Page 5 of Shattered On Ice

I hear one of the dumbasses in the next room clomping toward us, getting closer, and the last thing I need is to be caught kissing Rook’s brother in my kitchen. I drop Knight’s face and spring away from him like I’ve been shot out of a cannon. I hastily pick up a dish and turn on the water at the sink for something to do. I fumble and drop the dish twice before I can figure out how to work my fingers again.

What the fuck am I doing?

I’ve spent years fighting my attraction to men, keeping everything I did under the radar. But I just risked everything—my safety, my career, and my friendship with the first guy who’s really gotten me in years—for a man I met an hour ago.

I hastily look over my shoulder and see Knight smirking knowingly before he pulls the fridge open, grabs a few bottles of beer, and holds them out to Nico, who is the source of trouble. I stay at the sink, hiding the raging hard-on that’s making a tent in my shorts.

I’m such a fucking idiot.

“Thanks, man,” Nico says, oblivious to the tension you could cut with a knife. He grabs the beers and turns back to the living room, where he continues the debate over who is going to the World Series.

I let out a giant breath once he’s gone. Knight laughs quietly as he sidles up next to me, bumping me with his shoulder. I’m gripping the granite counter edge for dear life, desperately trying to hide my excitement at the sink, but he sees anyway.

“That was close,” he whispers against my neck, a smile in his tone.

I laugh, more from nerves than humor, and shake my head, still feeling buzzy with anxiety. “It was stupid,” I say, my voice a hoarse whisper. I straighten as his hand slips into my pocket to retrieve my phone, and attempt to hold back the groan that builds in my chest when his fingers graze my groin.

“I guess we’re going to have to exchange numbers to talk through all the stupid things we could have done without an interruption.” He holds the phone out for me to unlock. I do it with shaking fingers. He taps his number into the contacts, then shows me the new addition under KS, before he deposits my phone back in my pocket with a deliberate pat.

Bubbles of anticipation rise and burst in my stomach like fizzy champagne. He gave me his number. He wants to talk to me. He seems intrigued that I nearly kissed him, and might want to make it happen. Holy shit, how did I get lucky enough that the hottest guy alive wants to talk to me?

“So, you’re into dumb guys who do stupid things they’re not supposed to?” I ask quietly, forcing a casual smile as I rub a hand across my throbbing jaw. I’m out of sorts, thrown off completely. I never act that impulsively. I don’t do things that could so easily ruin everything. Yet I was close to shattering my whole life with a single kiss from a beautiful stranger.

Because I couldn't let the opportunity pass.

He frowns at me, the motion pinching his eyebrows and making his dimples disappear. “You shouldn't talk about yourself like that. You’re impulsive, but a little danger is good for us now and then. It makes you feel alive. As long as you’re not hurting yourself or anyone else, there’s no reason to worry.”

He likes danger. He likes me. What the fuck have I gotten myself into?

“Feel free to text me anytime, Westin,” Knight says with a smirk as he leaves the kitchen.

Two

Knight

Iclose out my last session and spend an hour at my desk writing up my patient notes from the day. Indiana Bones whines and paws at my legs, letting me know in no uncertain terms that it’s well past quitting time and I need to get away from my desk to spend some time with her. I stand and stretch, Indiana bouncing up and hopping around my feet with a chortling snuffle.

Frenchies make the weirdest noises, but she’s pretty cool, so I overlook anything too obnoxious, like her horrendous farts. She follows me out of the office, prancing at my heels all the way to the front door, where I leash her up. It’s June in Atlanta, which is hot as hell compared to Minnesota, where Rook and I moved from. Yeah, we had humidity, and it gets hot in the summer, but the South is something else entirely. I put little pink booties on Indiana so she doesn’t burn her paws, and we head out for a short walk.

When I get back, Rook is home from his training session, prepping a sheet pan of chicken and vegetables in the kitchen.

“What’s on the meal plan tonight?” I ask, glad he didn’t forget it was his turn to cook dinner. I hang up the dog leash and booties as Indiana bounds into the kitchen and noisily greets Rook with snuffles and yowls. He bends to pet the gray French bulldog, who is balancing on her short hind legs, pawing at him enthusiastically.

“Did my good girl make a dog log for Uncle Knight? Yeah, you’re the bestest girl, aren't you?” he croons, ignoring me in favor of baby-talking to the dog.

I smile indulgently. He loves that dog more than most people, but it’s good to see him have something he cares about. It gives him purpose outside of hockey. I don't mind watching Indiana the majority of the time because he’s so busy. She’s here for him to devote his attention to. Besides, I get a cuddly house pig who likes to keep me company when he’s gone.

“You’re headed to the lake this weekend, right?” I ask, grabbing a bottle of water from the fridge and keeping my voice carefully neutral.

The last thing I need is for him to change his plans because he thinks I’ll be lonely without him. I’m used to him being gone. There’s no codependency here, despite the nature of our living arrangement. But Rook is particularly concerned with my social life—or lack of one—in general.

“Yeah,” Rook says absently, putting the tray of food into the oven and setting a timer. He turns to me with more enthusiasm. “Hey, you should join us! It’s gonna be some of the boys you met last week at Westy’s. I just hope Campbell went back to Vancouver already and won’t be there. That fucker is the worst.”

“Do you think your animosity towards Campbell is a direct reflection of your internalized feelings about your role on the team and how you’re perceived?” I ask, filling up Indiana’s water bowl as I try not to think about Westin with that opening.

Rook groans loudly. “Seriously, Knight, I don't need you psychoanalyzing me or how I feel about fucking Campbell, again.” He turns his back on me to wash his dishes at the sink.

“We keep having the conversation because you're repeating the same patterns. If you don't want to have the same talk, what do you have to change?” I prod calmly.