Page 4

Four

Wolf

My skates scrape against the ice as I push myself through the drills Coach Ferguson has us running this morning, but my head’s not in the game, so to speak. It’s been invaded, taken over completely by a tiny redhead with freckles like constellations and emerald green eyes.

Emily.

My fucking god, Emily.

She’s in my brain, my blood, my bones, and I can’t get her out. Even worse, I don’t want to.

The puck slides towards me, an easy pass from Tanner Davis, but I miss it, the puck skidding past the blade of my stick and into the boards. I can feel the coach’s eyes on me from across the ice, and I can see the look Kincaid’s giving me right now. It’s very clearly a what the fuck is wrong with you look, but I just shake my head.

What am I gonna say? That I’m completely distracted with thoughts of my nineteen-year-old house guest who also happens to be a longtime friend’s little sister? Today’s fuck ups have nothing to do with how I feel about hockey and everything to do with Emily.

“You good?” he calls out, frowning at me, and I nod.

“Yeah. Let’s go again,” I say, knowing I need to get my game face on. We have a home game tomorrow, an important one.

I should ask Emily to come.

That thought does something to me, sending fire through my veins, and this time when Tanner slides the puck towards me, I flick it quickly to Kincaid, who dekes and then scores.

“Better!” calls Coach Ferguson from the other side of the ice. “Keep working that play. I like what I’m seeing.”

The idea of Emily watching me play charges me up in a way I can’t fully explain. I can’t keep the thoughts of her at bay, but the idea of her watching me dominate on the ice is fuel I didn’t know I needed.

And so while we run the drills, work through the plays, my brain plays thoughts of her on a loop.

Emily, with her gorgeously delicate body and beautiful smile. She’s so tiny and yet there’s a strength in her, both physical and otherwise.

I can’t stop thinking about the way she looked up at me last night, her breath hitching slightly, her lips parted. I wanted to kiss her so fucking bad. I’d just met her and I wanted her in a way I’ve never experienced before. I still don’t fully understand it.

What I do understand is that I’m powerless against whatever is happening. These feelings are powerful and consuming, and impossible to ignore.

I skate hard as we start another drill, and my mind is filled with images of her. Her delicate neck, the curve of her collarbone, the way her red hair cascades down her slender back in messy waves. I can’t stop myself from imagining what it would feel like to run my fingers through that mass of fiery hair, to tilt her head back and kiss her until neither of us can breathe.

I shouldn’t be thinking these thoughts. I know. I fucking know. She’s way too young for me. Way too sweet and innocent for a brute like me.

But goddamn, the things I want to do to her.

I want to lift her up, feel her tiny body against mine as she wraps her legs around my waist. I want to spread her out on my king sized bed and explore every single inch of her with my hands. With my mouth. I want to discover every single freckle. I want to make her gasp and shake. I want to kiss her little pussy until she comes all over my face.

A whistle blows, sharp and loud, jerking me back to reality. Ferguson is glaring at me, arms crossed over his chest. I’ve blown the drill, letting my thoughts of Emily consume me instead of fueling me. My balls are aching, my cock throbbing in the confines of my jock.

Fucking hell.

I need to get my head on straight. I need to focus on hockey and stop thinking about Emily and all the depraved things I want to do to her, because it’s never going to happen. It can’t. She’s too young. Too sweet. She’s Mike’s little sister. She doesn’t even live here.

So many reasons to put her out of my mind, and yet…I want her. I want her body. I want her heart. I want her so much that it’s taken me over.

Fuck me.

“Hartley, get your head out of your ass and pay attention!” Coach’s voice booms across the ice.

I shake my head, trying and failing to dislodge the thoughts of Emily that have taken root in my brain. I can feel the eyes of my teammates on me, their smirks hidden behind gloves.

“So,” says Kincaid, skating over, a knowing glint in his eyes. “What’s her name?” He knocks his shoulder into mine, giving me a friendly shove.

I grunt. “Shut up and mind your own business, Campbell.”

Tanner skates over, a grin on his face. “Don’t tell me someone’s tamed the infamous lone Wolf?”

I feel a growl building in my chest, but it’s not for Tanner. It’s for the situation in general. Because I am a lone Wolf. I don’t date, and I’ve preferred it that way for a long time. Now, a woman I’m actually interested comes along, and there’s no fucking way I can have her.

Great joke, universe. Real fucking funny.

Irritation prickles at my skin, making me hot and itchy. I’m not in the mood for this shit. Not when I don’t fully understand my attraction to Emily. Not when I know I can’t have her.

“Drop it,” I say, my voice a low warning.

They laugh, skating away, and I clench my jaw, trying to bring my focus back to the drill.

“Hartley, you’re up!” barks Coach Ferguson, and I nod, skating into position. I take a deep breath and use every ounce of willpower I have to shove Emily to the back of my mind. I can’t afford to be distracted right now. I have a job to do, a game to prepare for.

We finish up the grueling practice with a few final words from Coach about tomorrow’s game, and then we hit the showers. The hot water cascades over my tired shoulders, washing away the sweat from practice. And even though I know I should be going over plays and absorbing everything we worked on today, I can’t stop thinking about Emily.

Her smile.

The sound of her laugh.

The way she smells like spring.

Her gorgeous green eyes and how they light up when she talks about ballet.

I feel like a kid on Christmas morning, counting down the minutes until I see her again. I step out of the shower, towel off and dress quickly, ready to be out of here.

“Hartley, you got a second?” Coach Ferguson beckons me over towards his office, which sits off to the side of the dressing room. My stomach drops towards my feet, but I nod and follow him inside.

“What’s up, Coach?” I ask, keeping my expression neutral, even though I have a feeling I’m about to get reamed for how distracted I was today.

“We’re looking for players to participate in a charity bachelor auction,” he says, catching me completely off guard. “You’re single, right?”

I grimace. Nothing against charity, but I fucking hate that bachelor auction. I did it last year and I swore I’d never do it again. Being paraded around on stage like a piece of meat while rich women scream at me isn’t my idea of a good time.

And the “date” I had to go on after? Awful. We had dinner at a nice restaurant, and the winning bidder seemed to think she was entitled to a lot more than just steak and lobster and a couple hours of my time. Things got awkward real fast when I shut her down hard.

My brain sputters and spins for a minute, and then I blurt out a lie. “Uh, no. I’m not single.”

Coach’s eyebrows inch up his forehead, surprise written all over his face. “You’re not?”

I shake my head, the lie making my gut churn. “Uh, no. I have a girlfriend.”

“Oh,” he says, frowning. “I had no idea.”

“It’s…new,” I say carefully.

“What’s her name?” he asks casually.

“Emily.” I blurt her name without even thinking.

“You should bring her to the game tomorrow. She can sit with Lilah and Sadie,” he says, mentioning his daughter Lilah (the one engaged to Kincaid) and his fiancée, Sadie.

“Oh, uh…” I say, but he’s already typing on his computer.

“I’ll get the three of them a box. What’s her last name? I just need it for the security list.”

“David. Emily David.”

He nods and types. “Done. She’ll get the VIP treatment tomorrow night.”

“Great. Thank you.” I shuffle towards the door. “That all?”

He nods. “Yeah,” he says, shoving a hand through his hair. “Guess I’ll have to find someone else to volunteer for the auction.”

“Yeah, guess so,” I say as relief mingles with guilt in my stomach. “Ask Tanner,” I add. “He’s single.” I grab my coat, keys, and wallet and head down to the parking garage, feeling completely off-kilter.