Page 12 of Back On Ice

My cock grows hard thinking of her, and I grasp it in my hand, pumping up and down. Sophie.MySophie. Fuck, what I wouldn’t give to watch the look her eyes turn from hate into need, and then, surrender.

Thoughts of how I’d gently grab her neck and kiss her breathless, dominating her mouth with my tongue fill my mind. How the lipstick she wore tonight would look wrapped around my cock, my fingers fisting in her hair as I guide her up and down. I can already tell she’ll need someone to get her out of her own head. She may not want my help now, but if she’ll let me, I can give her exactly what she needs.

Fuck. My free hand braces against the shower wall as I lean forward, the hot water running over my back as I stroke faster, picturing her perfect tits bouncing underneath me as I thrust into her, holding her legs over my shoulders.

My hand tightens as I imagine flipping her onto her hands and knees, fucking owning her pussy, pounding into it until she screams my name. If she’s good, I’ll reach around and rub her clit until she comes undone around me?—

I gasp her name as hot ropes of cum paint the tile of the shower wall.

Being away, it was easy to pretend that I no longer had feelings for Sophie Hartwell. I admit, when I first planned on coming back to town, the prospect of seeing her again had my stomach flipping. Then, simply being in Ivy Glen and being reminded of her at every turn was hard. But having her in front of me, breathing the same air as her and not being able to take her into arms had been fucking torture.

I need to make her mine again.

Catching my breath, I make a promise to myself. I’m going to apologize and explain everything to her. I’m going to get on my fucking hands and knees if have to.

I know I fucked up. She deserves so much more than what I gave her.

But maybe… if she hears me out, I can have a second chance.

Chapter Six

SOPHIE

My alarm blares,and as my eyes crack open, rapidly blinking away the grittiness from my makeup the night before, one thing occurs to me.

I’m officially too fucking old to sleep on Abbie’s couch.

My back groans as I sit up, reaching my fists above my head in a stretch that makes my shoulders crack in ways I didn’t think possible.

Yep, too fucking old.

“Turn that thing off!” Abbie grumbles, half asleep, from her bed in the other room. I find my phone where it fell on the floor last night, and turn off the alarm.

Crawling into bed with Abbie, I prod her with my finger. “Hey.” Despite the fact that there’s plenty of room in her queen sized bed for the two of us, no amount of alcohol can make me sleep through the way she tosses and turns all night. More often than not, she would end up laying half on top of me, spread out like some sort of restless starfish.

“What?” She cracks one eye open, glaring at me for interrupting her sleep.

“Thanks for being a good friend. I’m going to go home to get ready for work.”

“Yeah, yeah. I love you too. Leave me alone so I can go back to sleep.”

Chuckling, I leave her room to grab my clothes from yesterday. Abbie let me borrow some sweats to wear to bed last night, and once I change out of them, I throw them in the hamper on my way out the door. I’ll run home really quick and get changed before heading to Hart’s Flowers.

Saturdays are full days at the flower shop, and something I look forward to every week. Ever since I picked up managing the Twin Rinks, I don’t get nearly as much time in the shop as I used to. While part of me loves the fact that I get to do both jobs, the other part feels guilty for letting someone else help so much with the shop that my parents spent years growing from the ground up. During the week, I’m at the shop from open to till noon, then head to the rec center. On Saturdays, the assistant manager, Brandon, opens Twin Rinks, so I can stay at the flower shop until three, then grab Jordan and his two best friends for his hockey practice while I coach my own junior high rec team. The busyness of the flower shop on a Saturday should be enough to keep Carter far, far away from my thoughts—where he belongs.

When I arrive home at 8:30, the house is quiet. Tom’s truck is in the driveway, so I’m assuming he’s getting as much sleep as he can before heading down to the rec center to coach the younger hockey teams.

Twenty minutes and a hot shower later, I’m running out the front door in my pink Hart’s Flower Shop t-shirt, jeans, and my tennis shoes. I grab a Twin Rinks hoodie for the practice later and throw it in the back seat as I slide into the car. I’lljustmake it in time. Last thing I need is to show up late and get a talk frommy parents about how I’m “doing too much” and I need to “take a break and focus on myself.”

I pull up to the shop at 8:59, right as Kerry is flipping the “closed” sign to “open”, and she unlocks the door, smiling at me.

“Hey, Sophie!” she says as I approach, and grin back at her.

“Good morning, Kerry.” I walk through the door she’s holding open for me.

One of my favorite things about the flower shop is how it’s always bursting with color. I’d probably feel that way about any flower shop, but Hart’s Flowers is filled with so many childhood memories that every morning, the sight of it settles something within me. This place is safe. Predictable.

I do a quick inspection of the floral coolers that line the painted light-blue walls. One is filled with pre-made arrangements, and the others have tall, rustic metal buckets filled with specific flowers, separated by color. As always, Kerry has everything for the day ready to go.

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