Page 35 of Daddies on Ice

He thinks of me as a little sister, but he looks at me as if I’m a juicy steak he wants to devour.

I shiver and break eye contact. I can’t let my imagination, fueled by that sexy dream, get the best of me.

Becky and Krystal argue amicably over whether wolves would prefer blueberry or grape markers.

Jake finally secures toast from an adult and sits backward in his seat to talk to the girls, who inform him that paper crowns are now mandatory on game days.

He agrees solemnly, then looks at me and gives a salute I pretend not to find amusing.

Carl ends up standing beside the driver with a hand on the seatback, talking low.

The RV’s windows frame him in gray morning light. He turns just enough to look down the aisle and his gaze catches on mine.

For a second it’s like we’re the only two people in a moving room. He nods once, something like approval or reassurance.

I check the girls’ seatbelts again because I need to do something with my hands. Ash’s arm—still there, damn him—draws a line of heat across my back.

I tell myself it’s just proximity and then immediately remember my dream and my body starts a slow burn.

The city drifts away behind us, replaced by bare trees dusted with frost and a pale strip of river.

Buckling in, I go back to my laptop and schedule a behind-the-scenes story: “Wheels up! First line rolling out, second line right behind us. Hear the howl—see you on the road.” I add a shot of the girls’ coloring (hands only), and the edge of a coffee cup with the wolf logo.

Clean. Professional. Warm.

Hopefully trolls won’t find a way to spin it into a scandal of some sort.

“Hey,” Jake calls from two rows back, voice light. “Anyone else hear?—”

The sound comes like a gunshot.

The RV lurches hard to the right, a violent shudder that snaps my seatbelt tight across my ribs. Coffee goes airborne. Becky squeals.

12

ASH

My arm locks across Tish’s shoulders and I press her back into the seat.

The RV fishtails and the team bus behind us gives one long, low horn that crawls up my spine.

Jake is up, braced at the galley with one hand on a headrest, jaw set the way it gets right before he drops gloves.

The driver muscles the wheel as we grind across the rumble strip. We’re shot to one side of the RV as it spins to the side, then the rig shudders onto the shoulder and we’re still.

Everyone starts talking at once. Tish’s breath saws once against my forearm, and warmth seeps into my skin through my sweater.

“You okay?” I ask.

She nods, but her face looks like all the color has been drained out of it. Across the aisle, Becky and Krystal stare at me with saucer eyes.

“You ladies okay?” I ask.

They nod, their eyes staying wide and alert.

“Good.” I keep my voice slow and even. I don’t want to make the girls even more nervous. “Unbuckle, one at a time. We’re going to step outside for some air.”

I stand and offer my hand. Becky takes it, the kids’ coats draped over her arm, and climbs down from her seat then Krystal follows, behind her friend.