Page 40 of Daddies on Ice

I didn’t realize I was hoping for that answer until it wasn’t there. My reaction surprises me almost as much as the kiss did.

His gaze drops back to my mouth and the serious line of his jaw softens.

He steps closer by an inch and waits.

I should step back. But I don’t.

I want to feel his lips on mine again. It was so much better than my dream, and I’d thought that was sexy beyond belief.

Footsteps scrape on gravel and we jump apart like guilty kids caught with our hands in the cookie jar.

Carl rounds the front corner of the RV with his phone in one hand and his eyebrows already narrowing.

“Update,” Carl says without preamble. His voice is low and controlled, but his eyes show just how frustrated he is. “I’ve got three Ubers heading this way. They’ll take first line and staff straight to the rink. Everyone else waits for the replacement vehicle. It’s not ideal, but at least it gets us out of this cold.”

An uncomfortable silence stretches between the three of us.

Carl frowns and looks first at me, then at Ash, then back at me. Ash clears his throat and points at the tire.

“This was no accident,” he says. Is it wrong of me to feel a little thrill at how unsteady his voice is? That the kiss affected him just as much as it did me?

He leans down and points at several sections on the tire, explaining to Carl why he suspects sabotage.

I hear only bits and pieces, though. My gaze is caught by the way his jeans stretch over his muscular thighs. At his capable hands that had been on my waist only moments ago.

Then Ash’s words sink into my dazed brain. “Sabotage?” I repeat with a combination of worry and disbelief.

Ash winces slightly. “Yeah. Sorry, but someone deliberately did this.”

“Who would do such a thing?” I ask, my gaze swinging between Ash and Carl.

“A disgruntled fan,” Carl says. “A rival team. The press.” He shrugs. “Who knows. The list is endless. But we can’t worry about that right now. We need to get our heads in the game and get our asses to the rink and play tonight.”

Carl’s phone rings and he answers, turning his back to us.

With the wind, I can’t hear what he’s saying, but I’m not trying to listen anyway.

Gone is the pleasant heart-thrilling feeling after kissing Ash and in its place is fear.

Someone sabotaged the RV.

Becky and Krystal were on it. What if we’d crashed and they’d been hurt?

Carl ends the call and turns to face us, a worried frown pulling down the corners of his mouth. “That was the coach from the team we’re supposed to play tonight. They don’t give a shit that we’re broken down. I was told, very firmly I might add, that if we don’t show up in time, we forfeit the game.”

14

CARL

I’ve argued with referees, coaches, and one time a drunk Santa who skated onto the ice during a charity game, but I’ve never wanted to crawl through a phone and shake someone like I want to with the rink manager right now.

“The game doesn’t start for five hours,” I say, pacing a rut in the gravel shoulder. The wind cuts through my jacket. Behind me the RV sists on a blown tire like a wounded hippo. “We’re due to check in an hour before, as usual. We’ll be there.”

There’s a not-so-patient sigh on the other end. “Sorry, Coach. You’ve got it wrong. The start time is three hours from now, not five. Mandatory check-in is two hours before puck drop. Given your earlier bus trouble we were giving your club an extra hour, but that’s all we can do.”

I press a palm to my forehead. “The schedule I have says noon check-in, two p.m. start.”

“I’m not sure where you got that.” His voice turns clipped. “Doors open in ninety minutes. If your club is not checked in at least sixty minutes prior, you risk forfeit under league rule.”