Page 29 of Ice Cold Heart
Cole grinned. “Yeah, and I’m hoping you’ll make an announcement about that instead. His ego is getting unwieldy. I’m not sure we’ll fit him in the car for the ride home.”
His gaze flicked to me for a split second, and I got the feeling he’d known exactly where I was since I’d arrived. Dad rubbed his brow, and my heart twisted. Unlike when he dealt with me, he didn’t seem annoyed or frustrated by one of his hockey players being ridiculous. Instead, he looked amused, offering Cole a sharp smile.
“Please remind Tanner he isn’t the captain in any capacity. I need to talk to Boucher about his slow ass line changes. Can you wrap up practice for me?”
“Sure thing, Coach.”
“Fantastic,” he grimaced, then faced me and Marco. “Let me know when you want to do the interview. We can meet in my office. Outside of practice times. Avery, I’ll see you at home.”
Dismissed again. I watched my dad march onto the ice and bellow at one of the skaters on the far side of the rink. Cole let out a shrill whistle and the other players milling around on the ice started moving toward the doors.
A small stampede of large, sweaty athletes jostled to be the first one off the rink. Cole hopped the wall and ushered us out of the way—somehow managing to crowd me against the glass while maintaining the innocent expression on his face.
He jerked his chin at Marco, blocking my view of the rest of the team with his big body. “Hey man, nice to see you again.”
After Marco stammered out a hello, Cole turned his grin on me. “What’re you doing here, city girl?”
I refused to rise to the bait of his teasing. “Interviews, for the paper. My editor—” Marco snorted quietly next to me, but I ignored him. “My editor wants me to cover the hockey team, since I have a personal connection.”
He glanced at Dad, who’d taken the unlucky Boucher to the opponents’ bench. “That should be interesting. So you’ll be coming to the games?”
“Maybe,” I said.
“Yes.” Marco insisted at the same time. He rolled his eyes at me. “Of course we’re going to the games. How else are you supposed to write about them? We even get comped seats.”
“Lucky me,” I murmured, though Cole heard me and heat flashed in his eyes. He’d said the same thing right before I offered to trade tutoring for orgasms.
“Lucky you,” he repeated.
Warmth flooded my chest as memories flashed in my mind—kissing him in the library, his tongue between my fingers, his breath hot against my ear. I should have been paying attention to the other players, their rivalries and hang-ups, but I couldn’t tear my gaze from Cole.
My back pressed to the cool glass while the rest of me overheated. An inner voice shouted for me to get a grip, move away, anyone could be watching. I ignored it and fanned the flames.
“You going to beg me to come, farm boy?”
“I won’t be the one begging.”
Marco mumbled something about finding a bathroom and hurried away. I barely noticed. Silence descended as his steps faded. The rest of the arena had emptied out except for us, even my dad and his detention player, leaving Cole and I alone again for the first time since I’d barely resisted kissing him.
Time apart hadn’t reduced his appeal. The same pull I felt every time I let my guard down urged me forward, urged me to take a chance on a guy who intrigued me and turned me on and made me laugh all at once, hockey player or not.
Cole tucked a finger under my chin and lifted my face up to him, reading my expression. I wanted to kiss him, but the aftermath terrified me. Hockey players weren’t reliable. Men weren’t reliable.
With his skates on, he was significantly taller than me, but I had no trouble meeting his gaze—and he had no trouble seeing my trepidation. Instead of pushing things, Cole stroked the edge of my jaw.
“You going to wear my jersey, city girl?”
I laughed past the tingles his touch caused, both relieved and disappointed he hadn’t pushed. “I’m not wearing anyone’s jersey. I’ll be there to work.”
Another male voice I didn’t recognize broke into the bubble we’d created. “Too bad. You’d look good in mine… and nothing else.”
Both of us shifted apart, but while I tried to put distance between me and Cole, he shoved himself between me and the interloper. I peered around Cole’s posturing to get a look at the asshole with the big mouth. A tall, muscular guy with dark blond hair and a blue Easton hoodie stood at the other end of the bench, carrying a pair of hockey skates.
Cole’s arm twitched, but he didn’t block my view again. “What do you want, Kane?”
Ah, no wonder Cole seemed tense. Of course he’d know Tobias Kane. Asshole center who played for Easton University, my new rival school in Dallas. First line. Fast. Accurate. Not quite as good as Reece though.
“I’m here to practice, same as you.”