Page 26 of Temptation On Ice

“Saves me from having to try to make you treats if you had a sweet tooth. Savory, I can do,” I joke. I take a sip of my beer and think about Cami and how she never leaves me alone. “What is it about families and trying to impose their will on you? Cami wanted me to move closer to the city and start the business in Atlanta rather than out here. She thought it was too far to get business. She’s half right, it is too far, but we still get business,” I point out. I mean to keep the next part in my head, but to my horror, the words are audible in the air between us. “She also thinks she’s going to play matchmaker and set me up every time she sees me interact with someone. It could be the most casual conversation, and she’s envisioning me married and already planning the wedding. It’s ridiculous.” My ears heat as I realize I’ve probably said too much, and I’m treading on thin ice if he starts asking about the person she’s trying to set me up with now. To my relief, Sebastian seems to understand and share my sentiment rather than see the awkwardness of it.

“I know what you mean. My mom is desperate for me to start dating again. She thinks I need to forget what I went through, push down the pain, and just start over. How am I supposed to do that? Eliana was my college sweetheart. We were together for five years when we had Enzo, and we’d planned our lives together. Losing her suddenly was like tearing up the map of my life and only leaving me one strip—hockey—so I don't know what the rest of it looks like. Does my mom care about that? No, she just wants to get more grandkids out of me and says someone new will help me move on.” He sighs and takes a long swallow of his beer, emptying it.

“So you don't date at all?” I ask, wondering how he gets his needs met.

I mean, I get it, I don’t go out all that often, and I haven’t dated seriously in years, but I know where to look if I need to get laid, and I’m desperate enough for the company. I’ve been hurt so many times by my stupid whore heart because I want to drop to my knees and suck any pretty man’s cock, be they gay or straight, and that’s just not conducive to keeping your heart whole. So now, at the very least, I prefer to know a partner intimately and have a deep connection before getting physical to keep myself from getting too attached to a casual fling who will leave me broken on my knees without a thought. Doesn't stop me from wanting to do it, though.

It’s tough retraining a whore heart, but I’m working on it.

“Date isn't the right word,” he says slowly, looking down at his hands. “Are you familiar with the term puck bunny? Like a woman who’s interested in sleeping with a famous athlete just because of his fame and position on a professional hockey team?”

“It’s pretty self-explanatory,” I reply. The idea is familiar enough, even if the term isn’t.

He nods. “I can always find a willing puck bunny to take back to the hotel after an away game if I’m in the mood. But it feels cheap, and the connection I crave is missing. Like, I’m only getting the physical release, but there’s nothing that makes me feel better. I feel worse most of the time because it’s like I’ve cheated on Eliana’s memory. So I don’t do it often, even though it’s available if I want it.”

I nod absently because this just reinforces how wrong it is to have a crush on him. He takes home women who just want sex with someone famous, and he uses them in his own right. He’s not looking for a six-foot country boy to fuck and make a life with, which is what I’m looking for.

“Want to walk down to the pond? It’s nice to settle your dinner, and we can catch the sunset.” I keep my face neutral even though I’m cringing inside. I just invited a grown man out for a stroll to watch the sunset together. How gay am I?

“I could use the walk, and that sounds great,” he agrees, grinning. Okay, so it may not have been as cheesy as I thought.

“I’ll grab some beers,” I say, collecting our plates and empty bottles and bringing them back inside the kitchen. I return with more Coronas from my stash now that we’ve run through his six-pack, and I hand one to him. My fingers graze over his as he grabs it, and I let go. He slightly shifts away. I keep forgetting that the brush of our hands seems to make him uncomfortable and I should avoid it. He’s like a magnet for my touch, I’m drawn to him in the simplest ways. But I’ll do better.

Twelve

Sebastian

“Come on, we can take the path that splits off the one over to the right,” Tucker says, pointing off the deck where I can see a well-worn path in the trees.

He puts a hand on my back as we move to the deck steps, and I flinch away without meaning to. Fuck me, I did it again. I’m trying not to react like this, but every time he touches me, my brain goes right back to my shower earlier, and I imagine him on his knees, his mouth on my cock, and it sends a bolt of electricity down my spine that hits me in the balls in a way that feels way too good. I move away so I don't accidentally do something that’ll freak him out without realizing it.

He lifts his hands in surrender and takes a step back. “I’m so sorry, it’s a habit and something I do with my friends and family, I guess. I didn't mean anything by touching you. I tend to get overly familiar and forget not everyone’s cool with that, but I shouldn't have put my hands on you,” he rushes to say, his eyes wide and the freckles on his nose standing out prominently against his skin as his face pales.

Fuck, I don't want him to feel bad for something as simple as our fingers brushing or putting his hand on my back. It’s not his fault I’m a freak who imagined him sucking my cock while I jacked off, and now I’m guilty as hell over it. He, on the other hand, is a perfectly nice guy who has been super respectful and offered me a place to hang out that feels way better than anywhere else has in a long time. I shouldn’t put this on him.

“No, don't be sorry. It’s totally fine. As much as I’m around other people, I haven’t been touched casually since Eliana died. I’m not used to it anymore.” I guess that explanation works because it’s technically true, even though I’m glossing over the real reason I’m jumpy as hell when he touches me.

Tucker visibly relaxes, and the color slowly returns to his face, which he keeps downcast away from me. I freaked him the fuck out. He must have had someone in the past get mad about a casual touch and lay into him because of it. You wouldn’t apologize so thoroughly and look like you’re about to get fucked up otherwise. Poor dude.

“Path to the pond is that way,” he says, pointing at it and keeping his distance.

“Lead the way.” I put my hand on his back to lead him down the steps this time, and now he’s smiling and shaking his head.

It’s not a far walk, maybe five minutes through the woods on his property. We come out of the trees at a decent-sized pond with a short, sun-worn wooden dock on the side closest to us. There are two Adirondack chairs at the end of the dock, and a small shed off to our right that probably has his fishing equipment or something in it. I bet he likes coming out here. It’s quiet and peaceful and seems very Tucker.

The sun is starting to set, the sky a riot of bright orange, dusty pink, and streaks of crimson near the horizon. The scene takes my breath away, and I’m sent back to every time Eliana insisted we chase the sunset, wanting to capture the beauty and take it in, no matter what else was going on. She was a sucker for a pretty sky. I have to force my lungs to expand again so I don’t fall to my knees in the dirt with the memory.

The sky is reflected in the pond, broken up by the reeds and vegetation near the edges. The night sounds of summer in the South serenade us. Cicadas screech in their long-winded mating calls while crickets chirp and nightbirds call to one another. It’s achingly beautiful in an unfamiliar way that calls me to fold into myself and weep for what I’ve lost, what Enzo will never have, and how I can't seem to measure up.

Instead, I push away the emotions and follow Tucker down the dock to the chairs, staring up at the sky above the trees in the distance and feeling incredibly fortunate that I get to experience this moment when Eliana has missed so many sunsets. I clutch my sweating beer bottle in one shaking hand and bring the other up to my face, squeezing my temples as my eyes prick and burn with the thought.

“You okay?” Tucker asks quietly from his chair beside me.

I clear my throat and try not to let the memories drag me down with warm, welcoming hands into the despair I know is waiting for me.

“My wife loved sunsets. This would have made her so happy. She took photos of every pretty sunset, even if she caught it in a non-scenic spot. She used to say grocery store parking lot sunsets were some of the prettiest she’d ever seen. But I think she’d have liked this even more. It’s been a while since I sat and took one in like this.”

“Do you ever take photos of the sunset now, like she did?” Tucker asks. I look at him and see gentle curiosity and support.