Page 4 of On Thin Ice

“And what has that gotten me?” I muttered, my voice laced with disgust.

I lived alone, keeping the world at arm’s length lest anyone figure out that I was a sham.

But at this point, I was too used to pretending, too afraid to ever take that leap into authenticity that Bell seemed to have been born ready for.

Maybethatwas why I was so annoyed by my team drafting the guy. He was a walking reproach to the choices I’d made. To the lies and deceptions I’d allowed myself to succumb to out of fear.

And now he was crashing into my carefully constructed world.

Not just as my new teammate, but as someone whose very existence would rub against the fragile lies I had built my whole life around.

Yeah, that’s what it was.

That, and he was fucking gorgeous—my deepest, darkest desires made flesh and bone.

I hated him for that, too.

I ran a hand through my hair and let out a weary sigh. I stripped off my clothes as I headed upstairs, dropping each item in a trail leading to my bedroom. Living alone had at least one advantage—no one to witness me falling apart every now and then like this.

Sadly,now and thenwas quickly becomingway too often.

I flopped face down on my bed, groaning into the mattress. I closed my eyes and let my mind wander. Let my imagination conjure up images I had no business imagining.

Turning onto my back, I stared up at the ceiling while my right hand drifted down my torso to wrap around my dick. My calloused palm slid over it as images began to surface in my mind: Stryker standing at the foot of my bed, grinning boldly down at me, his own dick flushed and standing at attention, his body smooth and cut.

Fuck it, I thought, surrendering to this need I couldn’t seem to shake.

Reaching into my bedside table, I grabbed the bottle of expensive lube I kept there, flipping the top and coating myself up. I stroked myself harder and faster, my muscles tense as I pictured the blond Adonis crawling over me, Stryker’s gaze drinking me in just before he lowered himself down and rolled his hips against me. Gasping, I tugged on my balls with my free hand, making it hurt just a little bit.

And when I came a few short moments later, his name slipping from my lips like a fucking prayer, the pleasure barely had time to settle before shame came crashing down on me.

CHAPTER1

ETHAN

Present Day

The sharp bite of industrial-strength soap barely masked the ever-present stench of sweat-soaked gear in the locker room. Everywhere I looked, my teammates buzzed with that mix of nervousness and excitement that always came with the start of the season.

I forced myself to bask in it because if I didn’t, all I’d feel was exhaustion.

At thirty-four years old, I’d put a lot of miles on my skates, and I’d reached the point where I only had enough gas left in the tank for one final season. I wasn’t sure if I was happy or sad about my decision; only time would tell.

“Hey, how’s it going?” Jack “Viggy” Vignier asked, settling in at the stall catty-corner from mine.

Viggy was probably my closest friend on the team—not that we were all that close, considering I was a moody fucker who mainly kept to myself. But we’d played together long enough that I didn’t automatically wince when he spoke to me.

“How was Maine?”

“Good. Hectic.”

Every summer, I helped my brother Ryan out at the youth hockey camp he operated in our hometown half an hour outside of Portland, Maine.

“I don’t remember fourteen year olds being so fucking cocky, though. And don’t get me started on the parents.” I shook my head as I recalled the handful of times I’d had to bite my tongue instead of telling some guy with shit for brains to sit down and shut the fuck up. “Suffice it to say, I donothave a future career in coaching.”

Viggy huffed out a laugh. “That bad, huh?”

“Worse than you could imagine, man. The mouths on these kids. I had to ask my nephew, Will, what it meant when one of them looked me dead in the eye and said, ‘Bruh, you have no skibidi rizz.’”

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