Page 26

Nicko, December 19th

“ S usan just called; Greg had a hard fall while skating.”

I look up from where I’ve been scrolling through a hockey news site, messing up my own mood by searching for any mentions of myself. It’s just been announced that the speculations about the Rebels’ negotiations with Autin were nothing but hot air. I should feel relieved, but the comment section is full of unhappy fans discussing how the Rebels’ offensive line is a weak-linked chain. My name is dropped a few times, together with my injury and the slow start to my season, so I fully expect the Rebels to go looking at other trade options.

“Fuck,” I breathe as my mom’s words register with me, sitting up on the couch. “Is he okay?”

Susan and Greg are the elderly neighbors of my parents. Every winter, as soon as the pond in the nearby park freezes over, Greg is the first on the ice, claiming he needs to make sure it’s safe for the kids. Despite his age, he never passes up an opportunity to play.

“I don’t know yet, but he’ll have to get checked at the hospital,” mom sighs, and I’m already out of my seat.

“I’ll drive,” I offer, but she shakes her head.

“No, Nicko. Susan asked if you could look after Coach in the meantime, maybe take him for a walk? Nate, you’ll need to help me get Greg to the hospital.”

“Me?” my brother shrieks, and I bite back a laugh at the sight of his face, which has my mom throwing up her hands.

“Yes, you. Unless you want to walk Coach?”

“No! No, no, it’s fine. But I won’t drive that monster truck of yours!”

“Like I’d let you behind the wheel,” mom grumbles as she hurries out of the living room.

A few minutes later, the door falls closed behind them, leaving Hart and me to sit in silence.

I glance at the clock on the mantelpiece, grimacing. Dad took off to the studio half an hour ago to record a Christmas special for the podcast, so I’m stuck here with Hart for the rest of the afternoon.

“Want to walk Coach with me?” I offer reluctantly, which earns me a confused look.

“Walk...Coach? What coach?”

“It’s our neighbors’ dog,” I explain with a small grin.

“Your neighbors named their dog Coach? ”

“Yup. Greg still coached the defensive line in a hockey camp when they got him as a pup. Every time someone called out for him, he perked up. Eventually they just went along with it.”

“That explains Nate’s reaction,” Hart reasons with a slow nod.

“So? You coming? Or would you rather…” I trail off as I gesture toward the TV and around the living room, indicating that he is welcome to stay here. I should probably prefer that. I’m not sure how to act around him after everything that happened over the past weeks. I still have the undeniable urge to roll my eyes whenever he opens his mouth. But I also want to smash our lips together before I punch him in the face.

The kissing part—that’s definitely a recent development. However, I could use a distraction from my trip to social media hell.

“Do you have any treats around here?” he asks as he gets up from his place on the floor, causing me to huff.

“If you think you can manipulate my dog into liking you better–”

“I thought it was your neighbors’ dog?”

“Don’t deflect, Hart!”

“Xander.”

I come to an abrupt stop behind him when he halts in the doorway. Hart has turned around to me, leveling me with a stare out of his blue eyes.

“What?” I ask mindlessly. We’re too close again. This house is so fucking big, and yet he’s always just a few inches away.

“You wanted to call me Xander ,” he reminds me. There’s a small smirk playing around the corners of his lips when he raises his hand, emphasizing the last part with a gentle tap to my forehead.

I stare when he winks at me before disappearing into the hallway.

“Don’t forget the treats!” he calls out a moment later, and I groan in annoyance.

This. Fucking. Guy!

***

Unfortunately, Coach is far too well-behaved to bite Hart in the ankle.

I’ve driven us to one of the forest trails close by. With the fresh snow, everyone is out skating or sledging, and when we don’t encounter a single soul for twenty minutes, I decide to free Coach of his leash.

“So that wasn’t just made up?” Hart’s voice is scratchy from the long silence that spread between us. Not that I could have forgotten about his presence—the trail is narrow and our shoulders bump together every other step.

“Huh?” I ask, my eyes fixed on the German Shepherd happily leading us around. Coach is used to long and frequent walks with Greg, and I’m always glad to offer my time when I’m home.

“You really like dogs; you didn’t just make that up,” Hart points out, and I snort.

“Why would I make that up? If anything, I should have tried harder to deter you from going to the dog pound in order to keep up the act,” I tell him. And I tried, but the chance of spending an hour walking a dog was too tempting after all. “Also, seeing you get bossed around by a ten-inch animal was definitely worth it.”

Hart narrows his eyes at me, but his features smooth over quickly when Coach turns around, proudly presenting us a new stick he found. I’m already carrying three of his recent finds so Hart takes it from him, praising him excessively.

“You know, I’ve been back there. Lila and I are thick as thieves now,” he tells me when Coach has disappeared into the undergrowth again.

“Liar. My good girl would never betray me like that. Linden said she still scares you.” I grin smugly, causing him to roll his eyes.

“Birds of a feather flock together—you’re both short and aggressive, no wonder you got along so well.”

“Asshole!” I push against his shoulder, causing him to stumble into the brush that seams the trail.

Hart laughs as the snow falls from the delicate branches, powdering his black hair and shoulders. The sound alerts Coach, his dark muzzle peeking out of the scrubs.

“Ha– Xander is being an ass again,” I tell the dog, but he doesn’t seem to get the problem so he turns around to disappear once more.

“I’m perfectly average sized, six feet and all!”

“5’11″ according to your stats,” Hart corrects me dryly.

“You read my stats?” I narrow my eyes at him, but he just shrugs.

“Of course. Had to know who was drafted with me.”

“Who was drafted before you.”

“It’s just five picks,” he points out, and I cross my arms over my chest in defiance.

“It’s just three inches.”

I meant the height difference—because obviously I know his stats by heart, too—but the moment those words leave my mouth, a smirk forms on his lips.

“Oh, you should know it’s more than just three inches.”

My cheeks burn with a flare of embarrassment, unwanted memories flooding my mind. He definitely didn’t feel like three inches when I swallowed him down my throat. I feel light headed as I take a step toward him, the snow crunching softly under my boots.

“Not how I remember it,” I lie, my words hushed. I’m suddenly aware of the loneliness of this place, the forest swallowing the sounds around us, enclosing us in our own sphere.

“Is that so?” Hart tilts his head at me, his grin broadening now. “Maybe I need to remind you then.”

Despite the heat in my stomach, I shudder, the reactions of my body just as torn as my mind. My thoughts are racing, desperately searching for a witty comeback, but all I get are glimpses of our clash in the locker room. The way his hot flesh felt in my mouth, the heady smell of his balls when I buried my nose against them.

I swallow thickly, taking a step back again. I need to get away from this guy before I do something really dumb.

“I–” I start, just to get cut off the next second when Hart crosses the distance between us with two long strides.

One moment he’s staring at me, the intensity of his gaze freezing me to the spot, the next he’s on me. Grabbing my face with both hands, he slams our mouths together with such ferocity, I’m not sure if he meant to kiss or punch me.

I’m dead set on pushing him away, but when his teeth bite into my bottom lip, I open up on instinct. There’s still a hint of ginger and cinnamon lingering in his mouth, luring me in. I drop Coach’s sticks to wrap my arms around his neck to pull him closer as our tongues brush, battling each other for dominance. If I can’t resist, I want to come out on top at least.

He’s walking me backward, and I reluctantly comply as I reinforce my hold on him. If he tries to push me down the slope I’ll drag him down with me.

My back bumps against a broad trunk, and Hart drops his hands from my jaw. Our mouths are still smashed together when he grabs for my thighs. He guides one leg up his hip, then lifts me like I’m not a fully grown hockey player.

I yelp in surprise, but the sound gets lost in another kiss; Hart presses closer now, sandwiching me between the tree and his chest.

“If you drop me, I’ll kill you,” I huff when we finally break apart for air.

“Don’t worry, I also have twenty-five pounds on you.” Hart’s words are muffled as he’s nosing against my throat, the soft touch causing my eyelids to flutter closed.

“Yes, but not in muscle,” I clarify, my fingers pinching his stomach through the coat and he groans.

“What do I have to do to shut you up?”

Coach takes this moment to answer for both of us as he emerges from the brush again, barking happily.

Hart looks momentarily worried, both hands raised when Coach rushes to our sides, jumping up.

“I didn’t intend to drop him. He’d never quit bitching,” he tells the dog seriously, and I snort.

“He thinks he was missing out on play time. Now put me down, idiot.”

“Oh. Well. He kinda was.”

I shoot Hart a warning look when he lowers me to the ground again, shoving against his chest. My cheeks burn with heat, and I uncomfortably rub my neck with one hand.

Coach has quieted down again, sitting and panting as he regards us with his head tilted. The silence is stretching between us like old gum stuck to a shoe.

I take a deep breath and jam both hands into the pockets of my jacket. “So. We should probably walk back.”

There’s another pause, then Hart agrees with a nod. “Definitely. Coach looks exhausted.”

“He might also be freezing.”

“Oh yes. He’s probably having a terrible time.”

“Nate and mom might not be back from the hospital yet,” I observe with a casual glance at my fitness tracker.

“And your father said not to wait for him with dinner,” Hart adds.

I nod as I bend down to brush the snow out of Coach’s fur, then pat his side.

“Race you back to the car!” I announce a second later, taking off without another glance over my shoulder.