Page 53 of Breaking the Ice

She must be remembering the same thing, because she says, “Too bad your new sectional won’t fit in here. It would probably be more comfortable to sleep on, at least.”

I sigh. “Yeah. It will be my parting gift to Hockey Hall, though. So they don’t forget me when I’m gone.”

Isabella sits up straighter, moving away from me. I miss her warmth. “Oh my gosh, I didn’t even think about that. You have to leave your roommates, your team, and move out here to the middle of nowhere.”

I wince. Married housing is, unfortunately, on the opposite side of campus from everything. But she bites her lip, looking so distraught, that I reach out and rub her shoulder.

“It’s okay. I’ll survive being fifteen minutes away.”

She leans into me again, and the shoulder rub turns into a hug. She feels so good, her weight against me, so right. I can’t resist. I press a kiss to the smooth skin on her neck. She gasps, and it’s the best sound I’ve ever heard. I trail kisses along her jawline, making her moan. It hits me right in the groin, and maybe I like that even better than the breathy gasps, if possible. I land on her mouth, and she threads her fingers through my hair, pulling me on top of her.

Isabella’s not a delicate wraith, but I weigh two hundred pounds and I’m six feet tall. I’m also a gentleman. So I roll, keeping our mouths fused together, putting her in the driver’s seat. It’s a wonder I don’t maneuver us off the bed. Her tongue delves into my mouth, exploring, and wow, I really like it when she takes charge.

I like it so much, it’s about to become a noticeable problem. And we definitely should have had that sex talk.

“Bella.” I drag my lips away from hers, panting. Her eyes are glazed over and her perfect mouth is swollen from my kisses.

Yeah, I did that. Pride thrums through my veins. Well, pride and lust. A lot of lust. Mostly lust. She traces her fingertips along my waistband. It’s hard to remember what I was trying to say.

“Um, we should probably slow down,” I finally manage to croak out.

“Why?” Her voice is hoarse, and she lifts up my shirt and kisses my abs. I might pass out. “We’re married.”

“Yeah, but…” Why should we talk again? I run my hands through her silky hair. I can’t recall.

Knocking on the door startles us both, and Isabella sits up, her eyes wide.

“Evan, I know you’re in there!” My mother’s voice blares through the wooden door, as clear and upset as ever.

“Oh, shit.” I scramble off the bed, straightening my clothes and smoothing down any wrinkles. “Fix your hair!”

I point at Isabella’s tangles, definitely my fault. She grabs a hair tie off her wrist and deftly twists it up into a ponytail. “Who’s at the door? What’s going on?”

I gulp, then swipe away a smudge of her lip gloss. “My mother.”

“Seriously? How many times can our parents show up unexpectedly this weekend?”

“Hopefully this is the last one,” I say, lacing our fingers together and throwing the door open.

Chapter

Twenty-Three

EVAN

My parents stand in the dingy apartment hallway, the yellow glare of the fluorescents washing them out. They both wear their work suits and look like they are headed to their respective offices—at the law firm or the hospital and not to visit their disappointing son. Although I suppose it is a Monday morning. When was the last time I slept? I can’t remember, which isn’t a good sign. They also sport matching frowns, but that’s normal when they see me.

“Married?” My mom shrieks. “Married, Evan? And I have to find out about it from your sister, who saw it on Instagram? What were you thinking? Or were you dru⁠—”

“Come in, Mom.” Cutting her off, I grab her arm and pull her into the apartment. My dad follows.

Isabella manages a tremulous smile.

“Hi. Sorry, the place is a mess. We literally just moved in. I’m Isabella Russ—” She laughs, a little self-conscious. “I guess it’s Isabella Young now.”

My mom glares at the hand Isabella extends, but years of etiquette training takes over and after a too-long pause, she finally takes it. “I’m Ann.”

My dad does the same. “Mike Young.”