Bass (Valencia Ice Mafia #3)

Chapter 1

One

BASS

There’s this moment, right around midnight at the Ice House, when the music gets low, the lights go hazy, and you can see exactly where you stand.

My teammate and best friend, Neo, is in the corner, back pressed to the wall, arms around Violet.

She’s smiling up at him like he personally invented gravity.

I get it. If I was into guys, Neo would definitely be on my short list. He’s got an effortless kind of charisma that all the girls on campus seem to fall for.

And then there’s my other teammate, Shane. This fucker’s got Kennedy pulled into his lap, feeding her something that used to be pizza, and she’s loving every bite of it like he hand-tossed that shit for her.

A new guy on the team, Claude, is spinning a Budweiser can like it’s a fidget toy, trying to impress one of the puck bunnies—Gia.

And me?

I’m standing in the middle of it all—crowded, surrounded, but somehow still alone.

“Look at you,” Gia teases, poking my ribs with her coffin-shaped, sparkly fingernail. “The last single Mafia man.”

“By choice, sweetheart,” I drawl, flashing a grin that usually makes girls wet between their legs. “Some of us aren’t ready to turn in our jerseys just yet.”

She giggles, leans closer, and I can practically hear the expectation in the way she breathes. Like she thinks she’s getting a taste of me tonight. She isn’t.

Now, I don’t have anything against Gia or any puck bunny.

Shoot, a few of them got me through hell week during my freshman year, but I can spot at least three dudes who Gia’s been with in this room alone.

I’m not saying the two of us haven’t had our fun over the years, but I’m not interested in wifing up used goods, no offense to Claude.

Based on the longing look on his face, I’m pretty sure he feels a lot differently about her than I do.

I take a long sip of my beer and scan the room again. These parties used to be so much fun, but lately they’ve felt like nothing more than a waste of time. I’d probably have more fun jerking off in my dorm room.

Wait, what the hell is wrong with me?

It can’t be jealousy. Hell, no. I’m not jealous of Neo and Violet’s saccharin-sweet “forever and always” fairytale or Shane and Kennedy’s tragic stepbrother romance.

I’m just…aware. Aware that something in me is shifting. Like all this loud, wild energy I’ve thrived on since freshman year has started to taste a little stale.

But as soon as I’ve decided to chalk the night up as a wash…I see her.

Standing across the room in a tight black blazer, arms crossed, expression flat like she’s assessing a crime scene. She’s not dancing. Not drinking. Not smiling.

And she’s definitely not impressed.

Something in me flicks on, low and electric. I don’t know her name. Never seen her around the team. She’s not one of the usual puck bunnies or groupies who show up hoping to leave wearing someone else’s hoodie.

She’s…different.

Like if confidence and contempt had a baby and dressed it in business casual.

I shift toward her, blowing off whatever Gia’s saying.

“Keep an eye on Claude for me, Gia,” I tell her. I think she responds with a simple okay, but I don't hear shit.

The girl across the room locks eyes with me, tilts her head slightly, and then, without warning, rolls those sharp, dark eyes.

Rolls them.

At me.

And my dick gets hard.

Not even a minute later, she’s gone. Slipped through the side door like she was never there.

“Yo.” Claude slides up beside me, eyes still on Gia. “You see that girl who just bailed? Kinda hot. Kinda scary. Does she work for admin or something?”

“I don’t know who the fuck that was,” I murmur.

But I want to.

Monday hits me like a slap to the face. Probably because over the weekend, I may have partied a little too hard, but that's nothing new.

I show up twenty minutes late to a required media seminar because, like any self-respecting athlete, I hate media coaching. I’m here to win hockey games, not learn how to play nice in front of a camera. Coach said the training was mandatory, but I doubt he meant on-time mandatory.

I stroll into Sol Pueblo, the seminar hall, black coffee in one hand, sunglasses still on because the sun doesn’t know how to mind its business in fucking Vegas.

The room is full of VCU athletes, mostly hockey and basketball players. Neo’s sitting up front like the overachieving bastard he is. Shane’s leaning against the back wall, texting someone—no doubt it's Kennedy.

And at the podium?

I shit you not.

It’s her.

Same girl from the party. Different outfit, same lethal vibe. She’s in a button-up shirt, high-waisted pants, hair pulled back and twisted into a long braid that looks like it could double as a whip. She doesn’t even blink when she sees me walk in late.

“Ah, Mr. Morelli,” she says, her voice smooth and clipped like glass over gravel. “So glad you could join us.”

My smile reaches all the way inside of my boxer shorts when she says my name. I would love to hear her say it again under completely different circumstances.

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world.” I grin.

She cocks a brow, unimpressed. “Fantastic. Everyone, meet Bass Morelli, Valencia’s own penalty box prince. If you need tips on brand mismanagement, I’m sure he’ll offer private lessons.”

Laughter erupts. Even Shane snorts. Traitor.

I take a seat next to Claude, who whispers, “Dude, that's the same bunny from the party. Why is she roasting you?”

I hope it's because she secretly wants my body.

"She's not a bunny," I correct Claude.

My new obsession clicks through a slide, and suddenly my personal Instagram feed fills the screen. Half-naked selfies, shirtless locker room videos, and a clip of me giving the finger to a ref during the last home game.

Claude emits a low, “Oh, shit,” under his breath.

“This,” she says, pointing with a laser like she’s teaching forensic science, “is what not to do when building a public-facing athlete brand.”

I grin wide, but my jaw’s tight.

Kai. That’s her name. I catch it when someone calls her “Ms. Vega” during Q that’s for damn sure.

I don’t know whether to be pissed or intrigued.

Unfortunately for my dumb ass, it's probably both.