Page 9 of Ice, Love, & Other Penalties

“World famous, huh?” I raise an eyebrow. “I’ll be the judge of that.”

As we head to the kitchen, I can’t take my eyes off Indigo—the confident sway of her hips, the sleek dark cascade of hair spilling down her back. She moves with innate grace, and I feel an unwanted spark of attraction.

Indigo takes charge of the kitchen, her movements confident and graceful, with Myra eagerly following. I lean against the doorway, arms folded, watching them interact and making sure this arrangement will work—even when it might only last a few days.

The kitchen transforms under Indigo’s touch into an almost magical place. Ingredients appear on the countertop as if by magic—flour, eggs, milk, a bottle of maple syrup—all neatly arranged.

“May I crack the eggs?” Myra’s voice is hopeful, her eyes wide with anticipation. It’s a simple task, yet the fact that she’s requesting and not just demanding is a huge change from her usual behavior.

“Of course,” Indigo responds, handing over an egg with a gentle smile. “Just tap it on the edge of this bowl.”

Holding my breath, I watch as Myra carefully taps the egg, her little face scrunched in concentration. When it cracks successfully into the bowl, she lights up with a brilliant grin.

“Great job, Myra,” Indigo exclaims, holding up her hand. Myra enthusiastically high-fives her, bursting with pride at this accomplishment. “Cracking eggs can be tricky, but you nailed it. We’ll make an expert chef of you in no time.”

Myra beams under the effusive praise, and my heart swells at her unbridled joy.

Under Indigo’s patient guidance, Myra carefully measures flour and adds a dash of cinnamon, face adorably concentrated with her effort. Their interaction flows seamlessly and naturally—Indigo’s instructions clear yet gentle, Myra following each step precisely with obvious pride.

Soon, the aroma of cooking pancakes fills the warm kitchen, sweet and celebratory, drawing me fully into this domestic scene playing out before me. Indigo dexterously flips a pancake as Myra applauds enthusiastically, her utter delight infectious.

“These are going to be delicious.” Indigo winks down at her tiny sous-chef. “All thanks to your help.” Myra glows under the praise, then insists on getting the syrup from the counter herself while Indigo transfers the last golden-brown pancake to the serving plate.

“Think we’re ready to sample these world-famous pancakes?” Indigo asks playfully, glancing my way.

“If they taste the way they smell, I’m sure they’re probably the best in the world,” I admit.

Indigo grabs the plate as Myra holds the syrup while leading our procession to the kitchen island where the other two plates are set. At the first bite, I’m struck by their perfection—fluffy, lightly sweet, utterly delicious.

“World-famous could actually be selling them short,” I admit, earning a satisfied smile from Indigo and laughter from Myra.

“I think I like you,” Myra looks at Indigo.

“The feeling is mutual,” Indigo responds. “Glad we’ll be able to hang out for a few days.”

But what will happen in a few days? What if I can’t find anyone to look after Myra and she has to go and take care of the rest of the team?

I try not to panic, but the tension is back, and how am I supposed to play tomorrow when my life is a clusterfuck again.

Chapter Six

Indigo

“I’m pretty sure Jude hates me,” I mutter under my breath, my shoulders slumping.

Why else would he have sent me here, to the wolf’s den that is Tyberius Nolan Brynes’ home? I’m no Little Red Riding Hood, but while we were having pancakes, I couldn’t help feeling like Tyberius might try to eat me for breakfast. Just push me over the counter, pull my jeans down and run his tongue along my pussy before devouring me with his big mouth.

The thought of him doing that makes my entire body quiver. I wouldn’t mind letting him use his tongue on me as long as I can ride his cock a few times.

Damn it, Indie, stop that. His child is right here and your number one rule is not to get tangled up with older guys, even more so if they are hockey players.

No, my number one rule when it comes to men: keep things strictly on my terms, use them once, no emotions involved. If there’s something I learned from Frederick is to use them and never let anyone in.

This isn’t good.

Not good at all.

“Thank you for doing this,” Tyberius says, his voice deep and rough, pulling me back from the edge of my spiraling thoughts.

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