Scott McCord always got what he wanted. The trouble is, he doesn’t know what that is this time.
Scottie McCord is an NHL forward who doesn’t do a lot of looking back. But when Elise Scofield moves to the same West Coast city he plays for, he can’t help but reminisce.
I’m psyched Elise will be close by. She’s a lot of fun, and I need to get the 411 on her breakup with Hunter. I warned him when they first started dating that I would be none too happy with him if he hurt Elise. Not that I have a thing for her. Sure, that kiss when we were kids was the hottest moment of my life, but that’s just because it was a first. She’s like a sister to me now.
Elise Scofield is making a fresh start. A move to sunny California may be just what she needs, especially with Scott there.
Scottie and I have always been close, “two straws in a soda” is my mom’s weird way of putting it. We’ve gotten over that awkwardness of having kissed a long time ago, and fallen into an easy brother-and-sister-type of relationship. He’s the best. And who knows? He might even introduce me to an eligible hockey player or two.
But when Scott’s teammate says he’d like to spend TEN MINUTES IN THE SIN BIN with Elise, Scott becomes hot enough to melt the ice that he plays on. Then when Scott finds out his opposite winger is only trying to win a bet by bedding Elise, he wants to check his teammate into oblivion. But why are his feelings always so amped up around Elise?
One thing’s for certain; he’s determined to keep Sergei from hurting Elise. And when he’s determined, he gets what he wants.
The only problem is...this time around he’s not sure what it is he wants.
There was only one thing to be done about a guy taking your parking space. Drive him into the nearest hard surface with as much force as humanly possible. This time it happened to be ice. The fact Sergei’s obnoxious snoring kept me awake last night simply meant further retaliation was a matter of course.
“…McCord. We need him. Please do not injure teammates.”
“But, Coach, he took my parking space.”
“Oh, by all means, then, take him out.”
I eyed my prey, currently trying to pull himself up the boards and onto his skates.
“Kidding, McCord. Cease and desist.”
Sergei scowled at me and spit. “He purely lets you get away with that shit because of your Conn Smythe trophy.”
I grinned. “Yeah. it great?”
“You won’t think so when I poison your food tonight.”
“All right. Knock it off,” Coach said wearily, for the hundred and eightieth time.
Sergei’s focus shifted to something behind me. “Holy shit! I’d love to get ten minutes in the sin bin with her.”
I twisted to see who he was ogling.
Down the steps of the stands of our practice arena came a pair of legs, topped by one of those short, tight suit skirts, a silky white blouse, and red blazer. I’d have been drooling myself if said legs hadn’t been connected to one of my best friends in the whole wide world.
“ happening,” I commented absentmindedly to Sergei.
At the same time, Elise, who had been searching the ice, apparently spied me, as she released a high-pitched squeal and yelled, “Scottie!” She ran over the concrete stairs in those heels of hers, bound to turn an ankle and face plant against the glass like someone had checked her into it. I tore off without thinking about anything besides Elise being there. It had been too long. I picked up speed before my skates bit into the ice at the rink’s edge. “What are you doing here? I thought we were meeting at my place.”
She bent over the half-wall and wrapped her arms around my neck. I responded to her hug with such exuberance I almost pulled her out of the stands and onto the ice.
“Oh my gosh. It’s so good to see you,” she whispered in my ear. “It’s been too long.”
I squeezed her. “I was just thinking the same thing.”
One of my teammates whistled appreciatively and we broke apart, Elise sliding until her heels met the steps. She glanced in the guys’ direction sheepishly, but she still glowed with excitement, which, I’ll admit, gave me a little high.
Obviously, I would need to make it clear Elise Scofield was permanently and irrefutably off the table for anyone wearing a Fire jersey.
“I’m sorry.” She gave me a shy smile I didn’t recognize. “I didn’t mean to interrupt your practice. I just couldn’t wait.” Tucking a piece of her straight blonde hair behind her ear, she added, “I needed to see you.” Her eyes were misty. Something was wrong.
I searched her face. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah. Yeah. Fine,” she said. But her voice sounded weird. “I’ll go. Let you get back to what you were doing.” The smile was there, but not right somehow. “See you tonight.”
Coach blew the whistle and circled his arm at me. I skated backwards. “You’ve got my address, right?”
She straightened. “Yeah.”
I glanced at my teammates, then at her. “I told the doorman to expect you,” I shouted as I was a distance from her now. “His name’s Jimmy.”
She waved. “Got it.”
M.J. Schiller is a lunch lady/romance-romantic suspense writer. She enjoys writing novels whose characters include rock stars, desert princes, teachers, futuristic Knights, construction workers, cops, and a wide variety of others. In her mind everybody has a romance. She is the mother of a twenty-seven-year-old and three twenty-five-year-olds. That's right, triplets! So having recently taught four children to drive, she likes to escape from life on occasion by pretending to be a rock star at karaoke. However…you won’t be seeing her name on any record labels soon.