Page 2 of Break The Ice

And, just like that, the conversation devolves. Drunk Idiot A throws a punch, misses, and ends up sprawled over a stool, cursing. Drunk Idiot B loudly starts laughing so hard he knocks over a beer.

“Gus, take your ass home!” The bartender says dryly. “Or I will call your missus to come get you. And you, too, Steven.”

The two of them move off, muttering about assholes under their breath.

My attention returns to the one place it should not be. I shouldn’t be anywhere near the hockey team, especially this hockey team, but I can’t look away from them. It brings back so many memories. A guy approaches Raider Raines and leans into his ear to whisper.

“Shit,” I murmur under my breath, my mouth falls open. I can’t believe what I’m seeing.

He’s almost as beautiful as Raider. I know his name, of course, I do, but Raider and Wren Turner together? No, that’s impossible. Wren plays on the other side of the country for the Hornets. Or at least he did. Did they trade him? And why do they look like they’re about to fuck right here in the bar?

Wren is a beautiful man with shaggy brown hair in a man bun, steel eyes, and a scowl that would frighten children. He is intense with an iron focus on one thing: the game.

But, as I watch, his finger reaches out and slides down Raider’s hand to wrap around it. The two of them stare at each other in an intimate moment. I don’t think anyone else is supposed to see. I choke on my drink. They have heat waves coming off them, I swear.

That’s just cruel. Seeing them together would melt the minds of just about everyone on the planet. Especially since Wren is as famous a hockey player and rival of Raiders.

I turn away, tensing as the door opens again. As soon as it’s clear, I pick up my bag and head to the other side of the pub, putting the big, giant hockey team between me and the exit.

I sit down at a booth and pull the bowl of peanuts to me. I chew slowly, wincing at the growl in my stomach. When was the last time I ate? I can’t even remember, the days have blurred together.

“Hello, gorgeous.”

I flick my gaze up and, finding nothing of note, return to eating, uninterested in the alpha peacocking in front of me.

“Unless you have food, go away.”

He leers and leans over. I think it’s supposed to be sexy, but it falls flat.

“I’ve got something I can feed you,” he says in a low voice.

Eww. I recognise him as Harris Knowles, a right winger on the third line.

I look him up and down and go back to eating my nuts. He’s got a crooked nose, brown hair, and nice blue eyes, it’s just the vibe coming off him that makes me want to stab him in the balls.

He scowls but loses his frown quickly and sits down, pressing himself against my side. Apparently, the first wooing attempt has failed, and he’s moved on to a second tactic.

I ignore him.

Another guy slides in on my left, and I look up to rip him apart, only to freeze when Raider eyes me curiously.

My tongue ties, and I find myself voiceless in front of the legendary D-man.

“I’m Raider,” he says in tones that make me want to throw myself onto him.

“Ryann.”

“Rhee-ann?”

I nod, trying to keep my breathing even and not do anything embarrassing.

“Oh, please don’t tell me you’re a fan of his!” Harris whines. “Its not fair! Raider, you take all the hot girls.”

“And that’s the reason you’re going home alone tonight!” I snarl at him, thoroughly uninterested in his whining.

He ignores me and stomps off.

I let out a whine when I glance down and see that Harris knocked all my nuts onto the sticky table. Can I still eat them? No, I can’t. Damnit!

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