Page 33 of Home Ice

So much hungrier than I thought. I shuffle backward across the kitchen until my back hits against this side of the island. Beer. I need my beer. I don't hesitate as I tip it back and finish it all in four enormous gulps. When I look back down, Brant is staring at me. His grin is lopsided and one eyebrow is quirked up. Fucking eyebrow.

"I probably should have asked before now, but you do like frozen pizza, I hope?"

I shake my head. "You're not wearing the outfit of someone who cooked frozen pizza." But now I do recognize the scent of basil and cooked tomato.

"And I don't mean those frozen pizzas that are almost the same price as ordering from a pizza joint. I mean the cheap ones. Smith's had a sale last week. Ten pizzas for ten dollars. You should see my basement freezer, loaded with every flavor imaginable. Three cheese, four cheese, extra meat, meat lovers, meat lovers who are also cheese lovers. The selection is spectacular."

"You invite a girl over and then try to lure her to your basement? What am I supposed to think about you, Brant Morrison? Should I be scared?"

"Are you?"

Yes.

He opens the door, and for a second, I think he really did bake a frozen pizza. And that would be fine with me. I've eaten so many in my life I would never look down my nose at a slice. But when he grabs a metal pizza peel that was slotted beside the oven, I know this isn't a frozen pizza.

He slips the metal under the pizza and pulls it from the oven while spinning around to the wood cutting board on the counter to his right. His motions are almost balletic, a reminder that this man has spent his entire life training the way his body moves. He drizzles olive oil in a growing circle over the pizza. Then he takes a handful of fresh basil and rips it before sprinkling the torn leaves. "I hope you don't mind, but I really like the combination of fresh and cooked basil."

"No, that's fine." I walk up behind him. The pizza is some shape between a circle and an oval. The red sauce is spread to within an inch of the edges, leaving a swollen outer crust. And instead of the even layer of cheese I'm used to, there are irregular dots of white. Their edges oozing into the sauce. Over it all is the green of the basil. "This is homemade?" I ask.

Brant turns, and when his elbow brushes me, I realize how close I've gotten to him. I jump back to put space between us, but he shoots an arm around me and pulls me right back to him. "I've got you."

"I wasn't falling."

"Are you sure?"

I nod my head.

"So, my arm around your back?"

"Totally unnecessary," I say.

"Then I should let go."

I should say yes. "It would be hard to cut the pizza while holding on to me."

"I'm a goalie. I can do amazing things with my hands."

Just friends, just friends, just friends. And a friend wouldn't take what he just said as an invitation. But the way that muscle at the side of his jaw keeps tensing and releasing makes me wonder what he really wants. "Is that so?"

He turns us around so fast I gasp and then he marches us the two steps to the counter. Once again, its hard edge presses into my back. Something even harder presses into my front.

"Brant?"

"Do you want me to let you go?"

There have only been a few things in my life that I've wanted less. "Yes." It sounds like a squeak, not a word.

"If you mean it, you'll have to say it louder than that."

He shifts. His cock rubs against me. And it has been way too long since I've had sex with anything other than the toys in my drawer. Maybe one time wouldn't be bad. One time to get it out of our systems. But what if people at work found out? My mind goes back to yesterday's practice. "Why were the guys looking at me strange yesterday?"

"What guys?" I swear he growls the words as if he's an animal protecting its turf.

"At practice. Sammy and Nikita. And Milo too, now that I think about it."

"I don't know. I'm sure it was nothing."

None of them acted strange in the sessions after practice, so maybe it really was nothing. But if Brant and I do anything tonight, then I'll spend the rest of the season analyzing their looks even more than I already am. Every time one of them says something that could be taken in two different ways, I'll wonder if they know.

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