Page 24 of Fate on the Ice

Athletes, especially hockey players, are not for me. I can’t imagine what my father would do or say if I knocked on his door to tell him that I’d fallen in love with one of his men.

His face would probably turn purple, and he’d scream the roof down. And not because he would think they’re bad for me, but likely the opposite. I’m pretty sure it would be worse than being expelled from school. I know he cares more about his men than he ever has me.

“Leave her alone,” Karlie murmurs. “Can’t you tell she’s upset?”

My gaze shifts to Karlie, then back to Brooklynn. I want to defend myself or at least brush the whole thing off. But I have a feeling that these ladies are not going to allow that. They are here in the home of gossip, tears, laughter, and stories—they want mine.

Biting the inside of my cheek, I grip the handle of my broom and try to figure out how I’m going to get out of this conversation, at the same time knowing that I won’t. I release my cheek, and my tongue snakes out and slides across my bottom lip, wetting it.

“I don’t date athletes, especially not hockey players,” I say.

The whole salon meets me with silence. It’s Brooklynn, naturally, who speaks first. She frowns, then drops her arms to her side before she speaks.

“Why not?” she asks. “They’re hot, driven, and focused. Plus, they are responsible. How could you not want one of them? Hell, all of them?”

“I know exactly how good a lot of them are,” I say.

I decide that it’s now or never. There is no way I can let them believe that I won’t date Otto just because of his career, as if it’s something bad, even though that is very much the reason I don’t want to date him. But Otto being Otto is making it very hard to turn my back on him—I want him too badly.

“My father is their coach.”

OTTO

Jogging up the front walkway, I stop in front of the door. Her car is here, and I want to see her. I’ve been away from her for twenty hours. I need to see her again. I have to. My body can’t handle being away from her, not for another moment.

I raise my hand and touch the bell with my index finger. It buzzes, the sound ringing through the inside of the house. A few moments later, the front door opens. She’s there, standing in front of me, wearing a pair of black shorts and a black tank top. Her long blonde hair is pulled up in a high ponytail.

She looks absolutely stunning.

Like every time I’ve seen her.

“Grace,” I exhale.

Her eyes are wide, and her lips parted. I want to kiss them and then slide my tongue between them and taste her mouth. Instead of waiting for her to say something, I take a step forward, my arm sliding around her waist as I move. Her feet scramble backward.

My mouth is on hers, my tongue exactly where I want it to be for the moment—inside of her. Soon, it’s going to be a few feet lower, too. And then I’ll have tasted all of her—that is my goal.

Then I want to do it all over again.

And again.

Then again in the morning.

She’s perfection.

Breaking the kiss, I rest my forehead against hers. “I missed you today,” I rasp.

Grace’s fingers grip my biceps. She pulls her head back slightly, her eyes finding mine. They search my own, but I don’t know how much longer I can wait for her.

“Otto,” she murmurs.

Sliding my hands down her arms, I grip her hips, then the backs of her thighs, before I pick her up. I don’t care if anyone else is in the house. I can’t wait for another second. I can’t wait another heartbeat. I need her more than I need air.

I carry her up the stairs knowing exactly which room is hers. I need no instructions. No guidance. My mouth attaches to her neck, sucking and licking the skin there. Another place to taste.

Stepping into her bedroom, I kick the door closed before I place her feet down on the floor. Her grip on my biceps loosens, her eyes lift to meet mine, and I find sadness in her gaze.

I open my mouth to say something, to ask her what she needs to tell me, but I decide that I don’t think I care too much.

---