Page 29 of Dreams on the Ice

Instead of going home, I make my way toward Brooklyn. I know she’s probably got a few more hours of work since most of her clients are scheduled for later in the day. Swinging by the coffee place, I order her drink before I continue on my journey.

My phone buzzes with incoming messages as I drive, but I ignore them all. I’m not sure who it is or why my phone is being blown up, but my focus right now is Brooklynn. I’m feeling fucking anxious about what the attorney said.

I’m not sure why, but I need her reassurance that everything is going to be okay. I know it is. It has to be—even though I fucked up by spending every goddamn dime I ever made in hockey. But that is done now.

I’m going to make money, I’m going to invest, and I’m going to show my parents that I need absolutely nothing from them.

Nothing.

I’m going to fucking make it in this world. I have no other option. I cannot and will not fail. I’m also going to make it with this woman by my side. I’m going to keep her because she is who I want but also who I need.

Parking in front of the salon, I wrap my fingers around Brooklynn’s favorite iced coffee order and unfold from the front seat, closing the door behind me. I lock my car and shove my key in my pocket, my phone buzzing every two seconds.

After I open the door to the salon, my eyes scan the room until they lock in on her. She flicks her attention to me, and her eyes widen before her lips part.

“You brought me an iced coffee?” she asks in a whisper.

I hold it out to her, and she lifts her hand, wrapping her fingers around the sweating cup. I watch as she brings it to her lips, wrapping them around the straw as if it’s the most amazing thing that’s ever been in her mouth.

I have to admit that it makes my cock twitch beneath my zipper because she has that exact same expression when her lips are wrapped around my dick. Fuck me, Brooklynn is sexy as shit.

When she opens her eyes, it’s not her who speaks, but the woman in her chair with foils all wrapped in her hair. She turns toward me, her eyes wide. “Congratulations on your engagement,” the woman states.

My eyes widen.

My heart slams against my chest, and I lift my gaze to Brooklynn. I stare at her in question. Did we get engaged, and I did not realize it? But when Ayden makes her way over to us, wrapping her fingers around my elbow, she gently tugs on me, and I turn to her.

“You have a little bit of a problem,” she whispers.

“Problem?” I ask, then turn my head to look back at Brooklynn. She’s placed her drink down on her counter and is checking on the hair that’s wrapped in foil.

Brooklynn clears her throat and speaks before Ayden can answer. “Kiki has become famous. She’s engaged to Forrest Westwood, and the conniving hairdresser, Brooklynn, is trying to steal her man.”

What.

The.

Fuck?

Chapter

Fourteen

BROOKLYNN

Forrest stares at me,his eyes wide, and then he grunts before he spins around on his heels and walks out of the salon. He doesn’t go far. I watch as he stops right by the front window on the sidewalk.

He digs his phone out of his back pocket, then his head tips down, and I assume he starts researching what I’ve said.

My client is absolutely loving the drama.

This is the one person I would rather not have this happen in front of. But fuck it. At this point, I’m the villain no matter what is happening, so I may as well be in front of her so she can tell everyone in town.

Thankfully, she stays quiet while I finish her hair. I don’t know if it’s the vibes I’m putting off or what, but I can tell she feels bad about the situation. She thanks me for her hair and compliments it—which she never does—and then she leaves me a tip, which is also something she never does.

I almost wish my life would be a freaking disaster more often when she’s sitting in my chair because it was really nice notbeing criticized and actually getting a tip from her. But then I would have to have something traumatic happen to me every six weeks, and that sounds like a cortisol nightmare.

When she leaves, Forrest must realize she’s gone because before I can even put my curling wand away, he’s standing in front of me. “Can we talk in the back?”

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