Page 52 of Hot As Ice

Fuck. I hate feelings.

Later, when we get on the bus, I can’t resist the urge to check my phone. I have text messages, but none are from Stevie, and that bothers me more than I’d like it to. I shouldn’t fucking care, and I should be going over plays in my head instead of wondering what she’s doing. As if conspiring against me, my brain decides that Stevie is with another man at the moment, and the thought is like a burr I can’t dislodge. The feeling of jealousy is hot in my chest, and I don’t even have any proof whatsoever that there’s something to be jealous about. I’m fucking losing it. I put in my earbuds and will myself to get lost in the music. This is going to be a long ass bus ride.

“Let’s go, champ,” Jamie bumps my shoulder with his fist. “We’re here.”

I blink a few times, trying to get my bearings. Did I fall asleep? That seriously never fucking happens. Slipping my cell phone into my pocket, I resist checking it again. I’m putting Stevie out of my mind right this fucking second, because we have a game to win.

It ends up being one of the easiest wins this season, even though it’s an away game. I’m buzzing with energy and adrenaline afterwards. It’s all high spirits in the locker room too; guys bumping fists, congratulating each other, laughing and talking and going over the plays. Our goalie, Martinez, stopped 26 shots, only letting one in, and I got one goal and one assist. The final score was 4-1. We were on fucking fire.

It doesn’t really surprise me. Sometimes the more you win, the more you win. Just like sometimes the more you lose, the more you lose. Being undefeated so far this season has been great for morale and everybody’s confidence. It’s also lit a fire under everyone’s ass to play their best every time. But, of course, Coach gives us another lecture about being complacent before he lets us hit the showers. At this point, I’ll be worried if he ever starts praising us.

We’re back on the bus less than an hour later, heading home in the dark of night. I still haven’t checked my phone, even though a part of me wants to text Stevie and tell her about the win, then tell her she better be at my place with only my jersey on. I wanna fuck her so hard that she can’t walk for a few days, but if neither one of us wants to be the first to message the other this week, I sure as hell am not caving.

She’s the hottest thing I’ve ever seen when she’s tied to my bed and letting me do whatever the fuck I want to her, but I guess I’m going to sleep with blue balls tonight.

“I need to get laid tonight,” Jamie says from beside me.

I swallow down my frustration. “Yeah?” I ask nonchalantly. “You got someone in mind?”

“Yup.”

“Who?”

“Nah, I don’t kiss and tell.”

I give him a look. “Since fucking when?”

He grins. “Since now.”

“New girl?” I ask, grinning back.

“Yup, and she’s hot as fuck.”

“Lucky you,” I say, turning my head away to look out the window.

He punches me lightly on the arm. “What about you? That cute blonde waiting for you at your place already?”

I bite back a sigh. “Not tonight.”

I can feel his shock even though I’m not looking at him. “For real, man? Why not?”

“She’s not texting me and I’m not texting her, that’s why not.”

He laughs. “So, you’re gonna have blue balls all night ‘cause you don’t wanna be the first to text? That’s fucking high school, bro.”

“Shut the fuck up.”

He laughs even harder. “I’m sure there’s a puck bunny or two you can hit up instead, then.”

Yeah, I sure could, but I don’t want to. I want Stevie. I want her mouth, her pussy, her tits, her long, sexy legs. I want her. And I’m starting to realize nobody else will do. And that fucking scares the shit out of me.

I lean back in my seat and close my eyes. “I’m taking a fucking nap,” I tell Jamie. He snickers but leaves me alone. Unlike Ryder, he knows when to stop pushing my buttons.

When I get home, I take my phone out and glance at the notifications. Nope, still nothing from Stevie. Motherfucker. I almost want to throw my cell against the fucking wall. I ignore all the notifications congratulating me, including one from my own damn family in the group chat, and head towards the fridge. If I were a drinker, I would drown myself in alcohol right now. It’s one of the few times I’ve regretted never touching the stuff. Even if I wanted to, I don’t have a single bottle of alcohol at my place.

I sigh and grab a water. Feeling pathetic, I sit on the couch and cue up last week’s game against Quinnipiac and force myself to watch it. Some of the guys went out once we got into town – they wanted to celebrate. I wanted to come home and lick my wounds. But now I’m regretting it. It’s only 11:30pm. I could have hit up Finnegan’s at the very least. Or some other bar.

Fuck it, I decide. I’m going out.