Colliding (Portland Icehawks #7)

Chapter 1

Chapter One

Unwelcome

The Icehawks are on the verge of earning their first playoff spot.

The city is behind them with sellout crowds every game.

This is a team that’s found their identity.

With their four equally competent lines, they are hard to play against because their opponents never know which line might have a good night.

I’m confident this team is going places.

Kudos to Brian Werkle, Inez Lewis, and Duke Jefferson for putting together a team without superstars that epitomizes the true meaning of teamwork.

My only criticism is their decision to keep Drakos Lenkov, but nobody’s perfect. —Aria at All Hockey News

~~Drakos~~

What the fuck is Aria Reed doing here of all places?

Talk about pouring frigid ice water on what could’ve been a good time.

And my teammate Koko, is he that dense? Or is he that devious? I vote for both.

The asshole takes a seat at my table with his date, who’s also my archenemy.

The entire team knows how I feel about Aria Reed, yet Koko chooses this table? I glance around and verify his options are endless. He doesn’t need to torture me with her presence.

I scowl at them and mutter an appropriate curse in my native Ukrainian to amplify my displeasure. I haven’t been to my homeland in years and have pretty much lost my accent. I’ve worked hard to move on from that chapter in my life. All I have left are painful memories I prefer not to dredge up.

They may not understand the words, but they can guess the intent.

Koko grins, an indicator that he in fact did this on purpose just to needle me because he’s an asshole.

Aria’s condescending smirk gets under my skin, too.

Her appearance ruins my evening. She knows it, and she’s enjoying this moment way too fucking much.

I’ve been looking forward to this brief respite from the grind of playing the eighty-two regular season games. We’re tied for a playoff spot with six games left in the regular season, and it’s been an intense month of April.

Since the Icehawks have a rare three days off before the next game, the team rented a dinner boat for a cruise on the Columbia, complete with dancing, enough food to satisfy the appetites of twenty-plus hockey players, and tons of booze.

It’s my kind of party—except for the absence of available women.

I chose to come stag. I’m not sure why I made such a stupid decision, yet here I am.

“Where’s your latest catch of the day?” Aria sneers and shoots me a pointed look. The All Hockey News staff writer has made it a habit of lobbing insults in my direction as often as I shoot pucks at the net.

“I’m taking the night off.” I force a smile to show her that she’s not getting under my skin, even though she is.

“I didn’t know you ever took a night off when it came to women.”

“Even someone with my stamina needs a day to recover.” I don’t bother to disguise my disdain for her, and she expects nothing less from me. We snipe at each other every chance we get.

“Or maybe you’ve gone through all the available woman in Portland.” Aria beams with evil joy. I can’t stand this woman. We’re enemies, and everyone knows it. I’m not putting up with her shit, not tonight. This is supposed to be a fun, relaxing evening but not with her sitting across from me.

“Not you,” I point out.

“Dream on.”

“Look, babe, I know you want me, but I have standards.” I smirk with satisfaction as her eyes narrow to slits. She’s not liking what I’m saying one little bit, which gives me immense joy.

Grabbing my beer, I stalk off to another table and take a seat with several of the older veterans on the team.

Within thirty seconds, I realize I’ve made a grave error.

I’m not sure which is worse, dealing with Koko and Aria or sitting at a table with a bunch of married or attached guys talking about their kids and wives or girlfriends.

Boring.

I cover my mouth to suppress a yawn and wish once again I’d brought a date.

I’m a guy who needs constant stimulation, and this isn’t doing it.

I could return to my previous table, but my pride won’t allow me.

I’m still stinging from my leaving that table in the first place and giving Aria a win.

She’s gloating right now. Her triumph is written all over her face, and it’s all my doing.

I’ve allowed her to ruin my good time, and that gives her too much power and satisfaction.

I rack my brain for an appropriate game plan to extract revenge and glance at Aria for inspiration.

She looks as bored as I feel but attempts to look interested, while Koko jabbers away.

He’s a self-centered jerk and oblivious as usual.

Aria looks as if she’d rather be anywhere but sitting at that table.

A crazy, devious idea pops into my head.

If you can’t beat ‘em, force ‘em to join you.

Before I lose my nerve, I stand, take a deep breath, and walk purposefully to Aria’s table.

I ignore the curious and surprised stares of my teammates.

They’re expecting an altercation, but I’m not giving them one.

After all, I’m an alternate captain and need to set a good example.

Not that my leadership role has been a deterrent to my bad behavior in the past, but a guy can change.

Or pretend to when it suits my purposes.

Aria glances up as I approach. She’s wary and already on the defensive. I can almost see the hackles rise on her back. This is going to be fun.

“Let’s dance.” I hold out my hand so there’ll be no question as to who I’m asking.

I study her in the dim light. Fake candles flicker on the tables and give her pale face an otherworldly glow.

I’m struck by how blue her eyes are and how striking she is in that short black dress that hugs her curves, accentuates her toned legs, and shows a daring amount of cleavage.

Funny, I’ve never noticed her body before, but then I’ve never seen her in anything but khakis and polos.

Regardless, what’s on the inside is rotten to the core.

“Dance? With me?” She’s incredulous, and I grin with glee.

“Yeah, you. We can put our differences aside for one night, can’t we, for the good of the team?” I attempt an innocent, sincere expression. She narrows her gaze and eyes me with suspicion, sensing a trap.

I glance over at Koko, who’s debating the merits of certain types of sticks with a couple of the rookies. He meets my gaze and shrugs, as if he couldn’t care less.

“Let’s go. You can dance, can’t you?” I challenge her, knowing she won’t back down.

“Of course I can dance. Prepare to get your ass handed to you.”

“Like you try to do every day?” I’m intrigued.

It’s no surprise to me that she’s got spunk and is a badass in her own right.

In another place and time, I might ask her out, but we despise each other as much as much my babusya despised her son-in-law, my dad.

My heart squeezes at the thought of my family, but I recover quickly.

“I don’t try. I do hand you your ass.”

I cock a brow at her in a silent protest. Aria raises her chin, not the least bit impressed. She takes the hand I offer. Together we walk to the crowded dance floor. It’s a fast dance, but it ends the second we step out there. I frown when I hear the beginnings of a slow ballad.

Shit.

Aria’s eyes light up with mischief. She relishes my discomfort.

Well, fuck that. I take her in my arms and whirl her into the middle of the crowd, ignoring the glares from my buddies as I push past them and step on a few toes.

I dip her, spin her, try every move I know in order to avoid pulling her close.

Aria keeps up without a problem. She really is a good dancer.

The dance ends, and suddenly we’re both awkward around each other.

I don’t know whether to thank her or tell her good riddance.

I do neither. Instead, I dig deep and do the gentlemanly thing by offering her my arm.

She hesitates before slipping her arm through mine.

I lead her back to the table. Koko is nowhere to be seen.

She senses my confusion. “I’m fine. We’re not really on a date.”

I narrow my gaze and study her. “Are you here to dig up dirt?”

“No, I’m off the clock.”

“You’re never off the clock.”

Her Mona Lisa smile tells me all I want to know.

I nod and walk away, but her eyes leave imaginary stab wounds on my back. I resist the urge to turn around for one last look. Why bother? She’s not my type.

What exactly is my type?

When it comes to women, I have eclectic tastes. They’re all my type if they’re available females between twenty and forty. Hell, even fifty. Older women have a lot of experience, and I’m more than happy to avail myself of their expertise when it comes to pleasing a man.

I’ll bet one month’s paycheck that Aria is a dynamo in bed. All that snarky energy and pushy intensity make for an epic evening for two.

What the fuck is wrong with me?

Why am I thinking of my enemy in these terms?

I need to stop and stop now.

Fantasizing about her is courting trouble, and I don’t need her kind of trouble. She’ll use me to take me down, and only a fool allows himself to be put in that situation.

I’m not a fool.

Or am I?

I make a beeline to the bar because I obviously need a stiff drink. A second later I catch a scent of someone behind me and turn. It’s Aria back for round two.

“Why’d you really ask me to dance?” Her eyes bore into mine. I search for a reasonable lie, but my brain has ceased to function.

“Because you looked so miserable.” I blurt out the truth.

“I would think you’d enjoy that.”

“Oh, I do, but I’m not cruel, just vindictive.”

She snorts and takes the drink from my hand, throwing it back and gulping it down. I watch with grudging admiration. She hands the empty glass to the bartender. “We’ll have another.” Then she turns back to me. “Come on. There’s more to it than that.”

“What topic of conversation made you so bored you asked me to dance?” Her smile is positively evil, and I laugh in spite of myself.

We stand in an oddly comfortable silence while waiting for our drinks.

I’m enjoying matching wits with her, but I don’t like my physical reaction at all.

I’m a horndog, and she’s an attractive woman.

No matter how much I despise her, my body is a traitor.

I start to ask her why she has it in for me but decide I’d rather not allow her to damage my ego any further with her likely insulting answer.

Regardless, I’m suspicious. I don’t understand why she’s talking to me. It can only mean one thing—it’s a trap—but damned if I can figure out her endgame. Or maybe I don’t want to.

“So what was so boring?” She’s not dropping her question.

“Kids. All they talk about is their kids. Dull as hell.”

She stiffens, backs up, and a switch flips just like that. One moment she’s smiling and making small talk, and the next she appears ready to whip out a knife and castrate me.

“You fucking asshole,” she snarls like a cornered lioness.

“What?” I’m confused, but I shouldn’t be. I’ve long believed Aria is unstable.

“I suppose you’d rather talk about sexual conquests than have family time.”

“Well, fuck yeah.” I snort but sober quickly. She’s not amused.

Aria crosses her arms over her chest and glowers with menace. “You are everything I’ve said you were and more.”

“Calm down. I don’t know why you have such a vendetta against me. It’s unprofessional, don’t you think?”

“You don’t know why? You. Fucking. Don’t. Know. Why?” Her voice raises to the point that multiple teammates and their guests turn to stare at us.

I shake my head and glance nervously around the room. I might be a party boy, but I take my position as an alternate captain seriously, and she’s jeopardizing my clout with the team, especially the young guys.

“What’s the matter? Can’t take it?” She pushes past me, grabs her purse off the table, and stomps from the room. I’m not sure where she’s planning on going since we’re on a boat. If I’m lucky, maybe she’ll try to swim to shore and drown.

I’ll never be that lucky. I order another vodka on the rocks and proceed to get shit-faced.