Melting the Ice

Five.

~Lynlee~

Girls’ night was the best and immensely needed before I started the marathon of this project. I had to learn about hockey from the ground up and write something swoon-worthy and dirty. I had plenty of dedicated readers who would buy the book just because I wrote it, but I never wanted to abuse their loyalty to me. I wanted to give them the escape-worthy story they expected.

One of the best parts about girls’ night – comfy clothes. When we were all in our early 20s, we would do the whole dressing up to get attention thing. And it worked. But now that we were nearing 30? Girls’ night was entirely different. Food and drinks were still a staple, but it was about us, not picking up guys.

With some grey yoga pants, a light blue shirt, and the slip-ons Popps got me for my birthday, I met the girls in my apartment’s parking lot to get some food. Our plans were made with only six hours’ notice because Popps had gotten her schedule changed at the last minute. Lotti needed far more than 6 hours’ notice to make her place safe for visitors, and Popps still lived with her dad, so my place it was. I didn’t have food or alcohol, and Lotti made me promise to send her my preliminary interview questions before we cut loose, so we had to go out for the first leg of the night. We already had more liquor stashed in the trunk of the car for when we returned to my place and eventually ordered pizza.

Popps chose some hole-in-the-wall place that she swore had the best wings in the city. That was a tall order, but who was I not to try them? A good wing place always came in handy.

The problem with this specific place was not obvious at first. While definitely old and meeting the requirements of the ‘hole in the wall’ descriptor, it was charming. The music set the mood but didn’t overtake the place, leaving it so everyone could socialize, or not, as they pleased. It also had a wing flavor list a mile long, making it hard to choose.

No, the problem was when my eyes fell on Sebastian “Ice King” Kingsley, standing at the other end of the bar. His scowl was somehow deeper than the one he gave me in the locker room. Maybe it was because of the absence of his coach and teammates.

Wait.

I looked around as Popps squealed and grabbed my arm after the bartender outed him. Sure enough, most of the 21 members of the Harthford Hogs were sitting across the room, smashed into four booths that should not have held that many oversized bodies. I had spent two days studying hockey and these behemoths before I dove into talking to them, so I recognized most of them.

“Lyn. Oh my god. Lyn, that’s him!” Popps squealed. The man rolled his eyes, grabbed his beer, nodded to the bartender, then tossed it back. I watched his throat bob as he downed the entire bottle in one go.

“Huh, that isn’t as hot in person,” Lotti said, tilting her head.

“Shut your stupid mouth. That is Sebastian Kingsley!” Popps gasped.

“Have you had an EKG lately?” I asked her. She turned her wide eyes to me, her expression falling.

“Huh?”

“You know, had your heart checked?” I clarified.

“No. But what does that have to do with the panty-melting 1st line center for my favorite hockey team standing 15 feet away from us?” Popps asked.

“Because you missed the rest of them over there,” I said, pointing behind me. Popps froze, then turned slowly. Her mouth fell open even slower.

Lotti waved her hand in front of her face. “Earth to Penelope,” she said. When Popps continued to stare at my new research subjects, Lotti rolled her eyes. “This is why we couldn’t take her to the arena to meet the team,” she sighed.

“You never her bring her to meet the interesting people,” I laughed.

“Lynlee, you have to introduce me,” Popps whispered, turning to me, shock still dominating her face.

“I don’t know them, Popps. And I bet they didn’t come here tonight to be harassed by fans. This seems like the kind of place you go for the opposite, actually,” I noted, looking around.

“Lotti,” she whined, bouncing on her toes.

“Goodness, girl, get it together. I’m putting you on the list for all the press stuff when Lyn’s book gets announced. You can meet them all then,” Lotti huffed. She grabbed her drink and threw it back. “Now, are we here for d**k or wings and liquor?”

“I like a girl who has priorities,” a low voice chuckled behind us. We collectively turned to find one of the players standing behind us, his hands in the pockets of his jeans casually. He had one of those sideways smiles that was engineered to make your ovaries weep, and it was focused entirely on Lotti. It’s too bad hers were cryogenically frozen at this point.

Lotti raised an eyebrow. “Then you should know your line won’t work,” she swallowed. Oh, it was working. His line and girls’ night were not the problems. It was Lotti’s forever matrimony with her job.

“Dustin Smith, defenseman for the Hogs. Nice to see you again,” he lingered on the last word as he held out his hand.

“Charlotte Ingles, Lynlee Scott’s agent,” she said, schooling her voice as she shook his hand.

“Explains why you were in the locker room,” he nodded. Reluctantly, he turned his gaze to Popps. “You, however, weren’t.”

“Penelope Miller, but you can call me Popps,” she said, star-struck.

Turning back to Lotti, Dustin said, “How would you ladies like to join us?” He motioned over his shoulder at the large group of hockey players. Only a few were watching the exchange. Dustin’s eyes stayed on Lotti, practically undressing her right there.

“Sorry,” she smiled at him. “We’ll have to pass.” Her sharp tone told me she was enjoying that at least a little. She had a thing for throwing off the power scale.

I could feel Popps’s protest and grabbed her before she could voice it. “Thank you for the invite, but we really only came to get some food before the rest of our night,” I added, softening the rejection more politely. I did have to work with these guys and didn’t need them trying to get in my agent’s skirt.

“Too bad,” he said, not registering that we struck his confidence whatsoever. We weren’t in a place where they could expect to pick up that many women, so I doubted we really affected him at all.

“Wings, ladies,” the bartender announced.

“See you around, Charlotte,” Dustin said, tongue f*****g Lotti’s name. He nodded to Popps and me and sauntered back over to the table. I turned and counted in my head. I barely got to three when I heard the jeering start.

“You guys really know how to suck the fun out of everything,” Popps sighed, slouching against the bar.

“Girls’ night,” Lotti reminded her.

“But they’re so pretty to look at,” Popps sighed. I could only agree with that statement for a few of them, but star power probably played into that a little bit. Their agents and team wanted them to be nice to look at.

“We need to find her a boyfriend,” I said, going for a wing. The bartender brought a second smaller tray with a variety of sauces in tiny cups. I snatched one at random and dug in.

“Why do I need a boyfriend when you write me the best ones?” Popps laughed, going for the wings too.

“I still think you need to name a booty-call guy Bob in one of these stories,” Lotti sighed as she grabbed the fries. “The irony, of course.” I barely heard what they were saying as I got lost in the glorious fried delight of the wing platter in front of me.