Chapter Eight
Cara
"This is a terrible idea, Phoenix," I say, staring at the ice as if it might bite me. Truthfully, that's probably the best possible outcome here. I'm on skates. Disaster is imminent.
"No, it isn't." He skates toward me, wearing this smirk that makes my soul shrivel.
God, he's too sexy for my own good. The bruise on his cheek is already faded to a greenish-yellow, but it doesn't make him look any less beautiful. If anything, it gives him an edge that's a little too appealing.
He crooks a finger, beckoning me toward him.
I gulp audibly, glancing around like I'm looking for an escape, but we're the only two here.
Most of the arena is shrouded in darkness, everything off the ice muted to shape and shadow.
I guess that's the perk of sneaking in after hours.
The ice is the only thing that exists in the dark.
But I still feel like the whole damn world is staring from the shadowy bleachers, waiting to see if I fall on my face.
I might.
"You know," I say, "we could have gone for pizza. Or coffee. Or ice cream. Or to the movies. Or—"
"Cara?"
"Yes?"
"Get your cute ass off the bench and on the ice."
"Has anyone ever told you that you're annoyingly bossy?"
"Yeah," he smirks, "a few times."
"Why am I not surprised?"
"You have a younger brother. Don't tell me that he's never called you annoyingly bossy." His teasing smile lights him up. "I bet you fucking loved bossing him around when you were kids."
I still love bossing Jett around even though he outgrew me when he was sixteen, but I'll never admit it. Instead, I cock my head. "How do you know I have a brother?"
"I did my homework."
"Really?" I blink at him. "You looked into me?"
"No." He meets my gaze, his expression earnest and unashamed. "More like I've obsessively stalked your social media for the last few weeks."
"Find anything interesting?"
"Plenty."
I'm not entirely sure I want to know. I've had the same social media accounts since I was fourteen. God only knows what embarrassing photos and memories are lurking in my feed's history.
"Like what?" I ask anyway.
"Wouldn't you like to know?" His grin is all wicked mischief.
"Um, yes, actually." Does he think I asked for the fun of it? I desperately need to know which awkward, humiliating phases I need to strike from the historical record.
"Fine, but I have a question first."
I eye him, leery.
"What the fuck is fanfic?"
Oh, Christ on a cracker.
"Nope!" I cry, my face immediately catching fire as I try to haul myself to my feet. "No way. We are not talking about my reading habits. Time to skate."
His loud laugh rumbles around the arena like thunder, echoing from the rafters. God, I love that sound. "I had a feeling that would light a fire under that sexy ass," he says, holding a hand out to me.
"Evil," I grumble, making him laugh again. "If I break something today, it'll be your fault."
"You aren't going to break anything."
"I might."
"You won't." He hauls me off the bench like I'm weightless. Before I can even stumble on the thin blades attached to my feet, his arms are around me, his lips brushing my cheek. His stubble scrapes my skin, and I go boneless in his arms. "I've got you. All you gotta do is trust me, baby."
He says it like trusting him is the scary part, except it's not.
After spending the last two nights in his bed, that part feels simple.
It's trusting my own damn balance that's the issue here.
He does this professionally. The only time my dad ever tried to teach me how to skate, I took out an entire row of toddlers.
They went down like bowling pins. I think someone even yelled strike from the sidelines. Needless to say, my dad and I quickly decided that should be my first and last time on skates. I'm a voyeur, not an exhibitionist…figuratively speaking.
"Let's get this over with."
"No."
I tip my head back, clinging to him for balance. "No?"
"No," he repeats, his expression soft. "I've got you all to myself for the first time all day. You're wearing my jersey. And I fly out in the morning for a game, which I'm not thrilled about. So no, I'm not getting this over with. I'm not rushing a damn thing, gorgeous."
Warmth spreads from my chest, melting my reservations about skating. It's hard to be nervous when he's being all perfect.
In truth, he's been a lot of that the last couple of days, and I'm struggling to remember why I was so damn deadset against giving him a chance. That feels like some other version of me now, one without a clue. This version, though? I like her. She's not running. She's just…living in the moment.
It feels damn good, skates aside.
"You ready?"
I nod hesitantly, allowing him to pull me away from the bench toward the ice. My legs wobble and shake beneath me, but he holds me tightly, refusing to let me fall.
"Like this, baby," he murmurs, showing me how to place my feet. "March in little steps until you get the feel of the skates beneath you, then push off from the inside edge of the blade to glide."
I trap my tongue between my teeth, focusing. My legs wobble dangerously when I try to follow his gliding instructions, and I grasp for him.
"Easy," he chuckles, gripping my hip. "I've got you. Try again."
I do. And again. And again and again and again. After half an hour, my legs hurt, I'm sweaty, and Phoenix is looking at me in awe. We've spent at least ten minutes on our asses, and ten more with me trying to crawl back to the boards after every fall. He's way too fast to escape, however.
"Why are you looking at me like that? If your ass hurts, it's your own fault," I remind him. "This was your idea."
"You're a disaster in skates." He grins, little smile lines appearing around his mouth. "I thought you couldn't possibly be that bad. Turns out, you're worse."
I try to swat him, but only manage to lose my balance. He grabs me, hauling me up against his chest before I land in a heap on the ice again.
"The hockey gods are embarrassed for you right now," he teases.
"No, they were fully aware of my limitations before you dragged me out here," I retort. "They're laughing at you for thinking you could turn a reporter into a professional skater."
"Probably," he agrees. "I'll sacrifice you later in penance."
"You're such an ass," I grumble, but I can't hide my smile. Honestly, I've had more fun than I expected. Probably because this little skating lesson involved him touching me the entire time. My whole body hums.
"You love it," he murmurs, dipping his head to kiss me. I think he means it to be a quick little taste, but I bite his bottom lip, making him growl. His hands clench on my ass, pulling me closer. His erection nestled against my stomach.
I melt into him with a soft groan, my body catching fire. God, I love the way he kisses me. I love how he's always so freaking hard and desperate for me. Every day, I find something else to love about him.
"Jesus, Cara," he groans, breaking from my lips to press his forehead to mine. "I've never wanted to fuck anyone through the ice until now."
"Yay for me," I whisper, earning a chuckle from him. "How sad for everyone else."
He pulls back, his dark blue eyes intent on my face. One big hand cups my cheek, his palm cool. "You're perfect, you know that?"
"You aren't so bad yourself," I whisper, blushing.
"I mean it. Every fucking thing about you drives me wild." He groans again, shaking his head like he can't figure out how I do it. Except I'm not doing anything, not really.
I'm just me, the same person I've always been.
Apparently, he's seen my social media. He knows what awkwardness lingers in my past. There's a lot of it.
I've never felt particularly special until now.
I've always been a little overlooked, able to fly beneath the radar because of my size.
In school, no one was in a rush to date me.
I wasn't crazy popular. I was just the chubby girl who loved hockey and was a little too nosy for her own good.
I tried to turn it into my superpower. But the truth is, big girls are always underestimated, especially in male-dominated fields like sports reporting.
And I've been underestimated so much that I think I got used to always being the odd one out.
But the way he's looking at me? The way he touches me? The things he says to me?
Yeah, that's pretty damn special. For the first time, I don't feel like I have to try. I just get to be.
"Same," I whisper, my mouth bone dry. It's the truth, though.
Everything about him is quickly becoming my favorite thing.
I could lie and pretend I haven't spent most of the last few weeks going a little nuts over him, but what's the point?
I have been going nuts over him. I am falling for him. And I don't really want to stop now.
The last two nights in his bed have been the best two nights of my life.
Talking with him, laughing with him, letting him hold me...
God, I never imagined those little moments would be every bit as magical as when he's inside me, making me forget my own name.
But they are, for a thousand different reasons.
He isn't Phoenix Michaud, hockey superstar, when we're alone. He's just Phoenix. He feels like mine in a way nothing and no one ever has.
He slides his hand to my nape, tilting my head to kiss me again. This one is hotter, and a little wild. I anchor myself to his big body with my hands wrapped all up in his shirt, moaning his name.
"You want me, gorgeous?" he asks, slipping his hands beneath my jersey. His cool fingers brush my waist, making me moan again.
"Yes."
His hand drifts higher, his fingertips brushing my ribcage below my breast. "You going to let me have you here?"
At this point, he could have me anywhere, and I wouldn't object. "Yes," I gasp, arching into his touch. My legs wobble beneath me, and I remember I'm still in skates.