Icebound: Chapter 20

“Well, look at that, ladies and gentlepeople,” the announcer says on the hotel bar TV. “After many speculations and rumors of retirement, the indomitable Rhode Tremblay is back on the ice, stronger, more focused, and hungrier than ever before. Just look at the way he took that hit today and still secured a shutout. The Guardians really are on a lucky streak!”

Flinching, I take a swig of my nonalcoholic beer. I rarely get checked on the ice, and I’ve got this nagging twinge in my groin. An injury down there is pretty much a death sentence for a goalie.

I nod to the bartender behind the wooden counter. “Hey, would you mind turning that off for me?”

“You got it, my man.” He changes the channel, shaking a cocktail mixer in front of the colorful liquor bottles. I release a breath and glance down at the string of texts glowing on the phone screen.

I’m still not sure what to say to him, so I switch over to our Puck Buddies group chat.

Rolling my eyes, I shut off my phone. There’s only one person I’m desperate to hear from, and it’s not Cruz, but I dug myself into this hole. It’s been over two weeks since I’ve seen Nina’s face or heard her voice, but she texts Cruz all the damn time.

They’re building a whole arsenal of inside jokes, and even though Cruz and I talked it out, I’m jealous of their friendship. He got me a burger, so we’re even. I’m not going to hold a grudge against the kid now that I know he’s not trying to sleep with her.

Nina’s stopped leaving me messages after my games, and every time my phone buzzes, I lurch for it, hoping to see her name on the screen.

I can’t stop thinking about the sex—the taste of her, the noises she made, the way her sexy body gripped my cock.

I should’ve known once wouldn’t be enough. I’m never listening to Patty again because getting over this girl might be impossible, but I’m trying to let her go so we can both chase our dreams.

I need to find someone my own age.

Grunting, I shove a piece of her cinnamon gum into my mouth that I stole.

“Is this seat taken?”

Looking up, I find a woman with black curls, wearing a green dress that matches her eyes. She’s holding a pair of heels in one hand and a bouquet of flowers in the other.

I scoot to the side. “It’s all yours.”

“Thanks, my feet are killing me.” She pulls out the barstool. I get a whiff of citrus, and it smells good, but it doesn’t come close to Nina’s cinnamon scent.

“I’ve been dancing all night,” she says. “I think my blisters have blisters. My brother just married his childhood best friend, Nathan. It’s all disgustingly sweet. They’re absolutely perfect together, and I’m feeling very single at the moment, so my plan is to drown myself in alcohol. Can I get you anything? Scotch? Whiskey?”

I hold up my piss beer. “I’m good. Thanks, though.”

Her eyes drop to my left hand, and she grins at my bare finger. Dammit. I know that look. “So, what brings you to Los Angeles?”

I check my phone, but there’s nothing from Nina. I don’t know why I thought there would be, so we make idle small talk for the next half hour.

She’s from San Francisco, and I keep it vague, telling her that I’m here for work. She’s a medical resident, which makes me think of Nina again, has two rescue pit bulls, only drinks wine from Chianti, and is a fan of the Bruins, but she didn’t recognize me. I’ll let that slide because they’ve got one hell of a roster.

She’s exactly my type. I bet I could have her up in my hotel room in the next ten minutes, but instead, I’m gulping my beer like that’ll drown my thoughts of a certain girl.

The conversation fizzles out when I scoot back from my stool. “Well, it was nice talking to you, but I better go.”

She frowns but gives me a good-natured salute with her Cosmo. “Nice chatting with you too.”

My phone vibrates on the counter. I glance at the screen. Nina.

Holy shit. She’s calling me.

I lurch for it like it’s the last life jacket on the Titanic, which I realize is not a great look. Holding the phone to my ear, I stride through the lingering perfume in the hotel lobby up to the elevators.

I take a breath before answering, so I don’t sound too eager. “Nina?”

“Hey, how’s it go—”

“Bro, your girlfriend’s hot as fuck!” some guy shouts on the line.

What the hell? Is she at a party? I clutch my phone hard enough to snap it in half. “What’s going on? Where are you, Nina?”

“Sorry, you’re on speaker,” she says, a hell of a lot calmer than I feel. “Thanks for picking up because, as I’m sure you can hear from all the screaming, I’m driving some very drunk children,” she spits out like she’s chastising them, “home tonight.”

“We’re not drunk,” the guy slurs.

Yeah, he’s wasted.

“Yeah, you’re wasted,” she says, and pride fills me that we had the same thought. “Your friend literally peed himself before he got in the car. I’m charging you extra for that.”

“Assholes,” we both say.

The golden elevator door slides open, and I jam my finger on the twenty-fourth button, trying to hold onto my self-control. If any of those guys touch her… I don’t know what I’ll do, but it won’t be pretty.

“Are you alright?” I rub my temples. “Please tell me before I lose it.”

“Thanks. I’m okay. Don’t freak out or anything. I tried calling Gwen and Micah, but they didn’t answer, and I just wanted someone to talk to right now.”

Of course she tried calling Cruz. It shouldn’t bother me, but it does.

“You know what I want to do with you?” one of the assholes shouts.

I loosen my tie, lowering my voice. “Listen up. You better not—”

“If you finish that sentence, I’m throwing you out of my car,” Nina interjects, cutting me off. “Not you, Rhode, obviously. These boys.”

She’s got this handled, but I’ll always back her up. “If any of you so much as blow one hair out of place on that girl’s head, I’m calling the cops,” I say, stepping out of the elevator and into the hallway.

“Whoa, dude, where’d that voice come from?” one of them says.

I shove my key card into my room, slamming the door behind me hard enough that a hanger falls in the closet. No one’s in here since we never share rooms. We’re seasoned players, not rookies crammed in a dorm at training camp.

I stride inside the marble bathroom, shoving off my pink tie with lemons all over it while imagining Nina out partying with these degenerates. I can’t let myself go there, or I’ll want to do something insane like fly back to Nashville and drag her away with me.

I’m acting jealous, greedy, and possessive over a girl who’s not even mine, but these emotions make me feel like I’m hers.

“Okay, boys, get out of my car. We’re here,” Nina says through the phone. “Go straight to bed. Don’t talk to any people, oh, and make sure to take some painkillers, but nothing with acetaminophen, and don’t be assholes. Now get out.”

On the line, they shuffle out of the car. “You alright? Are they gone?”

She sighs, sounding exhausted, and I imagine wrapping her up in my arms. “Yeah, they’re out. Thanks for answering. I know we’re not really talking, but I didn’t want to be completely alone with those guys. I think they were harmless assholes, but still, you can’t be too careful.”

“I don’t care if they’re harmless, I just care if they’re assholes,” I grit out.

“True.” She pauses. “You sound mad. Are you mad?”

I take five breaths before answering. My jealousy isn’t her problem, so I sink onto the edge of the bathtub, gripping the rim. “I’m fine.”

“Well, thanks for backing me up.”

“It’s nice to know I’m good for something other than blocking pucks all day,” I mutter, more to myself because that’s all I feel good for lately. “And I’ll always back you up.”

I wait for her to say more, but when she doesn’t, I turn on the cold water and fill up the hotel bathtub because I’m more wound up than before a playoff game. “What are you up to now?” I ask, wanting to keep her talking.

“Just pulling up to my apartment. You?”

I wedge my phone between my cheek and shoulder, undoing the buttons on my shirt. “Taking a cold bath to reduce some of my inflammation, but I doubt it’ll work all that well. It’s a watered-down version of an ice bath.”

She hisses. “That game today looked rough. After you got hit, I felt a little nauseous. I kind of hate watching you play hockey. How’re you feeling?” she asks in a soft voice that makes me go hard.

It takes me a second to remember what she asked because I’m too focused on the fact that she’s still watching our games.

I clear my throat. “Yeah, it hurt like hell, but I’m alright.”

“Are you sure? You don’t have to pretend. I don’t even like hockey, remember?” she laughs. “You can be honest with me.”

If this were my mom asking, I’d fake a smile and tell her I’m fine because she’s my biggest supporter. If it were my coach, I’d be blunt and brush the pain under the rug, but because it’s Nina, and she has no stake in the game, I guess she’s right. I don’t have to fake anything with her.

I slump on the bathtub ledge. “You want the truth? I’m exhausted. My body feels like it’s falling apart, and there’s this one twinge in my groin that won’t go away no matter how much I stretch. I’m too old for this.”

“No, you’re not,” she says in my favorite fiery voice. “You know more about hockey than anyone else on the team, so if you call yourself old one more time, I’m going to start calling you Daddy, which I know you’d hate.”

She’s right. I’d rather we be equals than have some weird power dynamic between us.

I didn’t realize having someone outside of the hockey world was a breath of fresh air until I met Nina. My throat goes tight with emotion, so I can only manage to get out a few words. “Thanks, and yeah, please don’t call me Daddy.”

“Don’t worry. I would never. Are you foam rolling your adductors?”

My brow furrows. “Huh?”

“Your adductors? Are you stretching? Rolling? All of the above?”

“How’d you know that’s what I should do?”

I can practically hear her eyes roll from hundreds of miles away. “Because I know how to type on a computer, and I told you, I do my research.”

“You’re researching groin stretches? Shouldn’t you be working on that speech for that art event? Or doing more important things? Like studying?”

She hesitates. “Your groin is very important to me.”

My cock twitches at the innuendo. Did she really say that? I could take the bait and flirt back, start talking dirty, which would probably lead to some sexy as hell phone sex with me watching her play with herself. Fuck. That’s a hot visual. I wonder if she’d take commands. Probably not, so I’d have to spank her to get her to listen. Maybe tie her up.

Except, tonight, I’d rather have a conversation that doesn’t involve bondage or dirty talk.

“Rhode?”

I shift on the tub, trying to ignore my rock-hard erection that popped up out of nowhere. “Why were you looking up stretches?”

“Because I wanted to learn more so I could ask the right questions. I went down a research rabbit hole, looking up training for goalies, and got a little carried away. I do that with movies too. I’ll start watching, and then I’ll recognize one side character and end up missing the entire movie because I have to look up all their previous roles to figure out where I know them from.”

I smile bigger than normal. “That’s perfect because I always get sucked into watching movies, so you do the research, and I’ll debrief you when it’s over.”

“Look at us, we’re the perfect match. I mean, besides the fact that you want to get married, and I want to travel the world.”

“Yeah, other than that big hurdle. We’re perfect together,” I grunt.

Nina and I might have little things in common, but I need someone who matches me on the big things. Part of me wishes we wanted the same things. Then, maybe we’d have a shot.

I step out of my pants, shoving them to the side, so I’m standing in my briefs. I twist in the bathroom mirror and get distracted when I spot the dark blue marks on my side. “That player really got me good. My ribs are bruised.”

“What?” she gasps. “Really?”

“No, not actually bruised, but the skin’s all dark and inflamed.”

The line goes dead. I hold out the phone, squinting at the screen. Did I lose service? No. I still have five bars. I set my phone on the counter and frown at myself in the mirror.

My skin is splotched in marks. Cruz also took a bad hit, but he got up almost immediately after being knocked down. I did too, when I was twenty-three. I trace my fingers over the skin, wincing at my reflection. Sure, my body is ripped from all the workouts, but it doesn’t look great covered in bruises.

My list of injuries is so long that it could be a book. I can’t feel my index finger in my right hand any time the temperature drops below fifty degrees, and I’ll probably need reconstructive shoulder surgery in my forties from all the blocking.

My hips are so abused, I wouldn’t be surprised if my bones were black and blue, and don’t get me started on what all the years of dropping into butterfly have done to my knees.

My phone starts ringing again, but this time, Nina’s FaceTiming me. I drop my phone on the counter, lurching for a towel to wrap around my waist.

I swipe and then her cute face appears on the screen. She’s lying on her bed. Safe at home. My shoulders relax. I stare at the freckles on her nose. I prefer calling, but maybe I can get used to FaceTiming.

“Let me see,” she demands.

I blink, somewhat distracted by her glasses. Why are they lopsided? Those guys better not have touched her. “See what?”

“Your ribs. Let me see them. I want to see the bruises.”

I don’t want her to see me all beaten when she doesn’t have a wrinkle in sight. “No. It’s not that bad. I’m fine.”

“Please?” Her shoulders slump as she leans back into her pillows, and I’d give anything to sleep somewhere other than a hotel mattress tonight. “I’m just worried about you, and I’ll feel better if I see it for myself. I don’t like imagining you being hurt. Please?”

“Alright, but it’s not pretty. You’ve been warned.”

“I don’t care if you look pretty, I just care about you.”

Her cheeks turn pink after she says that, and the color matches the burning feeling in my chest. I ate a ton of oranges today, though, and that always gives me heartburn.

I adjust the camera, ensuring the towel is secured around my waist, and then show her my reflection in the mirror. I keep my eyes on her as she watches, trying to gauge her reaction. She winces, tilts her head, and her cheeks flush darker.

“That bad?” I ask.

“Yeah, it looks pretty painful, and you should definitely sit in the bath when we hang up, but…” She catches her bottom lip between her teeth.

“But what?”

“I have to admit, it’s kind of sexy,” she says in a breathy voice. “Really sexy, actually. I probably shouldn’t say that, but oh well. You’ve licked my entire body, so you already know I think you’re sexy. I’m going to be thinking about this visual a lot.”

“Nina…”

She smirks. “At night.”

My cock jumps beneath the towel. “Don’t.”

“In bed, naked, all alone. Poor little me.”

Fucking hell.

Now, I’m picturing her screaming my name as she circles her clit. She’s biting her lip in a challenge.

We really shouldn’t be doing this, but I have a hard time saying no to this girl, so with a groan, I reach down to stroke myself. “Do you wish I was there to make you feel better? Do you need my tongue or do you want my cock?”

She peers through the screen and into my soul. “I just want whatever I can get. I kind of miss talking to you, but I didn’t want to bother you since I know you’re busy, and we’re, I don’t know, friends who’ve slept together? It’s awkward.”

My hand stops moving around my dick. “Yeah, we’ve slept together, but it’s not awkward. We both know this isn’t going anywhere, so you can bother me anytime you want. It can get pretty lonely in hotel rooms, so it’s nice to have someone to talk to.”

Her smile fades, and even though I’m still hard as concrete, we don’t have phone sex. Instead, I prop the phone on the ledge and jump into the cold water to calm down.

That doesn’t work.

We talk for hours until my balls are blue and my fingers are wrinkled. She practices her speech with me for The Peaceful Mind Project, and I tell her about the ¡Vamos! sponsorship meeting. We end up talking about everything and nothing and all the things in between.

I fall asleep with a rock-hard dick, a smile on my face, and my phone over my heart.