lord of the Rings.
Ryan played with the puck, knocking it off his skate, turning side to side. He’d tried all kinds of combinations that morning: the hard slam from a distance, the force of a shot right up in Drago’s space, the sneaky side shot—hell, he’d done that one twice. None of them worked. Clearing his head of everything but the aim of getting the puck in the net, he concentrated on the glide of his skates, the pressure on his thighs, making his focus absolute… and just as he went to take the shot, he saw Loki watching, right behind the goal.
And everything went to shit.
Fuck knows where the puck went, but he knew it was bad when Drago fell on his back snorting with laughter, and Simba’s booming laugh echoed from his end of the rink.
“What the hell do you call that?” Drago spluttered between laughs.
“Fuck you,” Ryan said without heat. He skated straight back, collecting another puck and jumping his turn.
Arkin, all curly hair and wide smiles, chirped something about D-men and turn-taking, but stopped when Ryan glared at him. He didn’t look cowed, but he did back off a bit, with an accompanying smile of acceptance.
That kid was way too confident and needed to remember who was part of the first D-pair on the team.
This time, Ryan blanked out Loki sitting there watching, Simba shouting, and Arkin chirping, and he focused as he would if it were game seven of the Stanley Cup Final. With absolute determination, he concentrated and everything narrowed down to Drago and the net.
With smooth glides, Ryan sent the puck down in front of him, stick-handling it as he skated, slowly, and Drago went back into the net. Ryan feinted left, saw Drago tense that side, and with a hard shot, he sent the puck top right and straight past the goalie.
Okay, so Drago was still likely laughing from before and maybe he’d been distracted. But Ryan celebrated in style, punching the air, and he skated smugly back to the rest of the team, and tapped Arkin on the head. “Your turn now, kid.”
Arkin took his turn, slid the puck right into the five hole, and Drago stopped it as if it were nothing.
“Too bad, rookie,” Ryan chirped. “You can go again if you like,” he added magnanimously.
Arkin looked uncertainly from Ryan to Simba and then to the queue of others waiting their turn.
“Leave the kid alone,” Simba said with a laugh.
Arkin skated to the back of the line and started chatting to Karly, who had yet to clear a shot.
“Less chatting, more watching,” Simba said.
Karly nodded. He wasn’t a rookie, but Simba’s word was law. And then he lowered his voice to Ryan. “We call them kids, but you realize the rookie is only four years younger than us, right?”
They shook heads at each other, then concentrated back on training.
What Ryan did do was make sure he took Arkin to one side. After all, he was a new defenseman, and Ryan wanted to make sure there was nothing going on in Arkin’s head after the shutdown earlier. Karly skated away, leaving the two of them together, talking for the first time in a while. Arkin had been drafted the previous year, had spent time on the farm team, and was good, fast, and focused; he would be an asset to the first team.
“You okay, kid?” Ryan asked.
Arkin nodded. “Good.”
“Saw you with Karly. You’re strong, but watch your outside edge.”
Arkin, still nodding, shifted from skate to skate. He wasn’t as big as Ryan, but he had some growing to do, in weight, mostly. He wasn’t a danger to Ryan’s starts this year, but next? That was another thing altogether.
They bumped helmets, and Arkin grinned.
As Ryan skated away to selection for the pickup, he felt good. He’d done something for one of the young kids, and after his NHL experience, he felt like he had years of knowledge to pass down. He was likely halfway through his career with the amount of crap he pulled on his body. He was a freaking veteran and he was only in his mid-twenties.
When he looked up as they began their game, Loki had vanished, probably for more physio. Seeing Loki there had fucked with his head; all he could think about was how Loki had looked at him encouragingly and how much Ryan was chancing by seeing his sister behind his back.
Tell him. What can he do? He’ll hit you, that’s a given. But maybe he’ll come around?
Nope. Ryan wasn’t seeing that happening. He just saw himself betraying a promise to look out for Kat, and so destroying his friendship with Loki.
Fucked. Completely and utterly screwed.
