Page 11 of Icebound

“Pretty sure that was a guy named Rhode Tremblay,” I joke.

Instead of laughing, Nina blinks those hazels like she doesn’t know my name.

Shit.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

My name’s in the app, right?

Heat rushes to my face. What was I thinking? I know how to treat a woman in bed, but that wasn’t funny. That was dumb as fuck. I glance around to find a few people watching us, but at least they didn’t hear that comment.

A car door slams, saving me from having to awkwardly explain the horrible joke I just told. I’m still processing everything she said when a guy with shiny dark hair and black earrings climbs out of the Jeep Wrangler Rubicon, wearing a sweatshirt that reads… I squint at the boxes. N. Er. Dy. Is that a band shirt?

Nina stops him with a palm to his chest. “What the hell are you doing here, Isaac?”

The cold air thickens with more tension than a bad ref call. It's clear there's some history between them, but I'm not about to skate onto the ice uninvited and demand answers. I hate when reporters pry into my personal life.

The guy pinches the bridge of his nose. “Why are you always so intense? I’m sorry, okay? I just hauled ass to come get you.”

“Would you like a gold medal or a silver one for that?” Nina crosses her arms. “Where’s Gwendolyn? Why didn’t she come? Why are you here?”

Forget being a neurosurgeon. This woman would make one hell of an interrogator, but people who speak their mind and cut right through the bullshit are my favorite type.

The guy shoves his hands into his hoodie pocket. “She passed out when she got home. I saw the message and figured I’d come, but I wasn’t going to text you because I knew you’d tell me not to bother. You’re welcome.”

Nina scoffs, but what gets to me is the way she wraps her arms around her stomach like she’s trying to hold herself together. She glances at me, and something passes between us that I can feel but can’t see.

My sister says that I have a savior complex, courtesy of our damned father. Doesn’t matter. If she needs a fake date for five minutes, I can be that for her.

What’s the worst that could happen?

I stride over, draping my suit jacket around her shoulders from behind. She tenses but then lifts her chin, and I catch a glint of gratitude in her eyes.

I tug Nina closer until her back meets my chest. “You cold, babydoll?”

That slipped out.

“Babydoll?” She winces, brows climbing upward. “No. That’s even worse than sweetheart. We’re not doing the whole cringy nickname thing.”

I shrug, resting my chin on the top of her head. It’s awkward, but it’s happening. “I give everyone nicknames.”

“Well, not me. You can call me by my real name.”

I’ve got a whole arsenal of nicknames I’ve called women over the years, mostly because my younger asshole self couldn’t remember their names, but if Nina doesn’t want a pet name, I’ll respect that.

She’ll be the first that doesn’t get one.

“Alright, Nina it is, then.”

The guy’s gaze flickers between us, but they snag on my face a second longer, narrowing slightly, then widening in recognition. His jaw drops.

Dammit.

I don’t even get a second to mull over this decision before he strides past one of the first responders with an outstretched hand.

“Hold up, are you Rhode Tremblay?”

Nina snaps her fingers. “Rhode,” she says, like my name is an explanation.