Page 90 of On Thin Ice

“Shit, you didn’t hurt yourself, did you?” I dropped the remote onto the couch where I’d been sitting and crossed the room to stand behind him.

I gently nudged his hand away and took over massaging his right shoulder. “Nah, just sore from the bag straps digging into my skin.”

I hooked my fingers under the loose collar of his sweatshirt and carefully pulled it aside, revealing deep red welts crisscrossing his traps.

“Jesus, Bell,” I muttered. “Want me to kiss it and make it better?” I leaned forward to drop a gentle kiss on his angry skin, inhaling the familiar scent of his cologne mixed with cold winter air.

One kiss turned into several, as I trailed my lips up the curve of his neck.

He moaned softly, his head tilting to give me better access as I pressed my front against his back. Without turning around, he lifted his arm and reached behind him, his fingers finding my hair and threading through it, tugging just enough to make my breath catch as I nibbled at the sensitive spot just below his ear.

“I love it when you kiss me there,” he whispered, his voice already rough with desire.

My hands slid around his waist, pulling him tighter against me. I rolled my hips against him, letting him feel how hard I was.

Bell pushed back, the friction making me groan against his skin. I rocked into him, trapping him between my body and the counter as my teeth grazed his earlobe.

My hands found their way beneath his sweatshirt, skimming over warm skin before dipping below the waistband of his sweatpants. I palmed him through his boxer briefs, feeling him swell beneath my touch.

“Fuck,” he gasped, his hips bucking into my hand.

I was about to suggest we forget the groceries and head to my bedroom when Bell’s hand closed around my wrist, stilling my movements.

“While I very much like where this is going,” he said, his voice strained as he leaned his head back against my shoulder, “there are four more boxes of food in the car.”

I groaned, dropping my forehead against the back of his head. “Tease,” I whispered, my voice fond.

Bell laughed, reaching around to squeeze my ass. “Don’t worry,” he murmured, turning his head slightly to drop a kiss near my temple. “I’ll let you fuck me as soon as we put all of this away.”

The promise in his voice made my dick twitch. “In that case,” I said, reluctantly stepping away from him, “What are we waiting for?”

Five minutes later, the entire island was covered with food.

“Were you planning on feeding the entire team?” I stared at the mountain of groceries overtaking my previously pristine kitchen.

“At least that would explain whatever just happened,” he said with a chuckle as he pulled three rotisserie chickens out of the box, set aside a brick of cheddar cheese the size of my head, and pushed a tub of tzatziki big enough to drown in off to the side.

As far as I could tell, there was no rhyme or reason to how he was sorting things.

I scanned the sheer quantity of food he’d purchased. As pro athletes, we atea lot, but nothing like this.

“Remind me again how you decided to buy out a whole grocery store?”

“I think I blacked out in Costco.”

I snorted. “That would explain the gallon of olives, then.”

As far as I knew, Bell hated olives. I’d watched him pick them off pizza and flick them into the trash like they’d personally offended him. Hell, he once spent five solid minutes dissecting a Greek salad from the team chef, muttering under his breath the entire time something about travesties and poison.

Bell bumped his hip against mine, gently nudging me out of the way rather than asking me to move. I shifted automatically, my body responsive to his in a way that had become second nature.

“Miller was telling me about his cousin who works there.” He pushed his hair back with the back of his wrist, a bag of dried mangoes dangling from his fingers “They offer full benefits, plus they’re one of the last big retailers that hasn’t caved to Trump’s DEI fuckery.”

I raised a brow, impressed despite myself. It wasn’t that I didn’t follow politics, but Bell was a wonk. He listened to podcasts, had digital subscriptions to multiple news outlets, and was constantly telling me how the administration’s policies were actively harming the country.

“I’m talking a real commitment to inclusive workplace policies, living wages, and supplier diversity.”

“RIP Target,” I said dryly, watching him toss a comically large bag of Brussels sprouts onto the counter.

---