Match Made On Ice

Chapter 1

Aaron

“Only one way to celebrate!” Arvin, one of the guys from my team, shouts as he comes back with a tray of shots. “Let’s get wasted.” 

That, of course, gets a round of cheers before my teammates dive in, swiping at the booze. 

The victory tonight was hard won, but that makes it all the sweeter. My body aches pleasantly while my head is slightly buzzed by the beer in my hand. I am simultaneously exhausted by the day’s adrenaline rush and energized by the joy and camaraderie at the high-end bar where we’ve decided to celebrate.

My phone buzzes, and I see that my best friend, Bridgette, has sent a message.

Bridgette: Great game today! Sorry I couldn’t make the after party. Monty troubles.

I frown. After the game, I invited her to join us and celebrate, but she waved it off, instead preferring to go home and rest after the long day. She works in the public relations department for our team, and considering the messes my teammates have been known to get into, she has her work cut out for her.

But the biggest mess she’s dealing with now is her deadbeat dad, Monty, who swept into town demanding her inheritance from her grandmother. Between our team and the troubles in her personal life, she’s been stretched too thin to have much of a social life outside of work.

I shoot off a reply to her message.

Aaron: Anything I can help you with?

The triple bubbles appear, disappear, and appear again. Finally, I get a reply.

Bridgette: Not really. I’m consulting with some lawyers later, so just send me some good vibes that we can get this sorted.

Aaron: Good vibes sent. Best of luck.

Bridgette: Thanks. Have fun and don’t do anything stupid!

Aaron: You know me. That’s an almost impossible ask. But I will do my best. For you.

I can picture her in her pajamas and silk cap curled up on the couch. She smiles to herself a moment before setting her phone down and watching a cooking competition show to unwind.

Shoving aside the thought that I wish I was there with her, I shut off my phone and stick it back in my pocket. Bridgette can fill me in on the latest in the deadbeat dad saga tomorrow.

When we first came into the bar, people began whispering. I’d occasionally make eye contact with one particular white woman staring at me, only for them to blush and look away. Now, she seems to have built up enough liquid courage to approach.

She smiles at me. Her long, red hair bounces on her shoulders in gentle curls as she strides in my direction. Taking the seat next to me, she orders a drink.

“I know it’s usually the other way around, but can I buy you a drink too?” she asks.

I shake my head with a self-deprecating smile. “Sorry, I only take drinks from women whose names I know.”

“I’m Emily.” She offers her hand. “Now you know my name.”

I smirk and shake it. Her palms are cool and soft. “I guess I do, yeah.”

“So, you’ll take the drink?”

I wink. “Well, I guess I have to now.”

She orders martinis for both of us and holds up her glass. “A toast.”

“To what?” I ask, appreciating the way her bright red hair contrasts against her pale skin.

Her green eyes sparkle. “To conquest.”

“To conquest?” I repeat, raising my eyebrows. She raises her own eyebrow and smirks deviously, and I clink her glass against mine. “To conquest.”

Before it can go much further than a few sips of our martinis, two other models show up and offer to buy me a drink or two.

“I’m Candy,” the blonde model says. She practically drapes herself over me, making Emily bristle.

Not to be undone, the brunette whispers in my ear. “And I’m Yazmin. It’s a pleasure to me you, Mr. Jamison.”

“The pleasure is all mine,” I reply. Over the years, I’ve garnered a lot of attention for being a player both in and outside the rink. It’s not entirely accurate, though it’s also not very far off. I enjoy having a good time, and there’s nothing wrong with that.

Unfortunately, though, this playboy reputation has served to get me into trouble, especially when there are multiple women vying for my attention all at once.

While the other two models flirt with me, I can see Emily seething, her pale skin turning bright red with simmering anger. This could get ugly if I don’t find a way to redirect.

“So, Emily,” I begin, but then disaster strikes. Candy bumps into the martini in her attempt to get into my space. I watch in slow motion as the glass tips over, spilling all over Emily’s green dress before shattering on the ground.

“What the fuck?” Emily shouts. Several other bar patrons look up, curious about the commotion. “This dress is six hundred dollars, you bitch!”

Candy looks unrepentant. “It’s pretty ugly. I think I’m doing you a favor.”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa.” Drawing myself to my full height, I step between the two women. They’re bristling like alley cats about to scrap over an open can of tuna. “Let’s take a breath.”

“At least my hair is natural,” Emily retorts. “Tell me, do you pay actual money for that dye job? Because if so, you should demand a refund and sue for damages.”

Yazmin rolls her eyes. “Are we really going there? Tell me, who did your boobs again? Doctor Roy or Doctor Sanderson?”

“Wanna say that again, skank?” Emily demands, getting in Yazmin’s face.

“Back off.” Candy pushes Emily to get her away from Yazmin.

The next minute or so happens in a blur. Emily swings at Candy, who then punches back. Yazmin joins in the brawl as the wildcard, throwing punches at both of them.

I act on instinct, getting between them and shoving them apart like I’m breaking up a brawl on the rink. This is a huge mistake.

When you act on instinct, you forget important details such as the fact that you are a six-foot-tall hockey player getting physical and pushing around women half your size. It’s not a good look, especially when you also forget your own strength.

I push Candy harder than I intended. In the fight, the three women had moved around, so she falls closer to where Emily sat. And she lands on the broken martini glass.

She shrieks, clutching her bloodied forearm close as I grab napkins, hoping to clear away glass and apply pressure to the wounds. Glancing around, I realize with dismay that half the bar has their cameras out.

I know exactly what this looks like. A giant hockey player getting physical with a woman and injuring her. It’s a complete accident, but no one will see it that way.

But I can deal with it later. Right now, I have to make sure that Candy is okay. “I am so sorry,” I say. “I’ll pay for any medical bills you need.”

“Come here,” Yazmin says, helping Candy to her feet. “There’s an urgent care down the street.”

I give Candy my business card. “I mean it.”

She doesn’t meet my eye as she takes it. The crowd parts like the Red Sea as the two women head out the door. When I look around, I realize that Emily is long gone. With all the damage done, I decide that it would be better for me to also make myself scarce.