Page 118 of On Thin Ice

CHAPTER28

A procession of limousines, luxury sedans, and gleaming SUVs crept slowly toward a red carpet flanked by trees decorated in blue and gold tinsel. The arena was lit up with red, green, and white spotlights just ahead.

In the driver’s seat, Bell looked annoyingly at ease in his midnight blue velvet tuxedo that looked like something out of an old Hollywood movie. He was Paul Newman, Cary Grant, and James Dean all rolled into one mouth-watering package.

Meanwhile, my dress shirt was stuck to my back with sweat, my palms were clammy, and my stomach was gurgling with nerves. I was sure my hair was standing on end from how many times I’d tunneled my fingers through it.

Tonight was the first time I was seeing my teammates since my altercation with Chet, and I was freaking the fuck out over what they might say about what went down.

I already knew Viggy was pissed at me for getting myself suspended, though he’d indicated in a roundabout way he thought Doyle had it coming. He was surprised, though, that it’d beenmewho’d put the homophobic asshole in his place. Murdock had been much more supportive, texting to say he wished I would have knocked the fucker out.

Everyone else, though? I had absolutely no idea, and Bell had been somewhat evasive when I asked him last night after our win against Washington.

A muttered, “No one said a word,” as he stuck his head in the fridge did not inspire confidence, and now I was seriously considering asking him to pull au-eyand drive us straight home.

But then what? Hide out for the rest of the season? Pretend I hadn’t promised to stop denying what he was to me?

Yeah, that wasn’t an option, either.

My stomach twisted as we rolled to a stop behind a black Escalade. The valet, a slight kid with a shaved head and some questionable neck tattoos, approached the SUV.

Bell shifted his BMW into park while we waited for our turn, his gaze assessing. Probably trying to gauge how long we had before leaving the safety of his car and stepping out into a potential shitstorm.

“You okay?” He angled himself slightly toward me, his profile soft in the glow from the dash.

I nodded. “Yeah. Fine.”

Bell knew I was a long way from fine, but wouldn’t call me on my bullshit. Not now, at least. He just sat there watching me, his eyes calm and steady, like he was giving me space to tell myself whatever lies I needed to in order to get through tonight.

“We didn’t really get a chance to talk about how this was going to go down.”

“What do you mean?” I asked, my voice scratchy. I swallowed, trying to force moisture into the desert my mouth had become.

“Like, are we going to pretend the shit with Chet never happened? Just act like we always do—me being my charming self and you scowling at anyone who comes near?”

I swiveled in the too-small seat to look at him directly. His tie was perfectly knotted, his skin youthful and dewy from a facial he’d had done earlier this morning, his blond hair slicked back in a way that made him look polished, but still like himself.

This was the man who made me laugh when I didn’t want to. Who kissed me kissed me with intention and meaning. Who held me back when I was moments away from ruining my career because someone had said something awful about him. About us.

And I loved him more than I’d ever loved anyone or anything in my whole miserable life.

“You think that’ll work?” I asked.

He shrugged, his casualness masking the tension of the evening. “I have no fucking clue, but I’ll take your lead. Just tell me what you need.”

That got me, the loyalty. The fact that he wasn’t asking for reassurance—just a signal. Something he could follow without stepping where I wasn’t ready to go.

I exhaled, trying to loosen the tightness in my jaw. “Ineedthat fucker to be gone from the team,” I muttered. “But more than that, I need to know, however this goes down tonight, you’re with me. That if I fuck this up somehow, say the wrong thing, you’ll still be mine.”

“Always, E,” he answered with a faint, understanding smile, as he reached for my hand. He squeezed it, quick and reassuring, as his head swung back to look out his window, where the valet was approaching.

“Show time,” Bell said, pushing open his door and sliding his long legs out of the car, his movements fluid and graceful, just like they were on the ice. He handed his keys to the valet who was looking up at him with stars in his eyes.

Bell was beautiful and charismatic and so fucking authentically himself, so proudly who he was, that people had no choice but to fawn over him. Admire him.

Was it any wonder that someone with a blue, pink, and white flag emblazoned on their skin, just above their collar, was entranced by him?

My fingers fumbled with the handle. The door stuck. I pushed it harder, misjudged my force, and nearly spilled out onto the pavement like a goddamn cartoon. Real smooth.

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