Okay, she wasn’t exactly a fan of losing, either, but what the hell was with all the dirty looks? She hadn’t meant to whack him. He was the one who used his injured hand and suggested Slap Jack.
“Do you need me to look at it?”
He pulled his hand close like she was going to cleanse the wound by shoving his thumb into the fire. Trust issues? This guy? Yeah, he was pretty much a wounded bear. Of course, that didn’t excuse him from being an ass. Come on, they were both adults. Shitty stuff happened to everyone. Part of adulting was figuring out how to move forward without firebombing the place.
“Nah,” he said, relaxing a few degrees as if he realized he’d flinched. “I’ll live—and eventually the sports press will stop giving me shit for getting injured by falling over my own feet.”
“Could be worse. Do you remember the goaltender who tweaked his shoulder blow-drying his hair and had to stay off the ice?”
Ian chuckled. “And then there was Ron Tugnutt—real name—who messed up his groin when he bent over to tie his shoes.”
“Or,” she said, getting into the spirit of the moment, “the guy who busted up his hand cleaning his bagpipes—not a euphamism.”
They were both snickering by now at the ridiculousness of it. Hockey wasn’t an easy sport. It was hard checks, illegal hits, and fighting over a frozen piece of vulcanized rubber that could knock your teeth out and break bones if it hit a player right. Still, the players played through it all, even if it meant wincing on their way to the bench and spending the time between shifts trying to fight through the pain.
God knew, she’d seen it enough going to games with her former stepdad before he’d hit it big and had earned enough to finally buy the team he’d always loved.
Of course, that hadn’t happened until after Jasper Dawson and her mother divorced. After that, they’d lost touch because it wasn’t like they’d even been related for that long—her mom rarely made it past the year-and-a-half mark before setting her eyes on freedom. Still, when Shelby saw the news about Jasper, she’d celebrated that little victory of his from her room at the rehab clinic, telling everyone about how for one glorious season she and Jasper had season tickets right behind the bench.
It had gotten so cold down there at that level, and by the end of the games, there was no mistaking the smell of the sweat-soaked hockey pads, but it had been absolutely wonderful. So when her counselor had recommended she find a hobby that she could pour her energy into instead of pouring herself into a bottle, the Ice Knights had been it. And The Biscuit had been born out of a place of desperate hope for the future.
“So you’re saying I’m in good company?” Ian asked, dragging her back to the here and now.
“Well, you’re at least not alone. I’m not sure it’s the same thing.” She held out her hand. “Now, let me see your thumb.”
He didn’t move. She lifted an eyebrow, ready to go to battle.
Finally acceding, he put his hand in hers. Turning it over, she noticed the little nicks and scars dotting his knuckles, no doubt from years of playing hockey. Heart beating fast, she brushed her fingertips over the back of his hand before turning it over to get a better look at his injury. The stitches were perfectly lined up, tiny and angry-looking after that smack, but none was torn.
Good. Great. You can let go now, Shelby girl.
She could.
She didn’t.
Instead, she made the mistake of looking up and catching him not glancing down at his thumb but staring directly at her with what sure as hell wasn’t a thank-you-for-checking-on-my-boo-boo look. It was the kind of look that promised the best kind of dirty things and had her shifting on her pillows. There were just so many bad possibilities, the really good bad kind that involved nudity and licking and touching and orgasms for everyone and—
Oh my God, Shelby. Calm the fuck down before you embarrass yourself. He is just looking at you, not getting naked and eating you out by the light of the fire.
And that was a mental image she most definitely did not need in her head right now.
Especially since he hates your guts—and not exactly without cause.
Oh yeah, thanks for that little reminder, asshole who lives in my head.
Pulling herself back from the edge of making a complete fool of herself, Shelby let go of his hand and then sat on hers. It never hurt to be extra careful.
“Ian,” she said, not having any kind of clue what should come next.
He grunted in acknowledgment and God help her, she had to squeeze her thighs together for some kind of momentary release because good dinner plus fireplace plus hot man equaled horny times to her completely unhinged id.
Focus, Shelby.
“I’m sorry about how the story of Alex being your brother got out and my part in it. I hope someday you won’t hate me for it.” The words came out in a rush and without even a hint of forethought because why should her nonexistent filter make an appearance now?
He sat back suddenly, as if she’d stuffed a fresh-made snowball down the back of his shirt and looked over at the fire. The muscles in his jaw flexed as he ground his teeth together before letting out a deep breath.
“Okay, so I’m just gonna turn in now,” she said as she hustled over to the part of the couch were all her stuff was. “Night, Ian.”
He didn’t say anything as she grabbed her toiletry bag and went into the main-floor bathroom to brush her teeth. By the time she got back, he was brushing over the kitchen sink and watching the snow continue to
