Page 52 of Cracked Ice (The F*cked Up Players #1)

His whispers would be sweet if they didn’t sound so ominous but I think this is his version of tenderness.

God knows he’s already put my body through the ringer, and there’s surely more to come, but if pain is his love language then I want to be loved out loud.

I’ll take every lashing, every cut, every fucked up version of his love and hold it dear.

I clear my throat in hopes of clearing the tension.

“And where were you anyway?” I ask, pulling away from his embrace. “You wouldn’t have had to threaten your teammate if you hadn’t left me down here all by myself.”

“I needed to change.” He shrugs.

“You have clothes here?”

“I live here,” he states it as if it’s obvious. “This is my party. Or at least it was my idea. I suppose they could have canceled it on account we lost, but I’m a firm believer that you party hardest when you lose.”

He holds his arms out like this is kingdom while some random guy fists bumps him on the way to the fridge.

My jaw drops.

“The party was at your house this whole time!”

In retrospect, I should have picked up on that. It’s a hockey house and all eyes have been on him since we walked in. “Why didn’t you just tell me?” I add, noticing for the first time the side-eyes and wary glares I’m getting from everyone at this party.

“Inviting you to a party, rather than telling you to come to my house significantly raised the odds of you saying yes,” he says.

I scoff. I’m here because I lost a race, I would have walked away like I was supposed to had he not challenged me.

“Yeah, well, I never go back on a deal, so you could have told me,” I huff.

It’s both my best and worst quality. If I went back on deals and reneged on bets, maybe I could get out of this one with my father, but I’m almost happy I lost to Lucien and agreed to come out tonight. Fair and square at that. I tried to win, but so did he, which can only mean he meant it.

He wanted me here with him tonight.

I roll my lips inward to keep from grinning so widely.

“Stop doing that,” he mutters, eying me in a way that makes my blood freeze.

I straighten, rolling my eyes a little at the reaction he solicits within me.

“Stop doing what?” I ask, because he’s starting to give me serious whiplash with his hot and cold act. “What am I doing now ?”

He doesn’t answer. Instead, his arm reaches out and snakes around my waist, pulling me to him so quickly I stumble forward.

Not expecting the public display of possession in front of all these people, I bring my hand to rest on his chest, stabilizing myself in his hold and trying to keep a distance.

Looking around, I note everyone’s stares, but his fingers wrench my face toward his. Fuck, those eyes.

“If I make you smile, then I want you to smile.” He kisses the corner of my mouth. “If I make you cry then I want to see tears.” He kisses the apple of my cheek. “If I make you feel good . . .” He leans into the shell of my ear, “. . . then I want to hear you scream my goddamn name.”

I fucking melt. Never in a million years has a man ever felt so safe and so dangerous at the same time.

I can’t tell if my heart is ripping apart or ripping out but it’s beating for him harder than I can contain.

I open my mouth to speak but his gaze steals my breath .

. . and his next words breathe it right back in.

“Don’t hide how good I make you feel, especially from me. ”

His proclamation makes me blush again, and I search the party once more. People are definitely watching us. I wasn’t this conscious of them with Chauncey but all eyes are on Lucien which means all eyes are on me. On us.

“They’re staring,” I whisper to Lucien, though he acts like he doesn’t even notice.

He holds me tighter.

“Let them stare,” he whispers back, a resignation settling onto his face.

I don’t hold back my smile this time.

“Most of them are harmless anyway,” he comments, unfolding his arms from around me and reaching for my hand.

“In comparison to you, maybe.” I chuckle as he tugs me along through the crowd from the kitchen, down a long hallway, to a sitting area in the back of the house.

“You’re not wrong there.” He winks at me from over his shoulder and I shake my head at his playfulness.

In the corner of the room, there’s a flip cup game going on.

It’s less crowded save a couple of guys already sitting on the couch in front of a large TV screen.

Lucien smacks one of their feet resting on the coffee table.

“Feet off, Garcia,” growls Lucien.

“I think I deserve to break the rules, since they clearly don’t mean shit to you,” Garcia huffs, bringing his bottle of beer to his lips.

Lucien gives him a deadpan look, snatching his beer from him then taking a sip.

“Yeah, man, whatever,” Garcia grumbles, rolling his eyes but ultimately moving his feet to let us pass. It’s surprisingly the least hostile interaction I’ve seen Lucien have which makes me feel even worse that I assaulted his other teammate.

Lucien pulls me down into a chair with him, settling me onto his lap.

“So, you know . . . I really am sorry I hurt your friend,” I mumble. I’d love to say he’s making me apologize but the truth is I think I may have gone a little overboard with everything.

Again.

His shoulders shake with mirth as he laughs again.

“I know, Princess, but don’t be sorry. He should have known better than to try and take what’s mine.”

He squeezes my hips.

“I’m yours?” Hope flickers brightly in my chest and I try my hardest to get the useless organ to accept there’s no future past tonight for us but it betrays me. Taking root in that one little word, ‘mine’ .

“Until I say otherwise, you’re not getting rid of me that easily,” he threatens.

“Never,” I murmur. A vow my soul makes before my brain can warn against it.

His grin is wicked in its reward.

“Good, because I’m not done with you yet.” He says voice lowered and etched in danger. “We’re about to see just how not delicate you are.”

I chuckle nervously. “So, what game are we playing next?”

He hums and the vibrations ricochet through every cell in my body.

“This is more like a test than a game,” he says, absentmindedly stroking his fingers down my arm. “I wanna know how far you’ll let me go.”

To the depths of Hell if he willed it.

But I don’t give voice to that thought. I can’t. Instead I ask, “How are you going to test me?”

He gives me a wink and takes another sip of his stolen beer.

“You’ll see.”