“If I told you that she hates both of those things, would you let it go?” Miles asks as I hide a smile.
“I would be a little concerned if she hated both those things, and then ask if she could play hockey,” Marilyn says smoothly.
“Why would you ask that?” I ask, stealing the fork from Miles. The food is really good. If Marilyn wants to talk, it can be between bites.
“There’s a charity game taking place in a few weeks with some of our hockey players and their omegas,” Marilyn explains. “It’s?—”
“What charity is it going to?” Miles asks. “This is the first I’ve heard of it.”
“Remember, I haven’t seen you to inform you of it,” Marilyn says smugly. Oh, she’s good.
“I’m alright on skates,” I shrug. Miles’ hand is now under my skirt and he pinches the inside of my thigh for the lie, making me jump.
“It’s going to the Nashville Holding Hands organization so that they can put it toward updating a community ice rink,”Marilyn says. “Since it’s for charity, I expect you to play. It’s not going to be too rowdy, since there are women on the ice.”
I can be as mean as the next person on the ice, but playing against huge hockey players definitely isn’t stacking the advantage on our side. Miles also no longer plays competitively due to his back injury. This is a big ask for me too. I haven’t played in years, and I’m not sure how I’ll feel on the ice with other people. I don’t want to have a panic attack on the ice.
“We’ll think about it,” Miles says, squeezing my leg comfortingly. I’m sure he can only imagine the shit flying through my mind, and feels the emotions through the bond.
Santo is behind my chair in moments, a brownie in his hand to place beside me. I can feel his worry, his scent strong as he presses a kiss against my temple. He smells like chocolate from the brownies along with his usual icing scent. It works.
“Is everything okay?” he murmurs. “I see that Marilyn found her way here.”
“Santo!” she exclaims. “Can you ice skate?”
“No, not at all,” he chuckles. “Ironic, but I never learned.”
“Well, you’ll have to buy a ticket to the charity hockey game,” she says. “Talk to Miles and Caelia about it. I think your omega is dragging her feet a bit.”
“I don’t think my omega likes people enough to participate in an event like this,” Santo says. I mean, he’s not entirely wrong. “I know you want to work on the image of the team, but there are better ways.”
“Maybe, maybe not,” Marilyn says. “Let me know, Miles.”
It hangs like a threat as she leaves, and I wrinkle my nose. I’ve almost finished my plate of food, though I think I have some room for the brownie that Santo brought me. Taking a bite of my dessert, I struggle to muffle my moan.
“No sex noises while eating, please,” Miles chuckles. “If you don’t want to do the charity event, I’ll tell her. Marilyn knows everything about everyone. She has to know who your father is.”
“What does that mean?” Santo asks, sitting on the other side of me.
“It means that Caelia’s father is too hockey focused not to have taught his daughter how to skate and play the game,” he says.
“I was a terror as a kid,” I confess. “Skating helped with my energy. I would have made my dad insane otherwise. Add to that my temper, and it was a match made in heaven with hockey.”
“What temper?” Santo asks, confused.
It’s true, I don’t have as much of one now. “Exactly,” I tease him. “As a kid? My father gave me his temper at birth, I think. I’m much more mellow now.”
“Mellow may be going too far,” Miles says. “I don’t know about you on the ice, babe.”
“I don’t either,” I say honestly. “It could have been the mixture of my medication and the crush of people that set off my anxiety the last time I attempted to skate in public, but I won’t really know unless I try.”
“Well, I think we need to experiment with that before putting you in a high pressure environment like a game,” Santo adds.
“Go ice skating with Levon and I,” Miles suggests, his gaze heating as he watches me finish my brownie. “God, you and chocolate are a religious experience, Baby Girl.”
“Not here,” Santo rolls his eyes. “You cock blocked me earlier, so watch where your hand goes, Miles.”
“Fine. What do you think, Caelia?” he asks.
