Page 85 of Icebound

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.