On Thin Ice (A Dallas Demons Hockey Romance)

by Aven Ellis

  Tell him this and I’ll lose him.

  I close my eyes and try to ignore the sick feeling in my stomach. Matt will take it all wrong. He’ll be furious. And if I tell him I love him already? He’ll freak out. Matt has never been in a serious relationship in his life. Tell him I love him after being together a few days?

  I can’t.

  The only thing I can do now is trust this will all work out. That Matt will fall in love with me and dream of the same future together. That we can convince Nate we’re good together. While we don’t make sense on paper, we work as a couple. That we’ve both wanted this for years and now that it’s happening, we know our hearts were right all along.

  It will work out. I refuse to think anything otherwise.

  I clear those thoughts and before I can reply to Matt’s text, he drops me another one.

  What socks are you wearing, sexy lady?

  I grin and reply:

  Wouldn’t you like to know?

  Matt fires back:

  I would. Picture?

  I’m dying. This is what I mean. Nobody in their right mind would think that wild, partying Matt Rhinelander would tease his girlfriend about socks and find it entertaining.

  But it’s so us.

  I reply:

  I don’t know if you can handle it at the restaurant. You might get hot. The guys might think you’re looking at porn.

  I sit up so I can tug off my boots. After all, my man wants a picture of my socks, the least I can do is give it to him.

  Beep!

  Your socks are my porn, baby.

  I burst out laughing and compose myself so I can take a picture of my feet, which are adorned with knee-high pink socks with tabby cats printed all over them. I snap a picture, attach it to my text, and shoot Matt a message.

  I’m sure your porn bubble has just burst.

  I crack up, waiting to see what he says. He doesn’t take long to respond.

  I’m trying so hard not to laugh I almost choked on my eggs.

  Ha! Another message comes in.

  Sweetheart, I’ve got to finish up here. Going to practice soon. Message me later. With another pic of sexy socks. ;-)

  I type back:

  Play your cards right and I’ll answer the door when you come home in nothing but over-the-knee socks.

  Beep!

  Don’t torture me. If I think about that I’ll never get through this road trip without going crazy.

  I blush, pleased that I’m the woman who can do that to him.

  We say goodbye, and I put down my phone. I still can’t believe I can make Matt feel this way. Full of passion and desire, just by being who I am. Socks, topknot, glasses—he embraces it all.

  Matt embraces me.

  I draw my knees to my chest, hugging them tightly. I love him so much for that. For allowing me to be me and falling for the woman I already am inside.

  I can’t believe how much things have changed. It’s insane. I have a whole new life! I have a home in Dallas. A car. I’m taking baby steps to deal with my social anxiety. I have a coffee date with a new friend, one I hope to get to know much better.

  Most of all, I have Matt. And he’s everything I ever dreamed he could be.

  Determination fills me. I love my new life.

  And I refuse to let anything change it.

  Chapter 22

  I take a moment to gather myself in my car before heading into the coffee shop to meet Reese. A ripple of anxiousness washes over me as it always does when I’m meeting someone new. Not like my panic attacks, of course, but a momentary feeling of unease. Will she still like me? Will we have anything to talk about? Which is stupid. We talked yesterday!

  I never went through this with Matt. We met in my mom’s kitchen and clicked. And because I thought he would never go for a girl like me, I was never nervous around him.

  Or was my lack of nervousness because I was meant to be with him all along?

  A smile spreads across my face as I get out of the car. I have no doubts we are meant to be together. Fate played a hand in our relationship, and everything we’ve both had to go through, from his social media disasters to my social anxiety, brought us together.

  It’s still cold out, but the sun is shining and the ice is now gray slush. That’s what’s great about Dallas. We get ice and snow for a day or two and then it’s gone. By the end of the week, it will be in the sixties.

  I step across some puddles and pull open the door to an independent coffee house situated near SMU.

  The small café is full of people on this weekday afternoon. Jazz music is playing, and the rich scent of brewed coffee perfumes the air.

  It doesn’t take me long to find Reese. She’s parked herself at the countertop facing the street outside. The fact that she’s so stunning makes her hard to miss. Her jet-black hair is pulled up into a . . . topknot. Just like mine.

  Friendship destiny?

  Perhaps, I think, smiling to myself.

  Reese is dressed in a split-neck navy athletic top with thumbhole cuffs covering the tops of her fingers. Gray leggings cover her long legs, and a pair of gold New Balance kicks are on her feet. She’s a cover girl image for athleisure wear.

  I head her way, trying to keep my expectations in check. I mentally re-frame my thoughts so they are positive:

  It’s coffee. Just two girls hanging out.

  Reese might be a model, but she is still a person.

  She’s a person I happen to like.

  I focus on these thoughts and put a smile on my face as I greet her.

  “Hey,” I say, setting my tote down next to her on the countertop.

  Reese looks at me, and a smile lights up her face. “Topknot twins!”

  I feel all my anxiety slip away with her words.

  “Indeed,” I say, laughing.

  Reese gets up and gives me a hug. “So good to see you today. I desperately needed a coffee break this afternoon. My ten o’clock sucked the life out of me.”

  “Me too,” I say, shimmying out of my coat and draping it over the high-backed chair. “My brain is swirling from what happened this morning, so a chai tea might help settle me.”

  “About some certain blond who we shall not name in public?” Reese asks, her green eyes sparkling.

  “Nooooo,” I say, grinning. “I got a huge present today, completely unexpected. I’ll tell you about it over drinks.”

  “Oh, what did you get?” she asks as we head to the counter. “Jewelry?”

  “No,” I say. “Not jewelry.”

  “Shoes? I swear I like shoes better than jewelry.”

  “Definitely not shoes.”

  Reese creases her brow as if she can’t think of something more amazing than shoes for a gift.

  “A trip?”

  “No, and not a trip to Italy to buy a custom pair of shoes,” I tease.

  “Oh, would that not be the most amazing trip ever?” Reese asks, waving her hands animatedly. “I was watching an old episode on Food Network where Giada De Laurentiis was getting custom sandals made in Capri. Can you imagine?”

  “Do you like Giada?” I ask, curious.

  “I am obsessed with Giada,” Reese says, her eyes bright. “She cooks, she wears amazing clothing, and she does yoga. I swear I want to be her when I grow up.”

  “Um . . . would you ladies like to order?”

  The barista is waiting on us to do something other than discuss the amazing Giada De Laurentiis.

  “Go ahead,” I say to Reese.

  She steps up and orders a coconut milk mocha latte, then she moves down to the pastry case to study options.

  I make a mental note about the shoes in Capri. JP Rochat might need to know that someday.


  What am I thinking? Just because I saw sparks doesn’t mean anything will happen between Reese and JP. It’s certainly a leap to think they’d end up sandal shopping in Capri.

  But I’m a writer. I love scripting romantic happy endings.

  “Oh, and add an Oreo cupcake, please,” Reese says, interrupting my thoughts. She turns to me. “You need to get one. They are freaking fantastic.”

  I study Reese’s perfect athletic frame and can’t believe she eats cupcakes.

  “I’m a model who eats,” Reese says, reading my mind.

  “Sorry,” I say, cringing. “I always thought models were super strict about their diets.”

  “One of a million stereotypes,” she says, shrugging. “I love food. And balance.”

  I nod and place my order for a chai tea latte and, of course, an Oreo cupcake.

  We move down the counter and while one barista works on our drinks, the other retrieves two dark chocolate cupcakes, thick with creamy vanilla frosting and flecked with crushed Oreo cookies.

  “I live for these,” Reese says, taking her plate. “When you break open the middle, it’s filled with the same Oreo cream. Love.”

  Soon we have our drinks and are back at our seats. Reese takes her finger, scoops up some icing, and pops it in her mouth.

  “Ohhhh,” she moans blissfully. “I die every time.”

  I glance down the counter, and I see a fraternity boy studying Reese with lust in his eyes. It’s all I can do not to laugh.

  “Um, are you aware the guy down the counter is wishing he was cupcake frosting right now?” I tease.

  “Don’t ruin this orgasmic moment with my frosting.”

  I burst out laughing, and she does, too.

  “So, what’s the gift?” Reese asks, unwrapping the paper around her cupcake.

  “My brother,” I say, taking a sip of my latte, “got me a car this morning.”

  Reese’s eyes widen. “For real?”

  “Yes!” I exclaim. “A brand-new Volvo. It’s a graduation present. It was a total surprise.”

  “Wow, that’s awesome,” Reese declares. “That means you’re totally driving when we go on a girls’ night out.”

  I grin, my anxiety about meeting up with Reese again completely gone.

  We’re definitely friends.

  And I think we might become the best of friends before I know it.

  After a second round of drinks, Reese and I moved on to bottled waters. We’ve been talking for hours now, and aside from Matt, I’ve never talked this easily to anyone in my life.

  I found myself sharing things with Reese that I’d normally never talk about. From growing up in Nate’s shadow to university horrors to dating to the pressures of knowing the real world was coming and trying to figure out how to live the lives we want.

  We talked about Matt in code—using CiCi’s nickname “The Wild One.” I told her how we met and how the connection was instant, but neither one of us thought the other could be romantically interested. How Matt went down a wild path, and I drew inward, both as ways to protect ourselves. Finally, I told her the story of how we got together and explained that if we keep progressing, we’ll tell the world, but not yet. Reese totally understood.

  I learned that Reese broke up with her last boyfriend over a year ago because he wasn’t what she was looking for. Finding a new guy has been difficult for her.

  “I thought it would be easy for you,” I say, taking a sip of my bottled water.

  “It’s shit,” Reese says. “Men don’t approach me at all. They might stare, but they never talk to me. Jordan says I’m intimidating.”

  JP wasn’t intimidated to talk to Reese last night.

  And they flirted with each other . . .

  I decide to test the waters.

  “What do you think of set ups?” I ask.

  I mentally become Cupid and get out an arrow to shoot at JP on her behalf.

  Reese rolls her eyes. “No. Last night was my last attempt. I only agreed because Jordan insisted. I’m over that. I have done everything, and I haven’t even come close to finding what I’m looking for.”

  “What are you looking for?” I ask, curious.

  “Someone who is strong. Determined. Not intimidated by an equally strong woman. He can’t mind someone who talks. He has to be quick thinking. Athletic. Funny. Tall,” Reese says, arching an eyebrow at me.

  I laugh. “Does he have to love Oreos?”

  Reese grins back at me. “That’s not a deal breaker, but a definite bonus.”

  “That doesn’t sound impossible. But you have to put yourself out there to find him.”

  “I’m tired of it, though,” Reese says, sighing heavily. “I’m only twenty-one, yet in my heart I want what you have with The Wild One. I want to share my experiences with someone. I’ve been looking to date because I crave that so much. But after experiencing disasters on all fronts, I’m finished with online dating, singles meet-ups, college boys. I’m becoming a nun. I’ll share life experiences with the sisters in the convent.”

  I giggle. “Didn’t you say you were Methodist?”

  “You’re a smart girl. Have you not heard of converting?”

  “I don’t think you need to become a nun.”

  “Okay, that might be a bit dramatic, but I’m done with dating. D-o-n-e.”

  Dammit. I can tell if I even suggested JP, Reese would veto the idea instantly.

  “In fact, the thought of going on another set up makes me want to eat another cupcake,” she says, her head swiveling toward the pastry counter. She turns back to me. “If I go to an extra barre class this week, I can have it, right?”

  My ears perk up.

  “You take barre?” I ask.

  “I do. And yoga,” she says. “I’m an athletic junkie. It helps with my Oreo addiction.”

  “I’ve wanted to take barre for a long time,” I admit. “I’m intimidated by going to a class.”

  Reese grabs my arm. “Okay, we’re getting that word out of your vocabulary. No more being intimidated. You can come to class with me on Thursday! I’ll get you a guest pass.”

  Excitement fills me. I’m still nervous about going to a barre class and looking like a fool, but knowing Reese is there will make it easier.

  “Would you mind?” I ask.

  “No, it would be fab,” Reese says excitedly. “I hope you don’t mind it’s an early class. I have to fit it in before school. Six o’clock in Uptown.”

  “No, I can do that. If you promise coffee afterward.”

  “Yes, we can grab coffee,” Reese says, swiping things on her phone. “I’m texting you the studio info now. You’re going to love it!”

  I smile. I’m actually going to take a barre class.

  I can’t wait to tell Matt later tonight about the next baby step I’m taking in fighting my social anxiety.

  Chapter 23

  The Game Plan for January 8th

  √Run errands like crazy so I can move into my new house. Buy trash cans, sheets, towels, groceries, cleaning supplies.

  √Pick up dinner at Central Market because I will have no energy to cook.

  Off night for Matt in Cleveland, big messaging session planned for tonight.

  Text him a pic of sexy socks.

  Tease him with promise of topknot shot if he plays his cards right.

  √^Laugh at what I just wrote.

  “I hate that we have to keep meeting in secret,” Heath said, stroking his fingers through my hair. “Why can’t you come back home with me? I want nothing more than to be with you. I want to bring you back to my people, sweet Calla.”

  Calla’s throat tightened in fear. Heath still didn’t know she was a fairy. She hated deceiving him, but sh
e’d never dreamed she would fall in love with him, either.

  “You know why it’s best we keep it secret,” she said, cupping his strong face in her hands. “My parents demand I marry another. I need time to persuade them this marriage is not what is best for the kingdom. That is the only way I can be free for you.”

  While that was true, Calla also knew her parents would never allow their fairy princess to marry a dragon slayer. Would Heath still love her if he knew the truth? That she was a fairy with shape-shifting skills? A mortal enemy of his people?

  Most of all, would he love her if he knew she had kept her identity a secret all this time?

  He might never forgive her.

  Yet for his love, it was a risk Calla was willing to take.

  A chill sweeps over me as I read that last line. My book is blurring too much with my own reality, and I need to step back from it for a while.

  Heath will soon discover Calla’s lie. And it will be a horrible black moment for the lovers. Because this is my story and a work of fiction, the black moment will be resolved with a happy ending.

  But I’m not sure if Matt would ever forgive me if he found out about the arrangement I agreed to with Harrison and Nate.

  I save the document and close my laptop. No. Not going there. We vowed to keep it a secret, and that’s the way it’s going to stay.

  I get up off the sofa, studying my new living room as a distraction. I still can’t believe I live here. The home I’m taking care of for Harrison and Kylie is a cute Tudor-style house on Mockingbird Lane. Built in 1926, Kylie and Harrison completely re-did the interior. I study the polished, dark hardwood floors, the open-concept living room, and the kitchen with gorgeous gray cabinets and shiny, black-quartz countertops.

  The home is decorated in shades of gray, cream, and black. It is accessorized down to the smallest detail—from fresh lemons in a bowl in the kitchen to lavish bath products in the bathroom. I’ve already put the lavish stuff away—I don’t even want to know what I’d have to pay if I used them—and made a note to replace lemons when I leave in the summer.