Page 19 of Knot Sharing the Ice

What if who we really are isn't enough?

I push the thought away, channeling all my focus into the puck. It flies true, finding the gap between Mason's pads and the post.

He curses, fishing it out of the net. "Nice one," he grudgingly admits.

I grin, some of my usual cockiness returning. "They don't call me Iceman for nothin'."

"They absolutely donotcall you that," Mason says flatly.

"That one reporter did," I mutter, retrieving another puck.

"Yeah, well, that reporter was probably drunk off his ass," Mason retorts. "Face it, Jayce, you're about as?—"

"Hey, guys. Is there room for one more?"

Ember's voice cuts through our banter like a knife, and we both whip around to see her gliding toward us on the ice. She's shed her jacket, revealing the form-fitting gray leotard underneath. Her cheeks are flushed a delicate pink, and I catch myself wondering if that blush extends lower...

Fuck.

Focus, Jayce.

But it's hard to focus when her scent hits me full force. It's stronger now, sweeter, with an undercurrent of something musky and intoxicating. My mouth waters, and I have to physically stop myself from taking a step toward her.

"Everything okay?" Mason asks, his voice tight. I can tell he's affected too, but he's always been better at hiding it than me.

Ember shrugs, a casual gesture that does interesting things to her chest. "The breakroom was getting a little stuffy. Thought I'd come out here, burn off some energy."

Stuffy?

Even with the backup generator running, it's far from hot in there.

Which means...

Oh. Ohshit.

Her heat.

It must be progressing faster than we thought. The realization sends a jolt of both excitement and panic through me.

We arenotprepared for this.

"What kind of energy did you have in mind?" The words are out of my mouth before I can stop them, and I immediately want to kick myself even though I actually didn't mean it that way.

This time.

Way to go, asshole. Real smooth.

Ember's eyes narrow, and I can practically see her hackles rise. "Excuse me?"

"No, I didn't—that's not what I—" I stammer, tripping over my words in my haste to backpedal. "I just meant... fuck. I'm sorry. For that, and for earlier. I was being a dick."

She studies me for a long moment, her expression unreadable. Finally, she gives a small nod. "Apology accepted. For now."

Relief washes over me, followed quickly by determination. This is my chance to start fresh, to show her I'm not just some knothead alpha. "Thanks," I say, then inspiration strikes. "Hey, you want us to teach you how to play?"

"Play what?" she asks, brow furrowed in confusion.

I gesture to the stick in my hands. "Hockey. I mean, you've already got the hard part down with the skating. The rest is just rules and technique."

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