Page 45 of Hot Mic, Cold Ice

"I could just check in and not stay there?" she says, her tone a question.

I smile back at her, "Sure."

Once she is checked in, we make our way back to my apartment. We fall into bed. The familiar feeling of our bodies melding together brings a sense of comfort to my anxieties and insecurities. As we lie tangled in my sheets, I am compelled to confess things I haven't told anyone else.

"I'm getting my ass handed to me over here," I admit, running a hand through my hair. "It's just so much, all the time. Sometimes it makes me feel like I'm drowning, and like I'm going to fuck it all up."

She turns to look at me, her expression serious. "You won't! And you don't have to do it all alone, you know. Lean on me. I'm here when you need me in any way I can help." Her words are a balm to my frayed nerves. For the first time in weeks, I feel the weight of a full breath in my lungs.

The next morning, I am up early for practice. The team is still riding high on our winning streak, but we all know we can't get complacent. Coach Wilder drills us hard, pushing us to maintain our edge. As I skate over to my domain, the goal behind me, my focus is on the game and the next win. Everything else has to take a backseat. Until the season is over, I have to push the negative thoughts to the back of my mind. We have a big game coming up, and I need to be at my best. If we beat New Orleans tomorrow, we will be a series away from the playoffs. We have come too far for any of us, especially for me, to lose focus now. By the time practice is over, I am exhausted but satisfied with my performance. We are ready for the next game.

After our team meeting, we're all dismissed until we’re supposed to show up to the rink for the game tomorrow. While I know I have a very strict ‘night before a game’ ritual that I haveto adhere to for my success, I am just glad that Ziggy is now a part of that routine.

:Head home when

you get done with work.

I’m cooking dinner.

Oh hell…Qu'est-ce que je dis? Head OVER. Head over, not home. Fuck, maybe we can just move past this without it getting weird. Oh no, she is typing.

Ziggy:Okay.

Okay…. That’s it? That’s not good. Suspect at best. It's weird. I've made it weird. I start typing a long message about how I really just meant to come over, but before I finish, I get another message.

Ziggy:What’s for dinner?

Do I need to bring anything?

Thank fuck, we are going to ignore. I delete my unfinished text.

:Do you even

need to ask? And no,

just bring yourself.

The rest of my afternoon is spent dicking around the house. Watching TV, taking a nap, and ordering groceries. I try to give my body time to rest before tomorrow's game. Once Ziggy texts that she is on her way, I get up and start cooking. Steak stir fry with rice and vegetables is always my go-to meal the night before a game. When we travel, it's easier said than done, but I can usually make it happen.

By the time Ziggy gets here, I'm finishing up the meal and starting to plate us both. I set the table for us and set the mood with some candles. I have to will my eager cock to calm down around candles now. After my last experience with Ziggy and candles, my mind goes to a very dirty place. We sit for our meal and talk about our days and how work is going. She asks me about some interview prep ideas. Everything between us feels a little too perfect.

The concept of needing her in my life is so strong that it consumes my every thought. As we finish dinner, I put our plates in the sink, deciding the dishes can wait. I grab Ziggy's hand from the chair, pulling her gently toward the couch.

"Let's take it easy tonight," I suggest, a lazy smile spreading across my face as I envision a quiet evening just lounging before the madness resumes.

As we settle into the comfort of the couch, I flick through the channels, zeroing in on a classic. I putThe Big Lebowskion and make myself comfortable. Ziggy snuggles closer, her head resting against my shoulder, her presence doing more to calmmy nervous pregame jitters. These types of moments are good reminders that there is more to life than hockey. We whisper bullshit about the movie back and forth, we laugh, and my hands roam, but I keep it very innocent. My pregame sex ritual with Ziggy doesn't feel overly important at the moment.

After the movie, I get back to my pregame ritual. The familiar motions center me. I check my bag for the game one more time and I organize my suit, making sure everything is set exactly right for quick access tomorrow. The silence of the night presses in as I sit down to review game footage, trying to predict the opponent's moves, memorizing patterns. My mind should be sharp, locked in, but my thoughts keep drifting, softening the edges of my usual game day prep intensity. I stretch, the pull of muscles grounding me back to the moment, but a small sliver of unease lingers. Tomorrow's game looms large, and despite my preparations, I feel oddly detached, caught between the demands of the ice and the pull of something deeper, something personal.

Ziggy has been asleep for at least an hour at this point. I quietly climb into bed, giving her forehead a chaste kiss goodnight. I don’t know why. Knowing damn well it's for my benefit, not hers, and that is a dangerous train of thought to let myself go down.

There is so much longing left over in me each time we lie here together. Sometimes, the feelings are so overwhelming I don't know what to do with them. All I know is that I don't want to lose her. Despite the challenges and the uncertainty, she is the one thing that keeps me grounded, the one person I can rely on. I try to calm the storm in my mind with deep, measured breaths, hoping for restorative sleep. Instead, I’m left in a weird headspace, lying beside her, afraid that I'll blink and she willdisappear. The intensity of my need for her leaves me feeling vulnerable and exposed. Full of a feeling that we are teetering on the edge of something, that the fragile balance we've struck is about to tip.

Chapter 35

The energy in the rink is electric. Every game feels like a do-or-die situation as the Red Wolves fight to clinch a spot in the playoffs. ACN has on-rink coverage on every team that is a playoff hopeful. Prior to my assignment, my boss calls me in for a “conversation” that takes me completely by surprise.

“Azalea,” he says, a genuine smile on his face, “you’ve worked very hard this season so far, and we have seen incredible improvements in your work. I’m impressed with your dedication and the quality of your reporting.”

---