Backhand (Gold Hockey) Read online

  “Because the crew is thorough.”

  “Did you bring me to a gym?” she asked.

  “Not exactly.” He pushed open the door to the arena, felt the rush of cool air hit his skin. “Though there is a gym here.”

  He slid the blindfold from her eyes.

  Two pairs of skates rested on a black pad near the Zamboni door. Two folding chairs were beside them. The lights were dim, just enough to see the ice, but since the arena was technically closed, it was just the two of them out here.

  Music, faint at first then growing louder, came over the speakers, and Mike smiled.

  Brit was playing her role to a T and he realized he’d have to buy her and Stefan dinner, especially when he saw his captain slipping in behind Sara to set a basket and thermos near the chairs.

  Sara didn’t notice. Hell, he barely noticed because he was looking at Sara.

  Watching the play of emotions over her face: fear, longing, pleasure, need, hesitation. Hers was a rolling reel of feelings, and he wondered which one she’d settle on.

  Anger, perhaps, that he’d brought her in the first place. Relief that she might feel the ice beneath her feet.

  Her eyes slid closed, and she inhaled.

  “Mike,” she said. “You’re killing me.”

  “You’re not mad?”

  “Mad?” She shook her head. “I— Can I touch it?”

  He didn’t answer, just tugged her close to the edge of the open door, up to the strip of plastic that led onto the rink.

  She bent, reached down, and touched the ice. Then promptly drew back. “It’s cold!”

  He laughed. “First time in an ice rink, is it?”

  “Shut up.” She flicked her fingers at him, spraying flecks of water in his direction. “I’d forgotten how it felt. How it can numb and burn all at once. The freeze permeating your layers of clothes, making you shiver, but that same cold then feeling so good at the end of a routine.”

  She stood and seemed to truly see the space around them for the first time.

  Mike knew what she saw. Concrete stairs. Hints of gold fabric peeking out from the black-plastic bottoms of the folded seats. Blank screens around the edges and on the Jumbotron. Advertisements on the boards. A sheet of white broken up by red and blue in front of them.

  “So this is your view, huh?”

  “One of them,” he said, touching her cheek. “Kind of prefer this one, though.”

  “Can I go on?”

  “Well, I’m not wearing those pretty white skates.”

  She laughed. “No The Cutting Edge moment for us?”

  “Not happening.” He crossed to one of the chairs and patted the cushion next to him. “Come over here.”

  Together they slipped on their skates. Mike was faster only because Sara was having a moment with hers. She stroked the leather like it was the finest silk, touched the laces like they were made of woven gold, and checked the edge on the blade with keen eyes.

  “They’re sharp,” he told her. “Bobby—” the team’s equipment manager “—took care of it for me.”

  “Does he even know how to sharpen figure skates?” she teased before consenting that the edges looked perfect and pushing her feet into the boots.

  The laces were tightened and threaded around their grommets a few seconds later, and then she was on her feet, or rather, her skates.

  “Ready?” he asked.

  She nodded. “I can’t believe you did this for me.”

  Her hand fit perfectly in his, two halves coming together to form a whole. It had always been that way. “I would do anything for you.”

  For a second, her eyes dimmed, but then she visibly shook herself. Straight shoulders, raised chin, smiling lips. “Ready for me to teach you a thing or two, Hot Shot?”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  SARA PAUSED AT the edge of the ice. She was being ridiculous, drawing the experience out when she could already be doing it.

  But it had been ten years since she’d set foot on the ice — not counting that horrendous night with Leo.

  And she wanted to savor the experience.

  Breathing in that intrinsic rink scent… feeling the damp air in her lungs… the first crunch of ice beneath her feet…

  “Please tell me that you’re not having an orgasm over there without me.”

  Mike swept his thumb beneath her eyes, wiping away tears she hadn’t realized were falling.

  “Is it too much?” he asked.

  “Honestly?” Her teeth found her lip. “Yes,” hurrying to add when his face fell, “but in a good way. In the best way. I never thought I’d get this again, and you gave it to me.”

  “Well, it’s not screaming crowds, but it is regulation size.”

  For the first time since her competing days, Sara stepped onto the ice, and just as always, her smile locked into place. Not the fake one that hid pain, but the one that came from deep inside.

  From doing something she loved.

  From being with someone she loved.

  “These are so light,” she said, lifting a foot and gliding forward. She wasn’t as steady as she’d once been, but, like riding a bike, it was coming back. “They must have cost a fortune.”

  “Skate technology has come a long way,” he said. “You’ll have to feel how light mine are.”

  Laughing, she glided away, turning at center ice and skating backward around the encircled Gold logo there.

  Cross over. Cross over. Cross—

  Whoa.

  Throwing on the brakes, she looked sheepishly up at Mike who nodded encouragingly. “Slowly, honey. Take a few laps.”

  Nodding, she began running through what used to be her warm-up routine. Edge-work, balancing, crossovers, and then, without really thinking about it, she set up for a jump.

  The move was a simple one, relatively speaking. A double-Salchow that was sloppy and totally under-rotated, but it felt fucking fantastic.

  Applause echoed across the rink, and she glanced over at Mike.

  He skated toward her, grabbed her hand, and tugged her against his chest. “Really? A double on your first time out?”

  She snorted. “If you could call that ugly thing a double.” But she was grinning, and it was almost as though her skates weren’t even touching the ice.

  “Gonna make it pretty?”

  “Hell, yes, I am.”

  He tapped her butt. “Good, go on and show me what you’ve got.”

  Nodding, she skated over and set up the jump. Cool air slid along her scalp, ruffled her ponytail. She bent her leg, tensed every muscle in her body, brought her arms in, and…

  Midway through the air, her back protested.

  Sara compensated, instincts honed by years of competition, and managed to land the jump. The landing was definitely not the prettiest one she’d ever completed, but it was leaps and bounds better than that first attempt.

  And she was done.

  At least with the tricky stuff.

  “You okay?” Mike was at her side in an instant.

  “I’m good.” In truth, she hadn’t felt this exhilarated in years.

  “Your back? I should have thought of—”

  She jumped.

  But this time instead of launching herself into the air, she hurled herself at Mike.

  Who managed to catch her… or well, steady her, before falling to the ice himself.

  Giggles burst out of her. “I’m so — sorry.”

  He was watching her with such an expression of outrage that she couldn’t catch her breath.

  “I — would… have thought— big hockey guy like you — steadier on your skates.”

  “‘Toepick,’” he said and grabbed her foot.

  Instead of cracking her skull on the ice, Mike managed to manipulate her body midair so she landed on top of him, then wrapped his arms tight around her waist. “While you’re down here,” he murmured.

  “Wh—?”

  He kissed her.

  There were almost too many s
ensations to process. The cold radiating up from the ice, the heat of Mike’s body, his lips soft against hers. Her clothes felt too tight; she wanted them off, wanted him on her, in her.

  “I can’t believe you toepicked me,” she said, heart pounding, when they finally broke away for air. The line was from The Cutting Edge, the scene when the hockey player was trying to learn how to use figure skates… and not succeeding because he kept tripping over the set of spikes at the front of the blades that hockey skates didn’t have.

  “Too tempting to resist,” he told her. “Especially with you smirking after checking me to the ice.”

  “It wasn’t a check!”

  One brown brow rose.

  “I wanted to kiss you, okay?” Her tone was begrudging. “For being so nice.”

  He chuckled, amusement all over his expression. “Nice? No.” He pushed his elbows under him and helped her up to her skates. “Don’t you know that I’m a bad boy?”

  “I know that you’re ridiculous.”

  “You love me.”

  Her heart clenched. “I do,” she murmured. “I do love you.”

  “So,” he said, and she noticed that he shifted, one knee on the ice, as though he was ready to stand up.

  But instead of rising, he continued to kneel in front of her.

  And then he reached into his pocket.

  Her breath caught when he pulled out a box.

  Covered in blue velvet, it fit easily into the palm of his hand. She inanely noticed that and a dozen other details: the maniacal eyes of the Gold logo behind him as he knelt at center ice, Brit standing at the Zamboni door, phone held up in the air, spotlights shining down on them, the random car dealership advertisement on the boards… and the look in Mike’s eyes.

  “I love you, Sara. Always have, always will. I know I’m not the greatest with romantic gestures—”

  She snorted. Not her fault, the big liar.

  Laughter came from Brit’s end of the ice. Mike flicked a gaze over his shoulder and shook his head. “The women in my life—”

  “Make it so much better,” she finished.

  Now a male thread joined Brit’s giggles.

  “True,” Mike said, grinning. “Okay, so maybe I’ve got the romance bit down, but without you, my life doesn’t mean a damn thing, Jumping Bean.”

  “Aw…” Brit again.

  He rolled his eyes. “I’m sorry for the crowd. Brit said you might want a video of this, but really, she’s just nosy.”

  “You’re just realizing that?” Stefan called. “Pull the trigger already, Stewie! We know she’s going to say yes!”

  Mike glanced at her nervously. “You are going to say yes, aren’t you?”

  Stefan and Brit were joined by more of the team, who catcalled.

  God, she loved this man… and his friends.

  “Mike,” she murmured

  “Oh, fuck,” he said, opening the box and displaying a gorgeous princess-cut diamond in a platinum setting. “Please say you’ll marry me, Sara girl.”

  Sara paused just long enough to make him sweat, but not long enough to be cruel. She did love him, after all.

  “I was just going to say your original choice for a ring was perfect.”

  He burst to his feet and yanked her close. “I love you so fucking much.”

  Then he was kissing her, and the team was cheering, and he was slipping the ring on her finger.

  “I’ll put the other one on later,” he promised. “For now, I just need to see you with a ring.”

  She touched her lips to his. “That I can live with.”

  Someone whooped, and she inclined her head toward the team. “Should we go face the crowd?”

  “If we have to.”

  “You have to!” Brit yelled. “I need to see that diamond!”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  EMERALDS AGAINST PALE skin.

  Mike nuzzled Sara’s neck and played with the ring sitting on her finger. It glittered in the sunlight.

  She was dead asleep, something he was responsible for. But he was playing eight games in ten days, both at home and on the road, and wouldn’t be seeing much of her, so he’d needed to make the most of their time.

  Between travel and pre-game routines, plus normal practices and training, he would be living and breathing hockey for the next while.

  Not that he minded. Or not normally anyway.

  He did worry about leaving her alone so much.

  Though Spence had delivered a message from Monique — basically a promise to watch out for Sara while he and the team were otherwise occupied.

  And Rebecca had scheduled time with Sara the next day. A progress update on the social media stuff and more plans.

  But it had been several weeks since the story of their relationship broke, and the press still sat outside his gate. Frankly, it was making him a little crazy. He couldn’t go on his patio, have his blinds open without feeling as though eyes were on him.

  He guessed they were… but knowing that still made his skin crawl.

  If only the team could link a few wins together, get the focus back on hockey and away from drama—

  “Why are you staring at me?” Sara asked, voice and hair sleep-mussed.

  “Because you’re beautiful,” he said, pushing back the strands to kiss her jaw.

  She grunted.

  “You used to be a morning person.”

  “You used to not keep me up to the wee hours of the night.”

  That was true. But by the time he’d gotten home from the previous night’s game, it had been after midnight.

  Pascal had already driven Sara home from the arena — they’d found it tended to create less commotion if they drove separately — and she had been asleep before he walked into the bedroom.

  “You were naked.”

  Her face was in the mattress, slightly muffling her words, but he saw her smile, or at least the crease in her cheeks as her lips turned up.

  “When do you leave?”

  “Couple hours.” He kissed one shoulder, then the other, loved that her breathing hitched. “What do you have planned?”

  “Monique invited me over for dinner and to watch the game.” She rolled onto her back. “Do you think it’s safe? I mean, I don’t want to stir up anything, not with Mirabel in the crosshairs.”

  “Pascal will keep you all safe. I have no doubt about that.” He twined a piece of her hair around his finger, reveled in how soft it was. “But it would probably be best if you don’t go out too much.”

  “Yeah,” she said before making a visible effort to lighten her tone. “Plus is, I’ve got more money than I know what to do with. Mitch has sold everything I gave him, and he needs more already. Pretty soon, I’ll be flush enough to get my own place.” Her hands spread, framing an imaginary house. “My own little castle on the hill. I think I’ll put in a moat, with alligators… except they’ll only eat paparazzi.”

  “Except, you’ll stay here,” Mike said, bristling, though he knew she was joking.

  He wanted Sara to be happy, and if that meant art, then certainly to be successful at that, but he also wanted her in his home, his room, his bed.

  She giggled. “Sorry. When Mitch said you’d get all growly and caveman, I should have believed him.” A soft palm cupped his cheek. “Thought I made it clear that there was no place I’d rather be.”

  The security company had moved everything out of Sara’s apartment, not that she had much, and she’d prepaid with her art earnings for the penalty to get out of her lease.

  Last night she’d offered to pay him rent.

  Rent! The other half of his soul wanted to pay for the privilege of staying with him. He should be paying her, for fuck’s sake, not the other way around.

  Sara was everything… and frustratingly independent.

  The woman hadn’t even let him help with closing down her apartment or getting the drawings to Mitch. She wouldn’t let him cook for her on meal days or pick up anything heavier than the TV remo
te.

  Hell, he was surprised he was allowed to have sex.

  That would probably go next. Couldn’t risk overtaxing his muscles, now could he?

  “What are you thinking?” she asked. “Your face went all scowly.”

  “Rent.” One word, a shake of his head, and Sara understood the context exactly.

  She rolled her eyes. “What kind of person would I be if I didn’t offer?”

  “Normal.”

  A huff as she clambered into his lap. The sheets pooled around their hips, and his cock hardened at the sight of her breasts just inches from his face.

  “Really?” Her tone was droll, but her body gave her away. She arched against him, rubbing her wetness along his erection. “Again?”

  “You’re naked.” He nipped at her neck. “And wet.”

  “There is that.”

  In one swift movement, he flipped them and pinned her hips to the bed. “I’m leaving in a couple of hours.”

  A flash of white teeth. “There is that too.”

  “I’m hard.”

  Fingers wrapped around his length as she guided him home. “That you are. Now—” She leaned up, whispered in his ear “—show me what you can do with that.”

  He grinned then proceeded to demonstrate his abilities.

  Twice.

  LATER, SEATED NEXT to Blane on the team’s jet, he stared at the text from Sara.

  Sara: Fewer camera goons today. Maybe we’re finally old news.

  That was the best thing he’d heard, aside from her moans that morning.

  He sent a heart emoji, not thinking twice until Blane glanced over Mike’s shoulder and shook his head.

  “Whipped, dude,” his teammate muttered. “Fucking emojis. Might as well turn in your man card.”

  “Don’t even care, B. I’ve got Sara, so I’ll take as much flack as you can dish out about being pussy-whipped.” He shook his head, knowing he was grinning like an idiot and not giving a damn.

  Max, who was in the row in front of them, turned around and said, “Let’s talk about your playlist—”

  “Not today, boys,” Brit called from a few seats back. She was cozied up to Stefan. Must be nice. “Mike knows his romance. You should be taking notes, not giving him shit.”