Cracked Ice (The F*cked Up Players #1)

Sydney “F*cking” Sinclair

One last time.

I just needed to see him one final time before I left Bellemere University for good.

At least that’s what I told myself.

This way, I’d be left with one last happy memory.

Competitive figure skating was all I ever wanted, until I met Lucien Morrow.

I’d only ever had one dream, but from the moment I saw him skate, he became my whole world and my dream was siphoned of life.

It should have been easy to let my obsession simmer into nothingness.

Boys were distractions, after all, and I couldn’t afford those if I was going to be a champion...

Sydney “F*cking” Sinclair

One last time.

I just needed to see him one final time before I left Bellemere University for good.

At least that’s what I told myself.

This way, I’d be left with one last happy memory.

Competitive figure skating was all I ever wanted, until I met Lucien Morrow.

I’d only ever had one dream, but from the moment I saw him skate, he became my whole world and my dream was siphoned of life.

It should have been easy to let my obsession simmer into nothingness.

Boys were distractions, after all, and I couldn’t afford those if I was going to be a champion figure skater.

But in the end, none of it mattered.

I was a goner the moment I laid eyes on him.

Now, I’ve officially been kicked off my collegiate figure skating team, lost my funding and my coach, and am moving back home.

There’s nothing left for me here, except him.

Until everything falls apart and I realize he’s nothing like I imagined—he’s far worse.

Now that he knows who I am, a game ensues to see how far I’ll go to have him.

It’s my last night here, and I have nothing to lose but my virginity.

So, if the question is how far am I willing to go, the answer is to the depths of hell.

Lucien “Morningstar” Morrow

I’ve had a little stalker for months now.

An interesting distraction from my depraved thoughts to say the least.

So imagine my surprise when I find her at one of my hockey games, and even more so when I feel just as possessive of her as she apparently is of me.

There’s something about her eyes, like cracked ice.

They mirror her soul flawlessly, a frigid wasteland of nothingness that I intend to melt.

It takes a unique person to be drawn to my particular brand of crazy.

I’ll have to see just how crazy my new toy can be.

Stalkers love to play games; I wonder if she’ll play with me?