Page 19 of Cracked Ice (The F*cked Up Players #1)

A beat passes and she’s still stunned into silence, so with a sly grin I ask, “Well, if I’m God, what should I call you?”

I hop over the wall and walk into the light, comfortable with the ice even in my boots. Her eyes blink, adjusting, but then she’s staring at me, like she’s seeing me for the first time.

“I . . . um,”—she clears her throat—“most people call me Sydney . . . but I’m guessing you’re not like most people, huh?” She narrows her eyes at me, worry filling those blue pools that have magically lightened, the color appearing more ice blue under the bright fluorescent lights.

I crane my head up. And when she mimics the movement, I glance back to find it’s the light from within that makes those blue orbs shine the way they do.

She tries to seek for herself what’s above us, her head tilted skyward while I stare at her profile.

Her eyes are so fucking blue, like pretty blue marbles.

If I could, I would gouge them out and add them to my collection—of marbles, not eyeballs—but either way, I prefer them in her pretty little head.

It’s funny though, she didn’t say no to me being her god.

“Sydney,” I mull her name around in my mouth, savoring the syllables on my tongue. I like the way it tastes . “I’m nothing like other people.”

“Yeah, I can see that.”

I quirk a brow.

And she lets out a slow exhale, folding her arms.

Not sure what folded arms are going to do to protect her from me, but if it makes her compliant, who am I to stop her?

“So, you gonna tell me what you’re doing here?” Her hip pokes out and she stands a little taller. Easier to do when you’re on skates, but again, whatever keeps her talking to me.

“I could ask you the same thing.”

Two days without hearing a peep from her and now she’s acting as though meeting me somehow inconveniences her.

Oh, but I see how it is. I’m on her turf now. My little stalker is trying to assert dominance. Adorbs. Her ponytail has been tied into a braid since our time in the locker room and my palms itch to pull on the long rope of hair that reaches her lower back.

“I’m practicing . . . obviously,” she says with a huff.

“I’m watching you practice . . . obviously,” I parrot, my smile never leaving my lips.

She grimaces and I can’t help but chuckle at the irony.

“What? You don’t like me watching you practice?

Should I go back to hiding in the shadows, like you?

” I point over my shoulder in the general vicinity of my earlier seating spot.

“Peek around corners and secretly follow you to class? Ooo, or my personal favorite, wait until you’re all alone then show up unannounced when you’re at your most vulnerable?

Huh,”—I shrug—“on second thought, I guess I am like you.”

She bristles but still manages a snarky retort.

“Ha ha, very funny. It wasn’t like that.

I just . . .” She looks everywhere but directly into my eyes, moving from my mouth to the ice repeatedly.

“I liked watching you skate, okay?” I don’t bother reminding her that she stalked me even when I wasn’t skating.

Instead, I let her continue. She inhales sharply, eyes closed and fist balled at her side.

“You’re . . . really . . . really good.”

When she finally does look my way, her eyes burn into me, sincerity and envy bleeding from her gaze. I’m both flattered and confused as to why she would be jealous of me when, stalker or no stalker, she skates like a beautiful ice princess.

“I’m really good at a lot of things, Princess, but I’m willing to bet you are too.” I give her a salacious grin, hoping she picks up my meaning. It doesn’t really matter if she does or not. I’m more than willing to prove my theory; Sydney looks like she’d happily go the extra mile.

“I guess,” she fidgets, nibbling on the side of her thumb. I can see from here how red it is, likely bleeding the way she’s going at it.

I send a warning glare her way, which she promptly ignores. If anyone is going to make her bleed, it’s going to be me.

“So, you’re a fan of watching me play?” I ask, taking a step forward.

Who knew my little stalker would be such a hockey fan? I didn’t peg her as the type.

“I’m a fan of watching you skate ,” she clarifies, subtly skating back, ensuring I don’t get any closer.

“Just skate, huh?”

I take another step forward, closing the distance between us again.

“Yeah,” she snips, attempting to cut our conversation short.

This chick has some serious defenses up right now, and though they are paper thin, no doubt, they put up a nice facade. Her whole attitude screams ‘leave me the fuck alone,’ but her eyes scream ‘don’t ever leave my sight.’

No worries, Princess. I’m not going anywhere.

“What do you like about how I skate?” I ask, prowling across the ice in her direction until I’m right in front of her. I want front row seats when those defenses come down for me.

“I . . . like the way you move.”

Just me standing here is overwhelming her and I’m dying to learn why. What could make someone as sweet and innocent looking as her go to the lengths she did just to follow me.

“And how do I move?” I press.

That bleeding thumb slips from her lips, and she licks at the corner of her mouth. My cock instantly raises its head at the sight of her little pink tongue. Even more so as I watch her drop the act and face me.

“Like you control the ice,” she says.

I step in closer.

“And that’s something you like?” I continue.

I know I’m a good hockey player. I’ve been complimented on my goal accuracy, my speed, even my ability to defend the net, but I’ve never been complimented solely for how I skate.

“Yes.”

It’s cute, the way she tries to sound annoyed, but I’m betting, despite her air of attitude, her feelings reflect my own. That this was a long time coming and all that curiosity we have built up about one another is finally being discovered.

“Why?”

I won’t let her hide from me again. She no longer has pillars she can hide behind or crowds she can disappear into. It’s just me and her on this ice.

“Because . . .”

“Because what , Princess?” I push more.

I’m going to peel back every layer she has until her every inside thought and feeling is known to me.

“Because I want to skate like that.”

“Why?” I growl.

“Why do you care?” she shoots back, her voice louder, echoing in the vast space.

I ignore her yelling.

“Why, Sydney?” I push again.

“Because I want to be the one they adore! I want my competition to see me as a threat. For them to gun for my spot, not the other way around. I want to reign supreme and bathe in their defeat. And then , when it’s all said and done, I want to hear the roar and claps and screams for me when I’m crowned the goddamn best. That’s why!

” She shouts, jabbing a finger to my chest, a fire burning in her eyes.

Holy shit , that was hot. That shit gave me goosebumps down to my toes.

I knew there had to be a reason for my instant attraction.

I mean, yeah, she’s pretty, but I can’t imagine it’d bode well for either of us if she really were a soft, meek, mild-mannered girl.

I wouldn’t just corrupt her, I’d defile her, ruin her for any that came after me.

Hell, I probably will anyway, but at least now I think there’s hope this little hellion can withstand it.

“Well, that’s interesting, but the ice is not all that I can control. You wanna skate like me? You’re gonna have to learn how to submit to the ice before you can wield control over it.” I cock a grin at her and wink. “If you want . . . I can teach you to submit.”

I swipe my thumb across her plush lips, smearing the gloss into a glittery smile of my own making since she’s resolved to frown. She jerks her head away and I laugh.

“You look terrified ,” I say.

She scoffs, “You don’t scare me.”

Her defiant chin jerks up, but the tremble in her voice gives her away.

I chuckle again. “That’s a lie, but I’m not talking about me. I mean when you skate. You look terrified.” I reach out to stroke over her cheek that has been cleaned of my blood. Oh well, I’ll just have to bloody her up again. Maybe this time it’ll be her own.

“I’m . . . not scared. I’m concentrating.” She swats my hand away. She’s like a baby cub who hasn’t found her roar yet. Maybe her monster only comes out to play behind a phone screen.

“Concentrating on what?” I ask.

“Not falling, my routine, executing my moves, hitting all my jumps. There’s a lot that goes into figure skating. We’re not out here flitting about for no reason!” she huffs.

“Woah there. Down, girl.” I hold my palms up. “I’m just wondering why you worry about all that instead of simply skating. If you just skate—you won’t fall. You’ll execute all your moves and hit all your jumps. You’ll be perfect.”

“I am skating, and I don’t need your help.

I don’t need to submit or take your advice or whatever the fuck you’re insinuating.

It’s different. You play hockey, that’s not the same.

I’m not just going up and down the ice, waving a stick around, and punching people,” she chides, waving her hands haphazardly toward the ice.

I throw out my hand, gripping her throat as I wrench her closer, forcing that heat in her stare to simmer down a notch.

“You know,” I whisper into her ear, “you’re downplaying it a lot for someone who’s been watching me for months just to see me skate.

You said you wanted to skate like me; move like me .

Yet, when I give you some ways to achieve that, you insult me.

That’s not very nice, Sydney. I’m hurt.” I lean back, taking in her new expression.

“I-I’m sorry. You’re right. I’m getting defensive.” She licks her lips. “I do that sometimes.”

Another lie.

She didn’t give bitchy vibes earlier. I must have hit a nerve, but so has she, and I’m not one to back down from a challenge.

I growl, “No, you don’t.”

Even after I blocked and threatened her she never reacted to me like this.