Page 46 of On Thin Ice

I blinked at him, my heart hammering, my face burning hot enough that I was sure he must think I was on the verge of stroking out. Was he implying something? Had he heard Bell and me last night? The walls in these hotels could be thin. My mind raced through every possible interpretation, each one worse than the last.

“I—what?” I croaked.

Viggy just laughed, clapping me lightly on the shoulder. The casual touch made me flinch, though I tried to hide it. “Relax, man. Just wanted to say you look way less miserable than you did yesterday. Good to see it.”

I stared at him as he sauntered toward the revolving doors, feeling like the world’s biggest idiot. Relief washed through me, making my knees weak.

It wasn’t the sex. It wasn’t mine and Bell’s secret … situationship.

It was just grumpy old me.

Apparently, not looking like I wanted to stab someone was newsworthy enough for my captain to comment on.

I squeezed my eyes shut for a second, breathing through the weird cocktail of relief and panic clawing at my ribs. The lobby sounds faded to a dull roar as I focused on filling my lungs, one breath at a time.

When I opened them again, Bell was glancing my way, his mouth lifting in the smallest, softest smile. A private expression meant only for me, a thread connecting us across the crowded space. Something warm unfurled in my chest, pushing back against the anxiety. And even though my heart squeezed so tight it hurt, I smiled back.

When we boarded the plane back to Austin, Bell was just ahead of me, chatting with one of our goalies. The narrow aisle forced us to walk single file, my eyes level with the back of his neck, his hair knotted into a thick bun at his nape. As I claimed my seat, my eyes caught on a tiny purple bruise lurking just behind his ear that I didn’t remember leaving.

Bell dropped into a seat across the aisle from me, slouching down and getting comfortable. “I can’t wait to get home.” He stretched his arms over his head, his shirt riding up to flash a strip of golden skin where his hip met the waistband of those ridiculous underwear he wore.

The display drew my eyes automatically, a Pavlovian response I couldn’t control.

Spencer—one of the rookies who would probably be sent back down to our AHL affiliate after this road trip—leaned over the seat, a wide grin stretching across his boyish face. “Ooh, big plans?”

Bell shrugged, the gesture deliberately casual, though I could already see the mischief dancing in his eyes.

What was he doing?

“Nothing major. Just chilling. Maybe hanging out with my favorite roommate.”

I choked on my coffee, my eyes watering.

That did it. No more coffee for me. That was twice this morning I’d made a mess of myself.

Spencer leaned forward, curiosity sparking in his eyes. “Wait, you two actually get along? I always assumed Harrison was a miserable bastard off the ice, too.”

A few of the guys laughed.

My ears burned at being discussed as though I wasn’t sitting right there, heat crawling up my neck to stain my cheeks. I slumped lower in my seat, the leather squeaking beneath me as I prayed for death to come quickly. Or at least for a sudden bout of temporary invisibility.

“Nah,” Bell said easily, glancing across the aisle at me with a smirk that was way too soft to be safe. Something private and warm lurked in his expression, visible only to someone who knew what to look for. At least I hoped that was the case. “He’s a great roommate. Very … smiley.”

I nearly dropped my phone, my fingers suddenly clumsy.

Seriously, what the fuck was he doing?

The double entendre might be lost on the others, but it wasn’t lost on me. Images from this morning flashed through my mind—me smiling down at him as he moved between my legs, as he kissed me afterward.

“Smiley?” Keats twisted around in his seat two rows ahead to glance between Bell and me, his expression confused. The movement made his chain catch the light, flashing silver. “How’d you manage that?”

“I’ve seen E smile. Once. It was terrifying,” Viggy said as he strolled past on the way to his seat at the back of the plane.

More laughter rippled through the group, some guys turning in their seats to join the conversation. The focus of so many eyes on me made my skin prickle with discomfort.

I fixed my gaze on my phone like it might save me from spontaneous combustion, but the screen had gone dark from inactivity. My thumb hovered over it, pretending to scroll through content that wasn’t there.

Chet, who was seated across the aisle from Keats, popped up, his eyes glinting with malice. “That asshole?” He jerked his chin toward me.

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