When only a snore answers me, I snort and head out, driving my black-cherry-painted Nissan 370Z directly to the ice rink. After only twenty minutes, I park next to a sweet-looking Jeep and climb out of the car, calling Baxter as soon as I’m walking toward the entrance of the building.
“Yo, you here?” Bax greets the moment he answers, pounding music coming through the phone as soon as the call connects.
“Outside, bro. Where am I heading?” I ask, slipping into the cool building, thankful for the air conditioning in here. Even though it’s morning, it’s pretty warm out, summer already in full swing and making everyone its bitch with the heat waves we’re currently having.
“I’m sitting in the stands at the rink to the right when you come through the doors. Follow the pounding music,” he instructs, sounding a little distracted.
Snorting, I tell him, “Gotcha. See you in a sec.”
I end the call before he replies, following the muted bass and vibrations that come from the closed doors to the right. I’m assaulted by a song I recognize, Rosenfeld’s “Like U” belting through the speakers all around the room, the moment I open the heavy door.
Looking through the stands, I find Baxter watching the rink intently, his lips tugged up into an impressed smirk. The man’s leaning back in his seat all relaxed, but I catch his fists clenched tightly as his eyes remain on the ice.
Hurrying toward him, I drop my ass into a seat beside him and nod, my mouth opening but the words that were about to spill free getting caught in my throat when my gaze lands on the bullet speeding around the ice rink like it owes her money.
“Holy shit,” I breathe, my eyes taking in the vision before me.
Maddie, dressed in only a cropped white shirt, her backward hat, and tight-as-fucking-skin leggings she was not wearing earlier, skates backward in a long arch, her pert ass sticking out while her blue hair billows around her from how fast she’s flying. She slows down as the song ends, but when another begins to play, a sexy fucking song, the woman grins widely before she suddenly falls into a spin that has her whole body blurring.
Baxter whistles lowly, never taking his eyes off her, and I settle into my seat, content to watch the little lightning bolt do her thing. Because let me tell you, she does it fucking well. My jaw is practically unhinged as I take her in while she dances and skates expertly, blades sailing over smooth ice before she pulls out a move where she ends up rapidly twirling in the air three times before the blades of her skates hit the ice again.
When the song slows and Maddie’s moves turn sensual, I have to fist my fingers and bite my damned knuckles, my eyes glued to the hands that roam over a body I only caught a glimpse of while she was wedged in her tub. I’ve never wanted to be a pair of hands in all my life, her small fingers running dangerously over her plentiful breasts and down her ribs as she bends backward so far that it’s a miracle she doesn’t topple.
I have to swallow hard when she swings her body into a jump that splits her legs, lands with a smooth glide, and drops with her hands on the skate attached to the foot she sticks out straight. Her body spins rapidly, and she’s nothing more than a blur again, even as she slowly rises to stand, lifting her outstretched leg until her foot ends up above her head.
“Fuck. Me,” I murmur, dropping a hand to cover the semi that’s sprung up like a fucking jack-in-the-box.
I hear Baxter snort, but when I look over at the bastard, I find him leaning forward in his seat now, effectively covering the hard-on I’m pretty sure he’s also sporting.
Sadly for me, my semi turns into a raging boner when I turn my eyes back on Maddie, staring unabashedly as one of her hands grips the hem of her shirt and raises it, teasing far more skin and a lacy strap of material that I guess is her bra. All the while, her opposite thumb tucks into her leggings, dragging them lower until I spy her defined hip bones. I damn near fucking lose my mind when her head tips back, her mouth moving to the words as she loses herself to the music, and Idecide here and now that I have never been more turned on in my life. Which is crazy, but hell, I’m already halfway there anyway. Pretty sure I’m all the way there when the minx in blades rolls her hips to the beat of the music, grinding on nothing, but doing it in a way that forces my fist back into my damned mouth like a weirdo.
The song speeds up again, and the gymnast on foot-knives does a series of impressive tricks that have my jaw hanging open, right before the song slows and she twirls, stopping just as it ends.
Suddenly, there’s a whole fucking roar of applause that catches me off guard, my eyes darting down to see a very large group of dudes fully kitted out in hockey gear knocking on the glass that surrounds the rink. They’re hooting and hollering, cheering Mads on with raucous enthusiasm, holding their hockey sticks in the air in celebration.
Maddie’s head falls back with her laughter before she turns to face the team and dramatically bows, a little flourish with her hands proving that she’s clearly professionally trained.
The hockey team takes that as permission, and they’re on the ice and soaring toward the blue-haired little pixie before she can squeal and run. I hear her vibrant laughter over the next song that starts playing the moment one of the dudes reaches her, hauls her into his arms, and spins her with abandon. Her arms grip his shoulders, her legs flying outward, and her back arching beautifully as the guy rotates quickly. As soon as she’s back on her blades, another guy steals her away, skating with her in little twirls as he says something that makes her laugh loudly.
She’s surrounded the next moment, hugs and high-fives shared with each member of the team, before someone turns the music off and a chant begins between Mads and the group of men she’s clearly close with. I can’t make out what they’re saying, but the chant gets louder and louder until they’re all justyelling, “Weeeey!” and high-fiving, Maddie’s laughter breaking free once more.
“What are you doing on my ice, shithead?” someone calls from the DJ deck, and Mads grins widely before ditching the team and skating over to a man who looks to be in his late forties or early fifties. His hair is graying at the sides, what little can be seen beneath a team ball cap almost hiding the wrinkles at the corners of his eyes when he smiles at Madison.
He pulls her into a hug the moment she reaches the entrance to the rink, hugging her tight enough that I can practically hear her bones groan, but she hugs him back just as tight and a flicker of envy appears in my chest. Because I’m clearly unhinged.
The two begin to talk, but before I can eavesdrop like a dunce, someone calls Baxter from the ice. “Hey, Marshall!”
Bax and I look over in unison, finding none other than the center of The City Titans, Morgan Brady, grinning up at us from where he stands on the ice. Flanking him are Lawson Beckett and Oscar Nash, winger and defenseman of The Titans, the latter looking over at Mads as she snorts. My eyes narrow on him, but Baxter stands with a smile before he heads down to greet Brady, so I’m forced to follow unless I want to look like a lonely chump.
“Hey, man. How’s it going?” Bax asks, reaching out a hand and pulling Brady into a one-armed hug, slapping his back roughly while Brady does the same.
“Not bad, brother. How’s it hanging with you?” Morgan asks, pulling back with an easy smile.
“It’s hanging,” Bax replies, making me roll my eyes with a smirk. He chooses that moment to remember I’m standing nearby, gesturing to me as he says, “This is Caiden—”
“Caiden Miller. What’s up, man?” Morgan interrupts, holding his hand out and pulling me into a man hug much likehe gave Baxter. “Big fan of yours. My agent is trying to book some sessions with you.”
“Yeah?” I ask, stepping back with a beaming grin.
