Page 45 of The Sweetest Risk

I scoff and shake my head. He texted me the night he got back from Vegas saying he couldn’t come by after all. It all worked out anyway since I had to get up extra early the next day. A night with Tristan would have kept me up way past my bedtime. Regardless, does he think I’m just going to do whatever he wants me to do? I don’t think so.

I go to my contacts and tapTristan Lawsonon my list. He answers on the first ring and I can already tell through the phone he has a satisfied grin on his face.

“Hello, Cupcake.”

“What makes you think that you can tell me what to wear to our ice-skating lessons?”

“Ah, I take it that you opened the package I left for you earlier. I’m glad I could trust Kayla with that very important task. Did you like what was inside?”

I move the tissue paper to the side and see some very revealing, lacy, hot pink, very expensive lingerie waiting for me in that box. “I…do…but that’s not the point.”

He laughs. “What is the point then, Cupcake?”

“You can’t just order me around and expect me to just do your bidding and be at your beck and call.”

He hums that dangerous, feminism-leaving-my-body kind of hum. My core tightens at that damn hum. “We’ll see about that.” I get a text message a second later with the address to the hockey arena. “I’ll see you later, Cupcake. Oh and take an Uber. I’ll drive you back home after we finish our lesson.”

A couple of hours later,I arrive at the arena. Tristan told me to go around to a specific door and a security guard should let me in. I get to the door he indicated, but it is locked. No security guard in sight. Shit. I jiggle the door handle again and nothing. Is he playing a sick joke on me? There are no games or concerts tonight in the arena and this plaza is basically deserted, other than a few tourists taking pictures of the building. People are starting to stare at me, probably thinking I am trying to break into the arena. Forget this, I’m just going to go back to my car and save myself the embarrassment. I whip around and that’s when I hear the door click open. “Miss Beckett?”

I turn back around. “Yes.”

“Mr. Lawson is waiting for you. Will you follow me, please?” A large, built man is standing in the doorway propping open the door, halfway protecting the entrance while leaving space for me to slip through.

I give him a small grin as I inch my way past him in the narrow path he is leaving open for me. “Thanks.” He clicks the door shut and locks it.

“This way, Miss Beckett.” He extends his arm out in the direction of the rink.

I hold out my hand to shake his. “You can call me Brooke. It’s nice to meet you…”

“Jackson. Randall Jackson. I’ve been the head of security here at Southwest Arena for almost twenty years. Mr. Lawson is my favorite athlete who has ever played in this arena and trust me, I’ve seen a lot of great athletes play out there on that ice. He’s a good guy. No offense to your brother.”

“None taken.” I joke, “Did Mr. Lawson pay you to say that about him?” I smile and so does Randall.

He opens the door to the rink and says, “Nope. That is my true and honest opinion about the man. And he must really think something of you to request this private tour of the arena. We usually don’t do this, but anything for Mr. Lawson. Enjoy yourself, miss.”

Other than my brother, I’ve never heard someone talk up Tristan to this degree with so much sincerity in their voice. I don’t take a lot of stock in what my brother says half the time, and I always figured he was biased because Tristan is his best friend. Hearing this glowing review from a complete stranger has more weight to it.

“Thanks. It was nice to meet you, Randall. Now I will know a friendly face when I come to watch my brother and Tristan play.”

He nods in agreement and closes the door. I’ve never been inside the arena when it wasn’t blasting music from every angle of the building. The only sound right now are blades sliding across the ice and a stick hitting a puck into the goal. Tristan is busy getting some shooting practice in. He can’t help it. I have seen Tristan play hockey in his Storm uniform a handful of times now, yet I rarely see him in regular clothes on the ice. To see him in the actual place where he plays without all the gear on, yet skating just as hard and just as gracefully – it is mesmerizing. Every puck he shoots zings directly into the net. Every. Single. One. Granted, there isn’t a massive goalie protecting the goal,but still. He shoots from different angles and distances and still makes it in.

I could watch him forever. Without a worry that someone is going to cross-check him against his neck like a fricken guillotine or slam him into the sideboards so hard that he falls limply to the ice or punch him in the jaw and incite a full-on brawl. He’s safe right now and that gives me peace.

Tristan shoots another puck and it lands square in the back of the net. I figure I should stop gawking at him and let him know I arrived. I start clapping and whistling at him. He abruptly turns his head around and registers I’m there. “Nice shooting!” My yell echoes.

He skates over to me with a wide smile. He slows down and steps onto the padded floor.

I lean over the rail and taunt, “Is that why they call you Hot Shot?”

“I don’t know. You tell me. You’re the only one who calls me Hot Shot, Cupcake.” He grabs the side of my neck and pulls me down and kisses me, gliding his tongue into my mouth. Shivers run across my body and suddenly, I want that tongue in a very different place. He is driving my need for him higher with every kiss.Calm yourself down Brooke, we are here for skating lessons and a private tour evidently.

Tristan breaks our kiss and taps on the railing. “Here, get on the railing and I’ll help you down.”

I climb up on the rail, straddle it and swing my other leg around it so now my butt is placed firmly on the freezing metal. Tristan places his giant, veiny hands on each side of my torso and I place my delicate, frozen hands on his shoulders. He lowers me down with ease, as if I weigh the same as a feather, which is far from the truth. I play with the hair resting against the nape of his neck and pull him down to me this time as I return the knee-buckling kiss he gave me a minute ago. I pullback so I can look at the gorgeous man in front of me. Tristan is wearing a green backwards Storm hat and a black dry-fit Storm zip-up with a gray shirt underneath and black joggers. Nothing out of the ordinary, but a deadly and favorite combination in my book. Tristan examines me in turn. I wore an oversized pink quarter zip sweatshirt, black leggings, crew socks with hot pink stripes, and pink-and-white tennis shoes.

“Did you wear what I gave you under these unnecessary clothes?” he says with a devilish grin. His hand begins to run up underneath my sweatshirt and I force myself to push his hand away. This is hardly the place for any of that. Only in my dreams is that allowed.

“Um I consider these clothes very necessary, so I guess you’ll never know.” I totally am wearing the lingerie he bought for me. He just doesn’t need to know that yet. I raise my eyebrows while holding tightly onto his mischievous hand. His other hand grabs my butt and pulls me closer to him.

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