Page 18 of The Last Inch Of Ice
It’s all because of Rykov’s nature. The man is used to thinking he’s always right. Used to being the martyr, the one who works harder, sacrifices more, suffers more nobly than anyone else.
God, as soon as Kai sees those frowning dark eyes, his brain always shuts down for a moment.
He tilts his head back, letting the hot water run over his face. He eats himself up inside for agreeing to come and play for the Vancouver Wolverines. Because Kai can never resist temptation.
And in this case, the temptation was Rykov himself.
When they met on the ice as opponents, Kai was electrified by his play. Because Rykov doesn’t know how to play just for the sake of it. When he plays against Kai, he always does so with contempt. Like Kai is something to be crushed, destroyed, erased.
So the idea of being on the same team as Rykov—forcing him to deal with Kai’s presence every single day—was too tempting to resist.
After the early draft and that comment, Kai knows what Rykov thinks of him. The same thing everyone else does. That he’s a spoiled rich kid who bought his way into the league. That he doesn’t belong.
Oh please.Fine. If that’s what Rykov wants to believe, he will make sure he never forgets it.
Suddenly, there’s a noise. The door slams open so hard it ricochets off the wall.
Rykov bursts into the shower room.
He’s still in most of his gear—pants, undershirt soaked through with sweat, his hair damp and wild. He storms toward Kai like a man possessed, water pooling under his skates with each step.
Kai doesn’t move. Just stands there under the spray, watching Rykov close the distance between them.
“Do you have any idea that everything you do out there is being recorded?” Rykov’s voice is low, tight with barely controlled fury. “Every move. Every decision. And next timewe’re sitting in analytics, we’ll be watching what you pulled during this game.”
Kai pushes his wet hair back from his face slowly, deliberately. “You mean whatyoupulled?”
Rykov’s jaw clenches. He takes another step forward, and suddenly he’s right there, close enough that Kai can see the pulse jumping in his throat. Close enough to feel the heat radiating off him.
“I just spent ten minutes getting my ass chewed out by the coach,” Rykov says through gritted teeth, pushing Kai back against the wall with one hand flat on his chest. “While you were in here having your little spa moment.”
The contact sends electricity through Kai’s entire body. His back hits cold ceramic, and he has to brace one hand against the wall to steady himself.
“Spa moment?” Kai’s voice comes out more breathless than he intends. “I’m washing off the game. You know, that thing you’re supposed to do after sweating for three periods.”
“You’re up next,” Rykov continues, ignoring him. “Coach wants to see you. So maybe cut the bath short and—”
“Did he mention the score?” Kai interrupts.
Rykov’s expression darkens.
“Did he say it was a good result?” Kai presses, and now the sarcasm is real, cutting. “Four to one. That’s pretty decisive, wouldn’t you say?”
He knows he’s hit the mark. The coach is obligated to critique them—that’s his job. But if the game produces results like tonight’s? If they’re winning? None of that matters. Not really.
“I’m not your messenger service, Callahan.” Rykov’s voice drops lower, more dangerous. “If you ever move me out of center position again—”
“Then what?” Kai cuts him off. “What exactly are you going to do about it?”
He shakes his head slightly, dismissive. It’s barely a movement, but his wet hair brushes against Rykov’s forearm.
Rykov goes very still.
Then his gaze drops.
It travels down Kai’s throat, across his chest, lower. It lingers—just for a second, maybe two—on Kai’s cock, which is hard and obvious and impossible to hide.
Kai’s heart hammers in his chest. He can’t breathe. Can’t think. Because Rykov is looking at him—reallylooking—and Kai has no idea what that look means.
