Page 6 of Cracked Ice (The F*cked Up Players #1)

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“ L ucien ‘Morningstar’ Morrow, folks!” The announcer’s voice blares over the loudspeakers.

I’ve never seen a more graceful skater. He’s by far the most beautiful skater I have ever had the privilege of watching, even with the blood dripping from his split lip.

His strong jawline, striking golden eyes, and tousled dark hair peeking from under his helmet give him an alluring, rugged charm.

The way his muscles move effortlessly under his jersey, combined with his confidence and charisma on the ice, make him utterly mesmerizing.

I’d always thought my performances were captivating, but they don’t hold a candle to his talents.

I find it hard to believe that others don’t see what I see in him.

In the months I’ve spent watching him, I’ve learned that people don’t see Lucien because they’re not looking at him .

Not really. They’re looking at the mask he wears, the facade he puts on.

They’re blinded by his flirtatious winks and attractive smiles.

Three months ago, I would have called him normal, but now I’d bet money on him being as far from it as I am.

Whether that’s by choice or a happy accident, who knows. But I’m determined to find out.

His footwork is flawless as he fakes out his opponents and scores a goal. I’ve never been more enthralled by guys shuffling a disk across a slab of ice with a stick before. I practically bounce in my seat with joy.

I can see him perfectly from here.

Seems the sweaty dude next to me fist pumping the air was right after all—this is the better view.

I’m almost grateful to have met these guys, despite their odd appearance and behavior.

Gym bros who chug beer and watch hockey aren’t my usual crowd, but these two aren’t so bad.

They definitely aren’t the worst. And though I don’t feel as out of place among them, I am done deluding myself. I am still out of place.

I don’t belong here, not anymore. I’m not sure I ever did.

I came to this school because they had the best collegiate figure skating team in the nation.

Without being a member of the team, it’s just a regular college to me.

A regular college with a subpar business program that my dad has never approved of.

He made himself clear and there is no going back on my word.

The deal is signed, sealed, and delivered.

Quite literally. He filed it with his assistant when I was only seventeen.

Succeed as a figure skater or admit defeat and leave the program.

He’d been serious when he said it. The glint of challenge in his eyes proved that and I agreed to it anyway.

I had believed I was so beyond reproach that there was no way I wouldn’t succeed.

How wrong I turned out to be. I knew nothing.

Supportive father that he is, he had said he wanted to give me something to fall back on in the event of failure.

Well, I failed spectacularly. I let it all slip through my fingers.

I let myself get distracted and allowed someone like Lucien Morrow to steal my focus.

I should probably hate him for that, or resent him at the very least, but I can’t bring myself to do it. It’s the first time I have a goal outside of figure skating: talk to him.

I was supposed to be competing in my own competition today, but here I am, watching Lucien instead.

I’m momentarily distracted from that goal when someone equally irksome causes my phone to buzz in my hand.

Bradford 7:30 PM

Hey, if you want, I can pick you up instead of your dad. If I use the jet, I can be there as early as tonight.

Having him here is the last thing I want. I’m trying to savor what could have been and keep whatever good memories I can before I have to leave here tonight. Bradford can wait.

Sydney 7:31 PM

I appreciate the thought, but that’s okay. I’m just gonna focus on packing up everything here and then maybe I’ll catch up with you when I’m back.

Bradford 7:31 PM

I could help you pack. The quicker you’re packed, the more alone time we’ll have.

I scoff.

Of course. He doesn’t really want to save me from my father’s wrath or even help me pack.

He wants the time and excuse to have me alone so he can finally fuck me.

I’ve got to give it to him; he’s been committed to the long game for some time now.

Currying favor with my father and catering to my whims. That, or he really fancies himself in love.

I really hope it’s the former and not the latter.

I don’t think I’m wrong, but I’d hate for him to be in love with me.

I’d told myself I was falling for Lucien, but into what, I wasn’t sure.

The truth is I’ve never known love, not in the traditional ways others have, so how am I supposed to give it?

With Lucien, I flew right past love and into obsession.

My body never responded to Bradford’s hints at intimacy, but I came to life at the very thought of Lucien.

Even sitting here right now, I’m turned on.

If I think about him too hard, I’ll grow slick between my thighs and my clit will ache for a friction only he can abate.

I force my attention back to Bradford just to stave off the immediate lust I feel for Lucien.

I’d been willing to sleep with Bradford, if only for the sake of being unburdened by my virginity.

I’d thought maybe it would feel good, and I could understand what the fuss was all about.

Bradford was cute and he wasn’t the worst option, but every time I try anything with him my pussy rebels.

I’m not prudish, nor am I so innocent and naive that I don’t understand the way it works, but sex has never been on my radar.

It’s never seemed appealing. For the longest time, I thought something was wrong with me.

I could go with it or without, but intense wanting lit my body on fire the moment I learned what true desire felt like.

Finding Lucien ruined me, because now, sex is all I think about.

More specifically, it’s the type of sex I think about.

Watching him made me realize the reason I never understood the appeal was because of how it was portrayed to me.

The kind of sex I want is not the kind that most people have.

I crave something much darker, more forbidden.

Something I can’t imagine Bradford ever being able to give me, but Lucien could.

He fits the profile of one willing to do anything in the pursuit of pleasure.

I can’t believe it’s taken me this long to watch a single game. We shared an entire arena, and yet, it was in these recent months that I ever acquired a modicum of interest in hockey. We might both compete on the ice, but our worlds don’t collide as much as one might think.

The day I found Lucien skating on his own, everything changed. Everything I thought I knew about myself cracked and splintered as it fell to my feet. It was the first time I thought I belonged here. More importantly, I belonged with him .

That night was supposed to be like any other, and had it not been for Tiffany, it would have been.

Something about seeing him that day initiated the countdown to the demise of everything I had managed to build, and I savored every second of that doomsday clock, even when it hit zero.

But now I can’t do that anymore. Can’t exactly stay late and watch him if I no longer have a reason to come in the first place.

I’ll be leaving soon, and I’ll no longer have the opportunity to sit and watch him, to imagine what it’d be like to touch him, to have him touch me, to wrap my legs around him and feel him break me. This is it for me.

I knew Lucien had talent, but I didn’t understand how much talent until now. We’re halfway through the game and Lucien has been killing it, scoring two of the three goals they have already.

“If he scores another one, he’ll have a hat trick,” the one I’ve nicknamed Asshat squeals.

My two new companions slap me on the shoulder like I’m one of them, giddiness sparkling in their irises as Morningstar carries them to certain victory.

I have no idea what that means, but I clap and shout all the same, knowing it’s obviously a good thing.

I watch closely at the next play as two guys try to trap him against the wall.

He moves to guide the puck to the goal, but as soon as one of them tries to slam him, Lucien skids to a stop, spraying ice into the air and making the dude slam himself into the wall instead.

Without the additional player in his way, Lucien shoots the puck to another Titan, but the same opponent who was blocking him before is back on him, not leaving his side.

He follows Lucien around the ice even when he doesn’t have the puck.

I’d assumed it might have been like basketball, where you defend your assigned man, but this seems a little different.

Lucien looks noticeably upset, but he’s still on fire, skating up and down the ice like he was born to it.

It’s a tussle for who secures the rubber disk but he finally gets it back then races for the net, slapping the puck in with a deafening crack. Another goal for us!

“Hat trick, yes!” whoops my nice companion to the right, more like an excited kid than a grown college student.

“Fucking hat trick. Morningstar is the fucking GOAT! He’s going to kill it in the NHL,” yells Asshat. “That’s my boy! Oouu!”

If anyone’s a closeted bunny, it’s him.

I scream, elated and clapping my hands, happy to see him succeed and win the hat or whatever, but the excitement is short-lived.

The crowd starts booing and yelling.

Wait, what’s happening?

I stand up to look around, my eyes first catching on the score. It’s 4-2, the goal counted. We’re winning. I look around again. Everybody is still on their feet and screaming.

What the hell is going on?