Page 13 of Shattered On Ice

I nod, bringing my hands to my head when he lets go. I'm trying so damn hard to be effortless, but it's difficult.

“Want to get out of your head a little more?” he asks, sensing my tension.

I look at the small amber bottle he holds out and smile in relief. “I haven't used poppers since college.” I laugh and eagerly take the bottle from him. This has always helped me release my anxiety and stay in the moment. It's like he knew exactly how to help. He really is a fairy godbrother.

I inhale deeply through one nostril and then the other. Fresh and astringent, it explodes through my senses, euphoria spreading in effervescent waves from my head to my toes. I hand the bottle back to Callum, the slight brush of our fingers sending tingles up my arms from the new sensitivity. He inhales, then puts it back into his minuscule pocket before dancing again.

We spend a few more songs like this, my limbs going liquid and warm with the tequila and poppers swirling through my system, feeling the music more than hearing it now. I forget to overthink every movement. I release my inhibitions and flow rather than consider if someone likes the way I dance. I dance for me and how I want to feel. It’s freedom and a delight I haven't felt in ages.

Callum places a hand on my shoulder and leans in, grabbing my attention. “There’s a super hot guy eye fucking you right now. Like ridiculously good-looking and big enough to swallow us both. Black pants, gray button-down. Big jock. I’d be jealous, but I’m pretty sure I’m not his type since he clearly only has eyes for you.”

My steps falter, hands slowly lowering to my sides as I begin to turn. “Where?” I ask, scanning my surroundings, looking for Westin, who fits that exact description.

“You’re terrible at this.” Callum steps close, twining his arms around my shoulders until his fingers grip the back of my neck and he turns my head subtly. “Right over there, leaning against the pillar, looking like he wants to insert himself in between us so I stop touching you.”

And there he is, just as Callum said, arms crossed and glowering our way. Our eyes meet, his sparking with awareness and maybe guilt as he’s caught, but he doesn't look away. His expression lightens, becoming almost hopeful now. I'm emboldened by having a pretty stranger draped on me, with poppers and liquor warming my insides. I lift my hand from Callum’s hip and beckon him over. Those hazel eyes flare with interest as he straightens and looks around before he makes his way through the crowd toward us.

“Mind if he joins?” I ask Callum belatedly.

“Mind? Honey, that man could turn me into a pretzel, and I would say thank you, sir.”

“He probably could,” I murmur, just before Westin reaches us.

His big body effortlessly slides in behind mine, Callum moving back enough to give him room to grip my hips and pull me against his chest. Warmth rushes through me as our bodies align. His fingers are possessive and claiming as they span across my abdomen, pulling me closer until my ass presses into his crotch and he begins to move to the music. The smile Callum gives me is far too conspiratorial for a new acquaintance. He already feels like a friend I’ve known forever who helped to engineer this very outcome and is pleased with his handiwork.

“Did you want me jealous enough to come after you?” Westin growls in my ear, his lips brushing my skin with every word as he rocks along with me.

You're a predator.

My hands begin to shake immediately, a fine, uncontrollable tremor starting in my fingertips. I squeeze my eyes shut, but the darkness doesn't help—it just drags me faster into the past. The thumping bass of the club music vanishes, replaced by my brother’s betrayed voice. My body goes entirely numb. The warmth of the tequila and poppers is instantly obliterated as ice water fills my veins. I’m glued to the sticky floor, my lungs seizing. It’s happening again. Another massive, closeted hockey player using the dark of a club to take what he wants, only to turn me into a monster in the daylight.

“Hey, you okay?” Westin asks in my ear, his voice hesitant and lacking the gravel of his first question.

His hands loosen on my hips, allowing me space as I attempt to regulate my nervous system and the unwarranted reaction.

Westin isn't like that.

But he is another closeted athlete, my brain unhelpfully reminds me.

His hands are gentler now as they close over my hips, leaving a crucial few inches of space between us. He checked in. He adjusted. Westin isn't Aaron. I keep my eyes tightly shut, forcing a shaky drag of air into my burning lungs. I focus on the cautious, searing heat of his palms, using it to anchor myself until the violent trembling in my own hands subsides. Against every instinct telling me to run, I tip my head back onto his broad shoulder, letting the music and his cedar-scented cologne pull me back to the present.

“I’m good,” I assure him, squeezing his hand.

I bring an arm up and grip the back of his head, my fingers threading into his soft hair to keep him close and ground me in the moment, to keep from slipping back into the past. I’m focusing on the secure way he holds me, just tight enough that I know he’s there, without feeling trapped. I smile shyly at Callum, who’s pretending not to watch every bit of this drama play out with unsuppressed glee. He nods encouragingly, eyes wide, when they catch mine.

“You like knowing I want you for myself when you're dancing with someone else and I’m dying for you?” Westin's voice is a deep, resonant request, his hand spanning across my abdomen, flexing against me.

I react better to this question, grinding into him and swaying to the music freely instead of freezing. The resulting indulgence is enjoying the delight of every muscular ridge Westin’s worked so hard for dragging across my backside. It sets my nerve endings on fire, and sends goosebumps bursting across my skin with every new brush of skin or clothing. I’ve successfully turned my mini freak out around, and I’m feeling good instead of trapped. I tip my face toward his ear and give into everything I want.

“What if I do?”

He groans and buries his face in my neck. “You’re tempting me when I know I should stay away from you.”

Those are the very words I’ve been thinking myself. They should serve as the validation I need to keep my distance, but they do the opposite. I want him more.

“What are you going to do about it?” I taunt, fully against my better judgment as I attempt to work away from the snarling clutches of the vortex of the past.

Callum chuckles as he catches the words as well and turns away, abandoning us to dance nearby instead of holding onto me. So much for using him as my buffer to avoid giving in to Westin's pull. That went out the door as soon as I beckoned the big man over, knowing what would inevitably happen.