Page 27 of Cracked Ice (The F*cked Up Players #1)

twelve

M y feet immediately start moving. The last thing I need is to remain in this outfit a second longer than necessary. If I’m being honest, it’s already been too long, but I suppose receiving an orgasm from my heart’s obsession is as good a reason as any.

Part of me wants to remind Lucien that I’m not a stalker. I just have an . . . obsessive personality. When I want something, I completely dedicate myself to doing everything I need to do to get it.

Ambition is a dangerous thing and it seems mine was no exception. It was dangerous to want Lucien from the beginning—and I did it anyway.

My steps mimic Lucien’s as I linger behind, watching his back recede like I’ve seen countless times before, his hoodie slung casually over his shoulder on his hooked index finger.

He’s here. Right in front of me. But now that he is, I don’t know what to do. We are so far out of the realm of possibilities of what I thought might come out of watching a single hockey game in my entire college career. It’s no shock to me that Lucien resides in the realm of impossibilities.

I know I’m setting myself up to be hurt if I keep dragging this out and I don’t see Dad allowing me to come back here even if we did start up a relationship.

As if conjured by thought alone, my phone buzzes.

Dad 9:14 PM

Don’t forget the movers will arrive there a few hours earlier than myself. I’ll be there around 11 to pick you up, but they will be there at 7. I’ll be checking in, so keep your phone on you.

Great. I have even less time to spend with Lucien if I expect to be up on time to deal with the movers, and I still have to finish packing. Luckily, I managed to bribe my driver to get started on my behalf, but no way he got it all done before Dad noticed his absence.

I lean my head back, trying my damnedest to brainstorm a decent solution to this cluster-fuck of a night. Unlike the movies I’ve watched and the books I’ve read, the answer doesn’t fall from the sky.

We make our way up the outer steps of the arena, climbing toward the upper parking lot.

“You couldn’t have parked any closer?” I groan.

“Nope. I had a little stalker to catch.” Lucien’s grin can be heard for miles, his satisfaction for ‘catching me’ a foghorn in the quiet night.

“I’m not a stalker,” I grumble.

That aside, his logic makes sense. Had we exited through the east doors where the hockey rink is, his car would have been closer. This way, our trek is longer and, while under normal circumstances that would make me happy, I struggle to find the right words to fill the additional time.

So many of our chats were through texts or, until twenty minutes ago, with his hands between my legs.

I don’t know how to talk to him like . . . this .

Ding!

I mentally punch the air at my social awkwardness around this man.

Ding!

I’m never awkward.

Ding!

Being social is my whole thing, my entire identity, I should be able to do this with my eyes closed.

So why can’t I talk to him?

Dried blood lining the cuticle of my thumb stares back at me as I bring it to my lips, groaning at my inability to stop. This is seeming more and more like a bad idea.

Ding!

“ What is that noise?” Lucien asks, finally turning around, and catching me just as I’m about to nibble my anxiety away.

“It’s nothing,” I rush out, quickly thrusting my hand behind my back.

“Disgusting habit.”

A habit I’ll need to get under control when I’m back around my dad. He’ll hate what I’ve done to my hands. Men don’t like a woman who looks more butch than beguiling.

“Okay.” Lucien drags out the word. “So, you’re not gonna tell me.”

If he were the sighing type, I’m sure he’d be doing it right about now.

I toss him a tight-lipped smile, but he doesn’t react the way I expect. He just furrows his brows, but he doesn’t push any further. “Alright then. I can take a hint. I’ll leave it alone.”

That feels unlike him, strange in a way, but I’m grateful for the consideration, until I catch him smirking, muttering beneath his breath, “For now.”

I could share this one tidbit of information. It wouldn’t matter if he knew or change anything if I told him that they’re the telltale dings of my schedule being packed with galas, dinners, and lunch dates. But I keep quiet, wanting to reside a little longer in this realm of impossibility with him.

My phone calendar continues to fill with rampant beeps and chimes, as I receive invite after invite now that the word is out that I’m coming back home.

Where I belong.

Those words replay on a sad loop as we lug our bags in silence, reaching the top of the outdoor steps without another word uttered between us. And though I won’t say as much to him, I am grateful for the ride he’s offered.

Storing everything at the arena is a luxury I no longer possess. Tonight, it all goes home with me, and the carriage that awaits, will make it that much easier to walk away. For good.

“That’s a lot of stuff you got there,” Lucien notes, proving his superior conversation skills.

As psycho as his behavior has been, I’ve noticed he’s a very observant psycho.

“Um, yeah, I needed to clean out some stuff,” I say.

I don’t know if it’ll change anything for him if I tell him that tonight’s my last night here.

It may change nothing, but it could also change everything.

He might decide there’s no point in spending any time on a person who’s leaving tomorrow.

He might be the one to walk away from me once he realizes I taunted him only to disappear when it was all said and done.

I don’t see him taking that lightly or forgiving me.

I can’t afford for that to happen, not when I’ve already decided that I want this. I want him.

“Why do you have so much stuff?” I ask, nodding toward his bag.

He lifts his shoulder in a half-shrug.

“You heard Coach, they’re thinking about suspending me,” he says, trudging up the path at double my pace. To him it’s like we’re taking a nice stroll through a park.

“And that doesn’t bother you?” I huff.

“Never said it didn’t.”

“So, you’re a quitter then?” I question.

It gutted me when my coach told me I was off the team. I’m still reeling from the heartbreak even now. I don’t know how Lucien can stand it. He seems so at peace and for some reason that fucking irritates me.

Lucien’s steps slow, but he doesn’t turn to acknowledge me yet.

“You’ve got it all wrong, Princess; it bothers me a fuck-ton, but it bothered me even more to hear that piece of shit talk about matters he had no business talking about.

He won’t be saying anything for a very long time now.

I call that justice.” He stops so abruptly I almost barrel into him, my feet stuttering before regaining balance.

Spinning on his heels, he levels me with a glare, standing so close his breaths skitter over my lips.

“And before you ask . . . I don’t regret a single goddamn thing. ”

I scoff and adjust one of the straps on my shoulder. “Don’t worry, I know enough now to not think better of you,” I snip as fury builds in my belly.

He straightens.

“Judgy much?” He quirks a brow at me.

“Arrogant much?” I shoot back.

The other brow joins the first as Lucien asks, “And what makes me arrogant?”

“Thinking you were above the consequences of your actions, that you were above the rules. There were better ways to handle that situation. Smarter decisions could have been made. You didn’t have to start a fight or risk your career.

You’re supposed to be getting drafted soon,” I huff.

“It was arrogant of you to think they’d keep bailing you out of trouble. ”

Lucien shakes his dark locks.

“Where is this coming from?”

“Hurting people isn’t the answer to your problems!”

I’m no longer sure we’re talking about him anymore, as a matter of fact I know we aren’t, but I can’t seem to shut up. Meanwhile Lucien stares at me, more confused than I’ve ever seen him.

“I’ve heard what they say about you, what they call you. But you don’t have to be Morningstar all the time! You can just be . . . you .”

“Wow. So, the little stalker did her research. No surprise there. You know all about me, right?” He snaps his hand out, gripping my face.

“I’m the fucked-up hockey player always causing fights and hurting people.

I must be as dangerous as they say then.

Maybe even a little crazy . Who knows? I could fly off the handle at any moment and hurt the sweet, innocent figure skater. ”

He takes a menacing step closer, and I stumble back.

“That’s what you’re thinking, right?” He leans in.

I shouldn’t push him anymore; I should cower and play nice like I do with Dad and his friends , but for some insane reason, I don’t.

“Well, you did say you were a painful fucker,” I spit.

Christ on a stick. Must you be so bitchy, Sydney? He’s going to say forget it and leave . . . or he might punish you. On second thought, that might not be so bad.

“And yet, you still chose to come with me.” He releases my face, chuckling at whatever dumb expression I’m unconsciously displaying.

“You still want me to fuck you. So, what does that say about the Little Stalker Princess, hm? Isn’t it a risk to your career to be associated with the likes of me?

Shouldn’t you be making smarter decisions? ”

Not anymore.

I should have been smarter, worked harder but it’s far too late for any of that now .

His eyes narrow into slits, his annoyance as palpable as his touch, but it’s beneath that scornful glower that I recognize the smallest degree of disappointment and I want to curl in on myself and die for seeing such a look in his eyes, no matter the brevity of the moment.

Lucien turns away and starts walking again.

“We’re almost there.”

I nod, but his back is already to me again.

As if the wind is on his side, it kicks up, causing a shiver to run the length of my exposed legs.

I went too far . . . again.

Apologize, stupid.