On Thin Ice (The New Jersey Storm #3)

Chapter 1

MAREK

Love at first sight is a ridiculous concept.

It doesn’t happen in real life. Only in books and movies.

It’s especially ridiculous for me because I’ve never wanted any kind of serious relationship with a woman.

I once heard a song by a Canadian rock band, Trooper, called “We’re Here for a Good Time (Not a Long Time)” and after I almost died, it became my theme song.

I like to keep things fun and light because we might not be here for long.

So no love at first sight for me.

Until I meet Nikki Sullivan.

I’m at the NHL All Star Game. Being chosen as an All Star is an honor, but my friends are all in the Bahamas drinking rum cocktails and slathering on SPF50.

So I’m kind of a reluctant participant here, but I’m a nice guy and a good sport so I’m keeping a smile on my face as I join in the various events.

The game is Saturday and right now it’s Thursday afternoon in Las Vegas.

I’m on the red carpet greeting fans as we head into the arena for the draft event.

There’s a lot of screaming, and okay, yeah, some of it is for me.

Music pumps around us, mingling with the hollering and shrieking of the fans.

I scribble my signature on jersey after jersey as I move along the cordoned-off crowd, keeping a smile on my face.

“Can I have a selfie, please!” a girl cries at me.

I have to ignore her, dammit. I have to keep moving.

“Bobbeeee!” someone screams upon seeing Bobby Renfrew.

I keep signing.

Stuff like this can go to your head. I enjoy interacting with fans, but this is not the kind of event where you can actually talk to them.

“Keep moving!” one of the event staff orders us.

Yes, sir.

That’s when I look up and see Nikki Sullivan.

The reason I was so eager to come to this All Star game.

My mouth goes dry and my pulse shoots into tachycardia range.

I recognize her immediately. Of course I do. I follow her on Instagram, maybe to an unhealthy degree. She’s a pop singer and I like her music. And she’s hot. Just being honest.

I’ve always wanted to meet her, but couldn’t figure out how to do that other than sending her a creepy DM. So this is perfect.

She, too, is cruising along signing autographs and beaming at her fans, some of whom are nearly in tears at seeing her in person. Unlike me, she does pause for a selfie and I watch her pose with a young girl and smile.

She’s beautiful. Right now she’s wearing baggy jeans, Adidas sneakers, and a huge hockey jersey, white with the black and gold All Star logo. Not exactly the sexiest outfit but… she looks hot as fuck to me.

As she moves away from the pose, her gaze catches on mine and holds for about two seconds. And that two seconds feels like being struck by lightning. A sudden, overwhelming jolt and a surge of electrical energy through my body.

I snap back to focus on signing a last couple of jerseys before heading inside with a wave to the crowds.

It’s not much quieter inside the arena. I’m herded off to a side door from the arena lobby and down a corridor. I run into a guy I know, Wyatt Bell, who plays for the California Condors, and we exchange back slaps as we head to the dressing room.

“What a zoo,” Bell says.

“No shit.” I shake my head. “I feel lucky to still be alive.”

He laughs and we make small talk about the event.

Soon, we’re all in the arena, on the ice with our skates and our own team jerseys on, with a bunch of lights and small stages set up, TV cameras and photographers everywhere.

The four captains named by the league are drafting us into teams. There are also four celebrity captains helping them—all musicians. Nikki Sullivan is one of them.

I watch her, huddled with Bell who’s also a captain, strategizing on their picks. Adorable.

Nikki is a rising pop star known for her powerful voice, vulnerable lyrics, and unique style. And apparently she knows hockey.

Could she be more perfect?

She was chosen for this because she’s a big hockey fan—her brother Grayson plays for Harvard and she grew up in New York, very publicly cheering for the New York Bears. Wrong team, but I’ll forgive her.

I want to be on her team so bad. What can I do?

Probably nothing, other than make a fool of myself.

I watch her laughing with Wyatt Bell and find myself scowling. Good thing he’s married. Although that doesn’t necessarily mean anything. I’m well aware that a lot of guys look for hookups on the road even though they’re married. I narrow my eyes at Bell. He needs to keep his mitts off Nikki.

I don’t have to wait long. Nikki announces me as their third pick. Fuck yeah!

In my New Jersey Storm jersey and jeans and wearing a grin that splits my face from ear lobe to ear lobe, I skate over to their stage. I shake hands with Bell and do a bro hug, then greet Nikki. I want to hug her, too, but I restrain myself and shake her hand.

Her soft, delicate, warm hand. I want to go down on my knees in front of her and kiss that hand.

I meet her eyes—sparkling amber colored and gorgeous.

“Hi.” Her smile is both sweet and sexy and I swear there’s some kind of cosmic connection between us as our eyes meet.

“Hi. Nice to meet you. I’m a fan.”

She tilts her head. “Oh, thank you!”

I give her a wink and join her on the stage, exchanging bro hugs with the other two players already selected.

I change from my team jersey to an All Star jersey while others joke around.

Nikki and Bell discuss who the next pick should be and I stand there like a goalpost. I can’t take my eyes off Nikki and have lost the ability to speak.

Let’s just get this over with. I know there’ll be a party later. I’ll be able to get Nikki alone and propose to her.

Kidding. I’m not that crazy.

Or maybe I am, because right now I’m pretty sure my life will never be the same.

* * *

We did end up at a bar later, one of about ten in Toccata, the glitzy Vegas hotel we’re staying at.

But Nikki wasn’t there. The only celebrity coach there was Brad Carrington, movie star.

It was cool meeting him, but I spent most of the evening nursing one drink and searching the room for Nikki, disappointed.

Today I sign more autographs at the fan festival. This is better than yesterday. I can actually take a couple of minutes to talk to people and let them take pictures. We all have to do a shift of this, among other events.

The huge ballroom of Toccata is teeming with fans moving from table to table. The dull roar starts to give me a headache. Thank God I didn’t stay out late last night, or drink too much.

The big event today is the skills competition. There are twelve players competing in different events, like fastest skater, hardest shot, and accuracy shooting. We pick which four events we want to participate in, and top point-earners go on to round two.

As we get ready for the competition, I spot Nikki Sullivan behind the players’ bench, which is currently full of media people.

It’s not hard. It’s like a spotlight shines down on her, illuminating her where she’s sitting with the other celebrity coaches.

We players are all seated in the middle of the ice, waiting our turns.

The ice is swarming with photographers and videographers.

The stands are mostly full of fans, ready to cheer us on.

Like I said—it’s the All Star game. It doesn’t mean anything. It’s just a show.

Okay, the All Star game itself doesn’t mean anything. But this competition is for the most skilled NHL player and when I do something, I want to win. There’s also a million dollars on the line.

The first competition is fastest skater. We have to do a lap around the ice behind the goal nets and around some pylons.

So I focus on skating when it’s my turn. I focus on my stride and getting low into my knees on the corners. My time is 13.25 seconds. Not bad, but I’m sure Joel Russo can beat me.

And he does. But that’s okay, I earned three points.

There’s a bunch of waiting for TV commercials and we all joke around until the next competition starts. I’m not in this one, the hardest shot contest, so I can chill and cheer on my teammates. Rookie Vince Cheung is on our team and he has an amazing shot, and wins more points for us.

Then I’m up again for the one-timer contest. They’ve got a net set up with different point zones. Someone passes the puck to us and we have to shoot at the net without controlling the puck first; that’s what a one-timer is. I practice this all the time and I’m good at it.

I loosen myself up, swinging my arms and rolling my shoulders.

“Look at Smitty,” Joel Russo calls to the others with a head jerk in my direction and a smirk. “Who are you trying to impress?”

I grin and resist the urge to look over where Nikki Sullivan is sitting. “Your mother.”

“Haha.”

We take one-timers from different spots on the ice, giving us different angles to shoot on the net. I narrow my eyes and zone in as another player passes the puck to me and I snap it into the net, smashing target after target.

“Yeah!” I pump a fist in the air when I’m done, having snagged more points. I’m in second place.

Stick handling and passing are the other two competitions I’m in, and I’m confident about those skills. Stick handling is something I’ve excelled at since I was about six years old. So I’m not surprised that I move on to the next round, which is one-on-one against the goalies.

Also fun for me. I fucking love putting the puck behind the tender.

I’m still in second place at the end of this round, which means I’m through to the last round—the obstacle course.

Nikki is still sitting there, watching. Good for her. This isn’t the most exciting stuff, not like an actual hockey game, but I give her credit for hanging in here. I straighten my beanie and prepare to skate.

Fuck, they made this hard. None of us is doing great. We’re all tired, our energy sucked dry, but we’re gonna finish this for our pride.