13. The Zamboni

THIRTEEN

THE ZAMBONI

CAM

"L

et me get this straight. You make me meet you at the arena before the crack of dawn and expect me to learn how to drive this?" Becca twists her face and gestures at the Zamboni machine ahead of us.

"Hey, I drove one to clear the ice at the rink for our Pembrook High School games and got paid five bucks a game for it. Zamboni drivers for the pros make at least fifty thousand a year. A helluva lot better than what you made at the club, right?" I smile for encouragement, proud of producing a unique opportunity for her.

When I heard our new arena driver was having a surgery that would take him out of work for six weeks, I figured this could at least be something for Becca in the interim. Plus, she'd be at every game where I could keep tabs on her.

Not that she needs me to.

Not that I have to.

I've driven by her apartment every night like I can't help myself, though. Over and over in my head all week, I've dissected why I feel I must watch over her. Maybe because I've never really had something or someone to look after, not even a furry pet.

Or because her brother is being some kind of asshole and not here for her.

She has no one. I have no one. Might as well be here for each other. Besides, she's a capable woman. Once she gets a job and moves to her own place in a nicer location, we won't need to be in contact much or at all. I'll just help her over this little hump in the road and my life will go back to normal. The guilt pangs will stop, knowing I honored my vow to her brother.

"Wouldn't I need a special license to drive this thing?" By the look on her face, I can tell she's skeptical about the whole idea. As she rubs her arms and her teeth chatter, I realize I should have prepared her better for this. The on-ice temperature hovers around twenty degrees, and it's taking all my willpower not to eye her perky tits.

"Yep, and I've kept up my license all these years. This morning I thought we could just get you on it to give you a feel for it." I'd arranged with the building manager for us to be here early and give this a shot. If she likes it, he's available later today for an interview. If hired, she'll undergo Zamboni training, and be our new driver.

"Come on. I'll take you for a ride around the rink and show you how it's done." I step on it and lodge myself in the seat, then hold my hand out to help her up, but she hesitates. "Let's go. It's totally safe, and you're with me. I wouldn't let anything bad happen to you."

"I cannot believe I'm doing this," she mutters, shaking her head, and climbs on board without the help of my hand. Only then I realize there really isn't anywhere for her to sit, being a one-person vehicle. About the only place she can sit is—my lap. Fuck.

"Uh… Here." I part my legs and pat the seat between them. She's tiny, so she should fit. I look up to find her eyeing the spot and her cheeks are bright red, probably from the cold air.

"This is a bad idea." She turns to jump off, but I catch her around the waist and bring her between my knees. A whoosh of air escapes her lungs.

"Just sit here nice like this, Princess. It'll all be over soon," I say in her ear with a voice too husky for my own good. The blood starts rushing to my cock, and I'm in trouble.

Get a grip. We're here for purely professional reasons. This isn't a lap dance. I'll drive down to the end and back. Nothing to get hard over.

We both adjust. I spread my legs wider, remove my arms from her waist, and plant my hands on the steering wheel. She also hugs her body in tighter. With as much leaning back in the seat as I can, there's hardly anywhere we're touching now. Whew, I can man up and handle this.

Like when I play, I put on my game face and focus on the vehicle and the task at hand. "Okay, to start up, you push this button here. Go ahead."

She tentatively pushes it, and the machine rumbles to life with vibration beneath us.

"Now, you have to steer with your left hand because your right will need to shift between these various controls, each one for a certain task." We take off and I simply work down the center of the ice, as opposed to along the boards, while explaining what each thing does. "Like this lever controls the amount of hot water to the surface. This wheel controls your blade. And this one here controls your horizontal auger. This?—"

"How fast are we going?" She jolts with a shiver. I peek around her and see her teeth still chattering. Her athleisure wear of leggings and a light zippered hoodie won't do. Aw, hell. I stop and pull my new Gamblers sweatshirt over my head.

"Put this on."

She does, and she's swimming in it. I instinctively tighten my legs and my right arm around her, pulling her closer and abandoning the levers.

I turn at the other end and head back to where we started. "This thing crawls along at nine miles per hour. I really think you'll get the hang of it once you learn. Of course, you should wear a sweater or jacket or something. This is an ice rink, you know."

"Yeah, wise tip." She stops shaking and settles back into me more. I need the strength of ten men to control myself. How I wish this did go faster.

Why does this woman have this effect on me? Although thinking back, the past few months have been a dry spell between moving here from Canada and settling in with the new team. Anything could get me hard. It's not just her.

She shimmies her ass against my crotch, and I bite my lips and count to ten. What the hell is she doing? Right. I'm fooling myself. It is totally her. Fuck.