Page 13 of Melting the Ice

Hopefully, I could convince myself of that and focus on tonight’s game instead of on her sparkling hazel eyes and that smile that twisted up my gut.

Dammit.

JOSIE

“Go, go! Dig it out,” I yelled that night as one of the Stampede players tried to get the puck away from one of the Chicago guys. Micah was on the ice and looking like a beast after checking a Chicago player into the boards. It’d looked brutal, but someone in the row in front of me said it was a clean hit, so I guessed that was good.

My hockey knowledge was minimal. I enjoyed watching the games and always tuned in when Micah was playing if I could. Since moving to Denver a few months ago, that had been more and more. I didn’t understand a few of the calls—like, what the hell was icing?—but I knew that I was rooting for Micah to kick ass, and that was all that mattered. Plus, it was a fun game towatch, especially since the Stampede were winning right now, four to three. This was the final period, so hopefully, that lead remained until the end.

People around me started voicing their frustration, and I focused again on the ice, watching a Chicago player skate around the back of our net and take a shot on the goalie. The goalie blocked it, and someone knocked the puck away. Now, a Stampede player had it, and they were all moving in the opposite direction toward the other end. The game was crazy fast, and I struggled to keep track of everything, but I could always spot number fifteen.

Damn, he looked so good out there. He was pushing over six and a half feet with his skates on, and it was baffling how someone that big could look so fluid, almost graceful, as he skated down the ice.

“Shoot it,” someone called out as the players passed the puck back and forth.

Now, Micah had the puck, and he sent it to another guy, who missed it. Chicago snagged it and then they were skating back in the other direction. I was exhausted just watching them, but my eyes were locked on Micah again.

I’d missed most of the warm-ups because I’d been working on some illustrations for my Etsy shop I started last year. It didn’t make a ton of money, but it was something I liked doing. By the time I’d arrived at the arena and grabbed some pulled pork nachos, warm-ups were over, and the first period was about to start.

The seat Micah had gotten me was perfect for watching him—I mean, for enjoying the game. Low enough to get a great view of the ice and the players, and seven rows up on the corner, so there weren’t any blind spots. It was perfect. I adjusted my Stampede beanie with an adorable pom-pom on top. Fully decked out in jersey, hat, and scarf—it might’ve been overkill in the arena, butit was cold as hell outside. And it wasn’t like I’d painted my face or something. That definitely would’ve been over the top.

The glass rattled in front of my section, and I drew in a breath as Micah pressed one of the Chicago players against the boards. His head was down, his helmet blocking me from actually seeing his face, but that stupid thrill shot through me again. I rolled my shoulders and drank my soda to cool myself down.

I would not think about what it would feel like to have him press me up against a wall.

Damn, he was delectable. Every time his gloriously sweaty face showed up on the jumbotron, my body revved up another notch. I knew what it was like to kiss that man, and even if it hadn’t gone the way my eighteen-year-old heart wanted, and I was in no way pining for him after four years, I also wasn’t blind. He was fuckably hot, and watching him play hockey was a huge turn-on. I felt no shame in the fact that he’d featured in my fantasies over the years and had made more than a few appearances in my spank bank. We may not be riding off into the sunset together or some such nonsense, but at least I had no regrets. I’d gone for what I wanted and you win some, you lose some. I didn’t have the energy to think about what-ifs. There was no benefit to overanalyzing every little last thing.

I popped another nacho into my mouth and focused back on the game. Micah’s prey had escaped him and Micah skated in front of the net as the Chicago player took his shot. Then, they were all skating back in the other direction.

“That’s fucking right. Smith’s on fire tonight,” someone in front of me said, and I grinned.

If they won tonight, I was totally taking credit and telling Micah I was his good luck charm, just to tease him. I laughed. Spending more time with him just meant more chances to taunt him, and I would never tire of that. That man needed a littlehurricane in his life to keep him on his toes, even if it was only for a short time.

I took another sip of my soda and thoroughly enjoyed the rest of the game. The Stampede won five to three, and the energy in the arena was addictive. I was definitely going to attend all the games I could.

***

“I’ll take whatever pale ale you have on draft,” I said later that night as I settled on a barstool at Tipsy Steer. Micah had texted, asking if I wanted to head down to the family room to wait for him or just meet him here, and I’d opted to Uber over ahead of him.

“Are you Josie?” a voice asked from behind me.

I turned to see a brunette woman around my age smiling at me.

“Yes, I am.” I held out my hand. “How did you know?”

“Purple hair and Micah’s jersey.” She shook my hand. “I’m Harper Cameron, Timmy’s girlfriend. Well, Connor Horton’s girlfriend. They call him Timmy because we’re from Edmonton, and he’s crazy about Timbits.” She grinned.

“Timbits?”

“Yeah, the donut holes from Tim Hortons. Thanks, Simone,” she said, nodding to the bartender, who had just put a beer in front of her.

“Timmy, ha. These guys love a good nickname,” I said.

She laughed. “Yes, they do. And they love you already because Micah’s never had a fun nickname. Micahtron’s perfect. He’s so focused, almost robotic.”

I shook my head and grinned. “Shit. He’s going to kill me for letting that slip.”

“He’ll get over it. Nicknames are par for the course with these guys, and he knows it’s all in good fun,” she said before taking a sip of her beer. “The guys should be here soon. So, you’ve known Micah for a long time, right? I bet you have some great stories. I’ve been besties with Connor since we were kids. Kicked his ass during a pond hockey game when we were six, and if you must know, it was the start of a beautiful friendship.” Harper’s eyes sparkled with humor.

---