Chapter 5

CHAPTER FIVE

Daniela

Cool air kisses my cheeks.

The noise of the rapidly filling hockey arena echoes around the enclosed space, making my ears ring.

I so don't want to be here, but I plaster a smile on my face and sit in our fancy glass-front seats anyway. I'm with my best friend and it's fun watching Nova moon over Lake.

No. Not fun .

It's incredible that my friend who was so scared to form attachments has planted deep roots here, has reached for what makes her happy.

And it's all because of me.

I smother a grin, mentally buff my knuckles on my shoulder.

I should quit doing hair and go into full-time matchmaking—or open a matchmaking and hair salon. Get some low lights while also finding the love of your life.

Bam. Business plan made.

The crack of a stick on the ice has me tucking away business strategies and focusing back on the little girl standing in front of me, who's hair I'm braiding. I add a dash of glitter, tie on a colorful bow and then she's running back up to her parentals.

"I still don't know how you do that so fast," Nova says as I tuck my supplies away and lean back in my seat. "I'm so totally hopeless with braids."

"I got you, boo." I pull my glitter back out, threaten to sprinkle it over her. "Tahoe blue? Or pine tree green?"

"Oh, it's got to be the sparkly white snow," she says on a laugh, snagging the little container and threatening me right back.

Luckily, thanks to Knox making me practice with him so often growing up, I have quick hands. I snag it back, pocket the little canisters of craft store herpes. "Too slow," I tease, blowing her a kiss.

I love that she grins in reply. I love that she's happy.

She returns her focus to the ice, and I'm forced to face what I've been avoiding all night?—

The teams warming up on the ice in front of me.

The man in particular who sends a bolt of shame through me.

Enough. Move on. Enjoy this experience. Enjoy the time with my bestie.

I close my eyes for a long moment, grasping on to that, and when I open them again, I'm more centered. I'm ready to have a good time.

And really, how can I not? These are great seats. For as many games as I've gone to, I've never been this close to the ice. Not in an NHL arena, anyway.

But, damn, I can see everything .

Everyone.

Including Riggs.

Or maybe…especially Riggs.

Ugh .

I deliberately turn my gaze away from the bearded big guy who I just want to watch all night?—

Preferably naked. While he's fucking me senseless?—

Only he doesn't want that, does he? He doesn't want me, and?—

Seats. These are fantastic seats .

So comfy.

Clearly, Lake's won this round of spoiling Nova—and me by side benefit.

Though, I don't think Knox has quietly admitted defeat.

One of the perks of having a professional hockey-playing brother?

Free tickets to pretty much any home game I want.

Another?

Him having an uber-competitive streak that means his need to win this war with Lake will reap me further benefits. Muahaha.

I can see it now—goading them into giving Nova and I spa days and fancy dinners. Or a new pair of sparkly pumps—that I can't wear in the snow. Right. So, that's less than beneficial. Maybe an all-expenses-paid trip to somewhere that's not freezing cold. Or hell, I'll even take them not giving me noogies the moment I walk through the door.

My lips twitch.

Yup. Soon enough I'll be living the life.

No noogies.

A pair of impractical shoes.

And—

A puck thunks against the boards in front of me and I jump, glaring over at my brother. Of course, it's Knox tormenting me—noogies and teasing and scaring me when I least suspect it.

Big brothers. Swear to God.

I narrow my eyes. And fine. So it's likely that the noogies won't stop—even if I can somehow make that part of the pissing contest between him and Lake—but I can probably score a hot stone massage for my troubles.

And maybe that new blow dryer I've been eyeing.

Heh.

Just for good measure, I keep glaring at him until he skates away (and doing it smirking, the big lug). And…

Dammit.

I hate that my eyes are drawn from my brother back over to Riggs.

Who's warming up in a deliberate and fuckable fashion.

Then again, everything about him is fuckable.

I sigh softly, feeling the pulse of desire between my thighs.

He's tall and thick—as I became familiar with last week—with yummy, muscular thighs—something else I'd also gotten the pleasure to experience. And he has a great ass—that I, alas, haven't gotten my hands on. Not to mention that broody, taciturn personality.

My personal kiss of death when it comes to the opposite sex. Strong, big, handsome, and grumpy.

Unfortunately, he doesn't like me.

How have I come to this brilliant conclusion?

The car.

The kiss.

The invitation.

And the firm refusal.

No.

I shudder, throat growing tight, embarrassment eating away at my insides.

Dumb. I should have let sleeping dogs lie, but the mules and the snow, the mistletoe and the way I caught him looking at me over and over again, not just on Christmas but before and…

I was dumb.

Spending time with the friends who I consider my family, since Knox and I are the only two Adlers still alive.

I'd gotten romantic. Needy.

Dumb.

Nearly ruining all of the goodness I'd found with one scorching kiss and?—

I need to tuck that away, focus on what's important, on what I can have, can do.

Helping the people I love.

Spending time with Nova, with Knox. And that's going to involve watching my brother play hockey, watching Lake, and…watching Riggs. It's going to involve sitting in this discomfort because it means that I get to spend time with my bestie while she moons over the love of her life.

Even if it's impossible to ignore the embarrassment churning in my belly.

Even if it makes me want to pick up the drink sitting in the cup holder at my feet, and down it.

But that's something else Riggs doesn't like about me.

He thinks I drink too much.

And maybe I do.

Maybe I drink so I don't have to think, to feel?—

Tap. Tap. Tap.

I jerk and look up from the tempting cocktail, seeing that Lake is standing in front of the glass, smiling at Nova, who—swear to fuck—just seems to blossom under his gaze.

Bright and beautiful, showing the world the gorgeous person she is inside.

She lifts her camera and fires off a couple of shots, causing Lake to wink before he skates off to finish his warm-up.

My brother is now on the far side of the ice, stretching and stick handling, getting ready for the game with a sure- minded focus that he doesn't have in many other places. Minus giving me a hard time, they all involve hockey—off-ice training, studying tape, hitting the gym to be strong and explosive, never missing a practice, spending loads of extra time on the rink.

I'll get my goofy Knox back after the buzzer goes in the third.

Right now he has laser focus.

"I'm going to sneak up to the bathroom," Nova murmurs a few minutes later, after I've struggled to keep my eyes away from a certain bearded hottie.

"I'll hold the fort," I tell her, forcing my tone to be light, and getting a smile in return.

She squeezes my arm. "I know that you were tired and you've been working too much, but"—a kiss to the top of my head—"I appreciate you spending the night with me."

My heart squeezes and I drag her into a hug, holding her tight for a long moment then releasing her before the stinging in the backs of my eyes turns into something stupid and sappy. "I need peanut M&Ms," I tell her.

She grins, nudges my foot with hers. "Brat." But I know she'll come back with the medicinal chocolate.

Because she's my best friend.

I watch her making her way up the long concrete staircase.

Then my gaze goes back to Riggs.

Dammit .

I drag it away again. I want to reach for my drink—my mouth watering, my throat so freaking dry, my soul desperate for the way it'll dull all the sharp edges of my thoughts, will make the memories easier to suppress?—

Tap. Tap. Tap.

I jerk my head up again, expecting it to be Lake wondering where his woman went.

Or Knox preparing to torment me again.

It's not either of them.

Riggs is standing on the other side of the glass—his brown eyes deep pools of chocolate, his beard just long enough to give a woman ideas about it being dragged along her inner thighs.

It's me. I'm the woman. It's me.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

I blink. Jesus, woman, get it together.

"What?" I mouth.

He holds up his gloved hand and I frown.

"I don't need a puck," I say, spotting the biscuit-shaped disc in his palm and shaking my head.

I grew up tripping over enough of those little bastards all through the house and yard and, hell, I know I have more than a few of them at my house even now that Knox has left behind like Hansel scattering his trail of breadcrumbs en route to the big bad witch.

Riggs can't possibly have heard my reply, but maybe he reads my lips because he just shakes his head, bangs his fist against the glass, and holds the puck up again.

I sigh, stand up, and hold out my hands.

Fine. Whatever.

I don't know a lot about Riggs, but I've seen his stubborn streak.

Experienced it firsthand.

So…might as well get this over with.

He nods, makes the toss…

And the puck lands with a smack in my open palms.

I force another smile, start to shove the puck into my purse?—

Tap. Tap. Tap.

Freezing, I glance up.

He nods toward the puck and I drag my brows together.

"What?" I mouth again.

He looks at his hand, pretends to flip something over.

Brows dragging together, I frown, but I mirror his miming, glance down at my hand, and?—

Flip the puck over.

My mouth drops open, my eyes go wide, my head jerks up?—

He raises his brows in question.

I look from the puck to him, back down to the scrawled-out words on the black rubber.

Four numbers.

A pound sign.

And then four words that send my stomach into a tailspin.

My bed. Underwear optional.

"I—"

But I don't get further than that because he winks and skates off.

I stare down at the words, my belly heating because?—

Holy shit, had quiet, strait-laced Riggs Ashford just written that ?