Page 25 of Shattered On Ice

“Hello,” I offer with feigned neutrality. No hint of the shaking, whimpering mess Westin turned me into.

“Knighty-Knight!” Nico bellows, clearly hyped and not worrying about his volume. “I was telling Westin he can’t possibly have lived if he’s never tried a Cuba Libre with Sprite. Rum and Coke is one thing, but it’s way more refreshing with that lemon-lime goodness.”

I blink at him. “Can't say I’ve ever had the pleasure myself.” See, I can fit in with their conversations and careless camaraderie.

“Uncultured swine, all of you.” Nico scoffs, pointing at us as Rook comes back in from the kitchen.

“The last time we took your drink advice, we ended up shit-faced in Vegas on white gummy bear shots you swore were so good,” Rook says, throwing an arm around Westin’s shoulders.

The relaxed and practiced gesture sends an icy jolt through me. I stare, trying to contain my jealousy for their casual touches and easy closeness. I’ve enjoyed the pleasure of holding this big man and feeling him take comfort from me. To see my brother have his own easy intimacy with a man I’ve tasted is a paradigm shift.

“You nearly pissed yourself when we couldn't find a bathroom. Remember that chick who tried to get you arrested when she said you could pee on the building, but a cop was right there?” Rook laughs as Westin makes a gagging sound.

“Those were so gross. Chad puked his guts up on the ride back to the hotel. He ruined my Uber rating.” Westin shakes his head.

Rook wraps his forearm around Westin’s neck, bringing him in closer. “But you didn’t have to put Chad in the shower and make sure he survived. I took one for the team that night.” He shudders. “You’re the only person I’d do that for without being forced. I’d want to make sure you were safe. You're my designated travel buddy for a reason.”

Guilt oozes in my stomach, and I have to stop the physical reaction aching in my limbs to hug myself. My head swivels between the three hockey players as they recount their crazy travel exploits that I’ve never even heard of. As hard as I could try to fit in with them, to speak their vernacular and show my ease in their presence, I will never share these core memories and inside jokes. I'm an outsider.

Nope, not going to feel sorry for myself with that recognition.

“Who wants pizza?” I ask with false cheer. I can mask as well as Westin can, and if he’s comfortable being back in his All-Star hockey bro persona, I can be the neutral, observant therapist who knows how to take care of people. Before they can even answer, I turn and head into the kitchen, intent on removing myself from the situation that has me so out of sorts.

I open the boxes of pizza, focused on my task instead of the shaking in my hands and the tremor making its way through my body.

“You okay?” Westin asks quietly after following me.

I look up quickly and glance around. Rook is talking to Nico in the living room, their voices a distant murmur. “I’m fine, Westin. It’s just pizza.” I close my eyes and let out a slow breath to control the snappiness that’s risen. He doesn't deserve that, and I’m better at regulating myself most of the time.

“You looked…” he pauses, gripping the back of his neck and rubbing. “Like you’d seen a ghost or something. I wanted to make sure you're okay with me being here.”

My heart squeezes, icy demeanor cracking under that admission. I roll my lips in and wonder what I can actually say in this weird situation. We’re keeping this casual. It’s supposed to be quiet, so we don't hurt Rook. It was inevitable that Westin would hang out with him around me, and I’d have to downplay any notion of propriety when it comes to him. I’m trained in this; I have a PhD in psychology and years of practice as a therapist to lean on, yet it’s much harder to take the advice I would give a patient when I’m on the other side of the couch, in a difficult situation of my own making. I’ll have to keep it simple.

“You're welcome here anytime. You're Rook’s best friend before anything else,” I whisper. “Just be yourself and enjoy your friends.” I open a cupboard and take down plates.

“But I…” he stops himself, pressing his lips tightly before he continues. “Okay. Let me know if you're not okay with me here. Like a secret sign or something. You can pull your ear.”

I suppress a sardonic laugh. “Sure, Wes. I’ll pull my ear if I need you to go away.”

His face softens, warm hazel eyes burning intensely. “I like it when you call me that,” he whispers. Before I can respond, he takes the plate I’ve handed him, piles four slices of pizza on it, presses a quick kiss to my lips, and heads back to the living room with a smile.

I shake my head in bewilderment, not sure what to do. But I know who might. I swipe my phone out of my pocket and immediately text Callum.

Knight: SOS! W is at my house hanging out with my brother and one of their friends. We *just* hooked up. This is so weird. I don't know how to act or keep my cool while knowing what his tongue feels like up my ass.

I don't have to wait long for a reply.

Callum: *Squeals in secret hook up* GIRL. Best case scenario, you can have a bathroom quickie and no one will be the wiser. Embrace the possibilities and the unexpected situation for the gift it is.

I gasp and choke on my spit, coughing until I can clear my throat and breathe normally again. I type back a quick reply as I make up the other plates for the guys.

Knight: Uh, not happening around my brother. That is a recipe for disaster. I shouldn't even care, right? I asked to keep this casual, not to take it seriously, and yet I’m stressing over here trying to appear normal for all intents and purposes of keeping everyone else in the dark about what we have done.

I bring the plates out to the living room as I wait for Callum’s response, handing them to Nico and Rook, who are heavily invested in the baseball game on the TV. The Minnesota team is playing, which means Rook won’t hear anything until the game is over. That seems like another hour or two, given the innings listed on the screen. Yay, I knew something about sports ball!

I take a seat across the room next to Indiana with my own pizza, watching the guys smack-talk each other’s favorite teams and inhale their pizza. I can be social and hang with them even if there’s an electrical charge in the air that keeps me keenly aware of every move Westin makes. He’s so big and incredibly masculine, his shoulders broad and perfect for my hands to grip, arms strong enough to carry me, which was way hotter than I ever imagined it would be.

I’m mercifully pulled from my inappropriate focus by another message.