Parental Guidance (Ice Knights #1)(43)

“I hate to analyze and run,” he said. “But I still have to pack for tomorrow’s game in Toronto and Detroit after that.”

Yes. Hockey. Lots of road trips. She sent up a prayer of thanks for the reminder of the most obvious reason for their incompatibility at a moment of weakness. She stood up and walked him to the door, pulling it open and standing to the side so he could leave.

But he didn’t.

He got halfway through before stopping, his body so close to hers that his pheromones wrapped around her as solid as a touch as his eyes roamed her from head to toe. He didn’t say anything. He didn’t need to. She heard every heated want, every naughty vow, every dirty thought as if he were whispering in her ear, and it made her knees weak.

“Let me know when you’re ready to see if we can make the magic happen again,” he said.

She shivered. There was something in his rough tone that stripped her naked. “What makes you think I will?”

One side of his mouth curled upward in a sexy smirk that said everything he didn’t need to, because they both knew the score. Then he turned and walked away while she stood in her open door, trying to catch her breath, already half on the verge of coming.

You are in so much trouble, girl.





Chapter Twelve


Per Coach Peppers’s theory that early-morning activities equaled team cohesion, Caleb was in a suit getting half choked by a tie, walking across the tarmac to the team jet at six in the morning. As a solid member of team Sleep In, his eyes were barely open as he climbed the steps. Because he’d hardly slept at all thanks to a continual fantasy reel involving Zara Ambrose in all of her naked glory, he was a walking zombie. He sat down in the first empty window seat and yawned big enough that his jaw popped.

“Good morning, sunshine,” Phillips said, plopping down next to him. “Out late with your date? Will there be another video soon?”

At the mere mention of the word “video,” Christensen’s and Petrov’s heads popped up above the seats in the row in front of them like meerkats on one of those nature shows his mom liked to watch.

“Is she ready to dump your ass yet?” Christensen asked. “Because I would totally tap that. Forget a defenseman—she needs a forward with some skill and finesse.”

“Nah, a center is more her speed,” Petrov said. “I have the flexibility to go wherever she needs.”

The two knuckleheads jabbered between themselves, each stating his case as that all-too-familiar unease had Caleb’s every nerve flinching. There wasn’t a spotlight and he wasn’t standing in front of a class full of people—hell, he knew damn well they were just busting his chops—but still, the urge to play along to sink into the familiarity of the group was there. He could stay silent like he had in the Uber. Zara might never find out, but he would know, and he wasn’t going down that road again. He let out a breath and took the metaphorical puck down the ice.

“You two are idiots,” he said, giving them the glare they deserved. “Stop talking like a pair of privileged assholes—better yet, stop thinking like a pair of privileged assholes.”

If they were offended, they didn’t show it. Instead, they both stared at him, shit-eating, we-got-you grins on their faces.

“I think he likes her,” Petrov said.

“Definitely.” Christensen nodded. “Our little boy is falling in love.”

Caleb flipped off the other men. “Is that what that was, just a way to rile me up?”

“Pretty much,” Petrov said. “Thanks for falling for it.”

Then he sat down, Christensen following suit.

Keeping his mouth shut, Caleb took a deep breath in through his nose, filling his lungs until they were just about to burst and letting it out slow and steady. The jangle of his nerves was more of a hum than a loud clanging, and the tightness in his lower back that always weaved its way up his spine didn’t appear. Mild annoyance instead of gut-churning anxiety that made the back of his throat burn with bile.

“Don’t let them get to you,” Phillips said as he took his earbuds out of the case that looked like a floss container. “They’re just giving you a hard time because neither of them can keep a girl for longer than two dates.”

“It’s not that—it’s that I should have been able to do that months ago in that stupid Uber, shut the rookies down.” Which was the truth of it.

“No argument there.” Phillips shook his head and pushed the button on the armrest to lower the back of his seat. “So was it a pocket-size redhead who helped you understand the stupidity of your ways?”

“Pretty much.” Zara told it like it was, and that was one of the things he really liked about her.

“Sometimes we need someone else to get us to see things from another perspective, and then shit makes sense.”

“Speaking from personal experience?”

“We’re not talking about me,” Phillips said, his tone easy but the pulsing vein in his temple giving away the fact that they were talking about him. “But take it from a fellow moron: text your girl before takeoff and hit her up again when we land. Communication is everything.”

“She’s not my girl.” But the phrase sounded good in his head. “It’s just an arrangement.”

“You forget I’ve been at the fork in the road that either went to the good place or the bad place. Don’t follow my footsteps. Text your girl.” Then Phillips put his earbuds in, hit play on his phone, and closed his eyes.