Page 151 of Ice Mechanic

Her eyes sweep over the suite, eyebrows climbing. I’ve been in a million suites like this while traveling, not only for hockey but also with my parents growing up.

However, I try to see the suite from her eyes.

The penthouse overlooks the frantic city center. Many stories below, cars wind through the streets and pedestrians rush out to meet friends or go on dates after work. From this height, the activity below is hard to pinpoint. Everyone outside of this room looks like a tiny, moving dot.

Skyscrapers beam hues of red and yellow, creating a canvas of manmade stars that stretch as far as the eyes can see.

The room itself is huge with a salon boasting overstuffed leather chairs, a thick rug, and a mini-bar for entertaining guests.

“Go find your dad’s shirt. When you take off this one, give it to me. I’ll wash it.”

“You don’t have to do that,” I tell her.

April narrows her eyes in warning.

I obediently step into the next room and locate dad’s shirt. It looks a lot smaller than my current one. Setting it on the bed, I unbutton and shrug off my clothes. Checking the tag on dad’s shirt proves my hunch correct.

“Hey, April,” I step out with both dad’s shirt and my ruined one in each fist, “I don’t think this will fit.”

Utter silence is all that greets me.

I glance up. April is sitting on the edge of the couch, her eyes glued to my chest. I warm beneath her innocent and unrestrained observation.

I’ve done a few shirtless photoshoots for magazines—and there was also the recent debacle that landed me myFreshButtFitdeal—so I’m used to being stared at while half dressed. But I’ve never been this happy showing off my physique.

“I think I’ll have to dry this one.” I dangle my ruined shirt from the edge of my fingers, intentionally flexing my bicep in the process.

April shoots her gaze to the ceiling, her cheeks flushed. “Hand it over. I’ll wash it in the bathroom sink.”

“Do you want me to check the mini-fridge for a water bottle?” I ask.

“What?”

“To put on your cheeks?” I tease. “Blushing that hard seems like it hurts.”

“I’m not blushing.” April shoots to her feet and snatches the shirt from me, running off.

I chuckle and follow at a safe distance.

April steps into the bathroom and I’m thankful that the toilet and sink are separate. There’s no door for her to lock me out or I’m sure she would have.

“It’s not even your first time seeing me shirtless,” I point out.

April ducks her head toward the sink and studiously ignores me as she places the shirt under running water.

I smile and lean against the wall, just watching her. She curled the ends of her hair and the thick, brown locks dance against her back with every scrubbing motion. The navy dress fits her like a glove, hinting tastefully at the curves hidden beneath the fabric.

She’s exquisite and so beautiful that I wish I could keep her to myself and not share her with the party downstairs.

“April.”

“What?” she sputters, refusing to look at me.

“April.”

This time, she spins around. “What?”

“Nothing.” I fold my arms over my chest and don’t miss the way her eyes dip down before they sail back to my face. “I just like saying your name.”

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