Page 4 of Shattered On Ice

Nico snickers, wing forgotten. Rook looks at Campbell’s retreating back with a sneer, before finally untangling himself and standing. He looks like he’s ready to go after his linemate. I begin to move, planning to intercept Rook so the imminent fight doesn’t break out and destroy my house. A soft voice curls into my ears, freezing me in place and caressing my brain like the comment was meant for me.

“Think about it first,” Knight says calmly, his voice low and soothing.

He’s leaning back against the couch, fingers laced together. So effortlessly chill, like the tension in the room didn’t just spike to nuclear levels we can all feel, the intensity oozing around us, making us squirm with anticipation and nervous energy. Rook hesitates, his fists balling up like Campbell’s before he left.

Knight catches Rook’s eye, and something passes between them. “Are you going to take on someone else’s fight because of your history with the guy? Why make it worse when the situation has already de-escalated?” He waves his hand and looks down, like this is a casual conversation that doesn’t require direct eye contact. “You’re better than that. You should prove it.”

I watch as the taunt hits Rook, his spine straightening in response to the challenge and the obvious struggle he experiences. Finally, he shakes his head and turns back to the kitchen, where he grabs another plate of wings, as if he wasn’t just wrestling over a single stolen wing, or about to get into an actual fight.

I turn fully to stare at Knight in wonder at the power his simple words and calm demeanor have over his brother. Rook would normally have stormed after Campbell and tried to beat the shit out of the guy to right the perceived wrong. It’s amazing to watch him give up this fight so easily.

The buzz of conversation rises again, the tension that had ratcheted up in the room dissipating, smooth as smoke airing out a window. Knight looks up and catches my eye again. I blink to break our stare, cheeks heating as I’m caught. I turn abruptly to follow Rook into the kitchen, intent on discovering if it’s that easy to avert his attention away from a fight. I’ll have to figure out how to casually adopt Knight’s skills at diversion for ice time to keep the big defenders from killing each other next season. That’s all this is. I’m just curious for our team. I shake my head to rid myself of the pull Knight seems to have on my attention.

“You good?” I ask, opening the fridge and pulling out a couple of sparkling waters.

“I hate that guy. He thinks he’s better than everyone when he’s just a dumb asshole who wants to hurt people’s feelings. He’s always the first to lash out because he’s insecure.” Rook tosses another wing onto his plate and grabs a container of bleu cheese before straightening and leaning back against the counter across from me.

“You don't have to be the one to fix him, you know.” I hand Rook his favorite lime sparkling water and lean next to him. I don't think he’ll listen to me the way he did to his brother, but it’s worth a shot. I sip my water and hope for the best.

“I’m not trying to fix him,” Rook growls. “I want him to stop being a dick and treat people the way he wants to be treated, ya know?”

“I know, buddy,” I say quietly, patting Rook’s shoulder. “But maybe it’s not on you to be the one who makes that happen. Campbell will figure it out with or without us. We might as well ignore his shitty attitude and carry on.”

“Easy for you to say when he’s not focusing most of his shitty attitude on you,” Rook grumbles, pushing off the counter and leaving the kitchen with his new plate of wings.

Well, that didn’t go as well as I’d hoped. Guess that’s why I don't have a psych degree and play hockey for a living. Much easier to check guys into the boards and score points than to change attitudes and make people turn the other cheek. I sigh and take the now empty plate to the sink.

“Need some help cleaning up in here?”

I turn quickly when the new voice hits me and find Knight leaning on the other side of the island, casually looking around the kitchen as if he knows direct eye contact would be too much for me right now. He looks so at ease, all loose limbs and perfectly polished attire, while I’m strung tight and jumpy, wondering if he’s caught me looking at him more than I realized. Or, even worse, he’s somehow aware that I’ve been half hard since he arrived. I’ve never been this off-kilter around a guy before. I’m so self-aware of my every movement and of him.

Why is his presence so big? He’s physically smaller than me, but it feels like he’s taking up all the space in the kitchen despite being five feet away. It’s stupid, really, because he probably doesn’t even see me as anything other than a dumb hockey player and friend of his brother’s. There’s no way he’d be into me. I glance at him again despite my desire to play it cool. He catches this one, too, and my cheeks heat as I drop my gaze.

“Do you keep looking at me like that to see what differences there are between fraternal twins, or do I have something on my face that I’m unaware of?” His smile is playful when I whip my head up at his condemning question.

My ears are burning red-hot now that I know he caught me looking earlier. But this is the opening I need, and a reckless bravery takes over where I would normally hold back out of fear. “I can’t help looking at the hottest guy in the room,” I say honestly, keeping my voice low and trying to hold back the tremor in my words as I look at him. He’s close enough that I can smell the clean, spicy scent of his cologne that’s nearly as intoxicating as his direct gaze.

He tilts his head and appraises me, his eyes growing hooded and a smirk turning up the corners of his lips. He looks back over his shoulder, maybe to be sure Rook and the other guys aren't paying attention to us. Once he’s sure we’re unobserved, he turns to me with his dimples on full display, and I know I’m about to do something very stupid for those damn dimples alone.

“You like what you see, Westin?” he asks, his tone flirty and taking me by surprise as he uses my full name.

Everyone else just calls me Westy. It feels nice to hear my real name come out of those beautiful lips. Like I’m better than the busted hockey player I am. That could also be a result of the beers I’ve had. I’m not drunk, but maybe I’ve had enough to hear more than I should in innocent words from a pretty stranger I should stay away from. Still, his response makes me bolder than I’ve been in ages, and I act without thinking it through.

I push Knight up against the refrigerator, where we’re out of sight of the rest of the guys, but still where anyone can walk around the corner and catch us. His breath hitches as he freezes. His hands come up flat against my chest as he holds me back from fully plastering my body against his.

I match his stillness, holding myself back and blinking to clear my head. Did I move too fast? Is he also terrified of Rook coming around the corner and catching us?

Slowly, his breathing evens out, his face relaxing from the wide-eyed brink of panic to soft, hooded, and full of attraction. Finally, he smirks like this is exactly what he wanted. I let my breath out slowly at his response. I was worried I came on too strong, but it must have been surprise at the abruptness of my actions because it’s melted into something far more interested. His interest means everything to me. I’m willing to act with reckless abandon to explore it while I can.

I bend my head down to his, careful not to touch him, and breathe in his shaky exhale. He smells like beer and bergamot, a strange combination that feels more like an aphrodisiac than it should. This is way more daring than I’d be with a stranger, and I don't know what it is about Knight that caused this response, but I can’t stop now.

Tabarnak.

“Évidemment, I do,” I murmur distractedly, running my nose along his ear as I slip into a mix of Québécois French and English that only shows up when I’m most flustered or passionate. “And I really want to taste these goddamn lips that keep smirking at everyone’s jokes and teasing the shit out of me.”

“Mmm, that’s hot. I like it when you use French and say everything you think.” He chuckles before looking up at me from under his dark lashes. “Maybe…you should do that,” he says slowly. It’s almost like he’s testing the idea before tilting his head the barest amount so our lips nearly brush on my next exhale.

Fuck, he’s beautiful, and receptive, and right here. Every part of me is screaming to kiss him, and I want to. My hand moves of its own accord, skimming his side in my quest to touch his face, to bring him closer so I can brand him as mine.