Melting the Ice

Four.

>Sebastian

I fully expected to arrive at the rink the next morning for practice and be distracted by pink. What self-respecting woman dyes their hair pink and wears childish sweaters with cats on them? Why did I care?

By some miracle, she never showed up. The next day, either. By the end of that next practice, I was starting to resemble the player who earned the name Ice King so many seasons ago. I’d even managed to get a few past Beddard to his dismay.

“Coming out with us tonight?” Seguin asked as we headed to the locker room. There were only a few more days until the season opener, and we were finally starting to feel like a team. The pretty boy left wing that nominated himself as my companion practically bounded next to me. Yes, bounded.

“Where?” I asked.

“You really need to turn the team chat notifications back on,” he huffed.

“You all never shut up,” I dismissed him. As I reached my cage, I started depositing gear.

“But you would know that everyone is going to Bub’s tonight, and Caufield talked Sylvia into dropping an anonymous tip that we’d be across town. No hassle,” he explained. “The rookies are going to Grind to be seen.”

Being the people we were, going out and letting loose was a sport itself. We could easily head to the fancy places with high door charges, dress codes, and decent security crawling around. Hell, I was buddies with the owner of the nicest club in Harthford. But those weren’t places you went to relax and let out some steam. It’s where you went to pick up someone to warm your bed and your c**k for a while. Places like Bub’s were where you could get a cheap beer, some good wings, and listen to music without a headache-inducing thump. As long as no one knew you were there.

“Does Bub know we’re coming?” I raised a brow, referring to the old-as-dirt owner of the bar. The man belonged in one of the history museums around the city. He occasionally entertained the team’s stupidity as long as we didn’t bring an army of paparazzi with us.

“Oh, yea. He’s stocked up on wings and peanuts,” Seguin smiled. “Come on, Cap. Have a little fun.”

“Fine,” I conceded.

>>>>>

The low hum of an old country song filled the musty space. With a beer in my hand, I retreated to the line of tables at the other end of the room that my teammates were occupying. Seguin waved me over, motioning to a seat beside him with Beddard and Lark nursing drinks.

“As I live and breathe,” Lark smiled as I reluctantly fell into the seat beside Seguin. “I guess I’m buying tonight.” He tipped his drink toward Seguin, who smiled with all his teeth. It was the same flashy smile he gave women before he got serious with his girlfriend.

“Told you he’d come,” Seguin nodded.

“You were betting?”

“The odds were interesting,” Beddard shrugged. He was calm on and off the ice, even when his f**k trophies took permanent markers to his team gear. I’d only seen the man lose his composure once, and it was all about his now wife. We didn’t even play on the same team back then. “It could have truly gone either way.”

“I show up,” I scoffed. Beddard just raised a brow. I might have been a little more reserved in the last year, but I wasn’t going to admit that out loud and give them any more fuel. As it was, I knew Seguin would start trying to hook me up as soon as we hit our rhythm with the season.

“On to more interesting topics than Kingsley’s hermit tendencies,” Smith interjected, shoving his way into the booth with Beddard and Lark. Three hockey players did not fit on these benches. Beddard shot Smith a dirty look as he was smashed against the wall. “How about that writer chick and her hot-as-sin agent? When do you think we’ll see them again?”

And there it was. Their heads were firmly not on the ice but up the skirts of some hype-chasing gold digger with a thesaurus.

“You’re going to have to fight Johnston for that one. He was eye f*****g her the moment those heels stepped into the locker room,” Lark laughed.

“The quiet ones are where it’s at,” Seguin winked at him across the table.

“Clearly, she’s in between books right now if you aren’t acting one of her ridiculous fantasies tonight,” Smith barked a laugh, taunting Seguin. He’d been caught in the middle of some mildly embarrassing phone s*x on the road last season and hasn’t lived it down. Apparently, his girlfriend was an avid reader of the nonsense that Lynlee slapped on a page.

“There is nothing wrong with keeping one woman happy for longer than a night, boys,” Beddard cut in. “Maybe he’s learned what you all still can’t comprehend.”

“Nope. I’m not going there. Ever. One night, three at most. Just look at King…” Lark’s words died as he met my glacial stare. He swallowed nervously. “Sorry,” he muttered.

Seguin clapped a hand on my shoulder. I brushed him off and shot up. “Gotta take a piss,” I grunted, leaving my drink and retreating to the bathroom. I stomped to the bathroom, ignoring the looks of my team. I didn’t need to sit at a table and discuss how long to keep puck bunnies in our beds.

After taking a piss, I returned to the bar to check on my food. The bartender was busy with a group of girls at the other end, so I waited, trying to distract myself with the football replays on the small flatscreen behind the bar.

“Everything looks so good,” I overheard one of the women.

“Oh, come on, Lyn. Just pick three,” another said.

“Will you pick three different ones? Then I can try those too?” the first one asked.

“How about I just bring you all the sauces?” the bartender laughed in her scratchy smoker tone. “You can pick your favorite.”

“Really? Popps, this place is amazing!” the woman gasped. I let my gaze drift down to the easily entertained bimbo, and my pulse immediately kicked up.

“I know, right? Just about the only good thing to come out of my last Tinder date,” a redhead laughed. “His fingers couldn’t summon anything close to good.”

“Bring on the wings,” Lynlee Scott smiled at the bartender. As the bartender moved away to put their order in, I got a better look at her. Her ridiculous pink hair was plopped on her head in two unruly balls. She has a light-colored shirt on. The color was hard to tell in the bar’s dim lighting, but the cartoon cat playing with a turtle couldn’t be missed.

“Sylvia said some of the Hogs like to come here sometimes,” a brunette on her other side said. I almost didn’t recognize her out of the suit. Her hair was tied up, too, but she wasn’t adorned in childish t-shirts.

“Why did you ask her that?” Lynlee asked, her nose scrunching.

“Who cares? That’s so cool. Can you imagine guys like that in a place like this?” Clearly, the redhead hadn’t looked around too closely yet.

“Another beer, Ice King?” the bartender asked, approaching me. I closed my eyes, just knowing what was about to happen.

“Yea,” I said, slapping money down on the bar. “And tab me out.”