Meet Your Match (Kings of the Ice, #1)(22)

Once it was put away, I kneaded my temples with my fingers. So much screen time was giving me a headache, along with the insanity of the past week and wearing a helmet not made for me. And we still had to pack and fly home.

I understood the appeal of flying after the game, of being able to go to sleep in your own bed back in your own city, especially since we had a home game in a couple days. But I hoped it wouldn’t be too loud on the flight. All I wanted was to catch some Zs.

“Aw, come on, it can’t be that bad.”

I opened my eyes to find Vince standing over me. His hair was soaking wet, sticking to his forehead and neck just like his t-shirt was sticking to his chest. I assumed he wore that under his pads, because it was completely drenched. He also wore a pair of equally wet shorts and still had his shin pads on.

“Oh, are you talking to me again?”

“For now.”

I smiled, my skin still buzzing from our earlier exchange. But that menacing gaze of his was gone, and he was the Vince Tanev I knew again. Playful. Charming. Annoyingly so.

“Congratulations on the win,” I offered.

“Thank you. Still think my pre-game rituals are stupid?”

“I never said they were stupid,” I defended. “But… does this mean we have to fight before every game now? Because we did, and you won, so…”

He scrubbed a hand over his jaw with a devilish grin.

“Sounds like fun to me,” he said, his eyes following the line of my necklace where it dipped under my blouse. “But only if we get to kiss and make up afterward.”

He waggled his brows as I flattened my lips.

And then he was tackled from behind by Carter before I got the chance to tell him that was never going to happen.





Good Morning to Me



Vince



I woke up bright and early Sunday morning in Tampa with a raging hard-on.

I had so much testosterone flowing through me after winning an away game against one of the best teams in our division, I felt like I could pick a car up over my head and throw it a hundred yards. Add in the fact that I’d now spent forty-eight hours with Maven King invading every inch of my life, and it didn’t surprise me to wake up with morning wood.

My eyes closed on a groan as I palmed myself, and the first thing I thought of was her rubbing her ass against me on the plane in those tight-as-sin jeans. I kicked my sheets off, not even a little ashamed as I gave in and pumped myself to the memory. I saw her in that yellow dress from the gala, pictured her daring eyes and that sweet mouth of hers that loved to sass back when I challenged her.

When I thought of how those honey eyes had widened when I took her by the chin, when I forced her to look at me while I stared at her mouth, I came.

It was a memory I’d store away for life, how her delicate neck had been exposed for me, her pulse thrumming under the surface and begging to be kissed, to be licked, to be bitten. I could replay the way her eyes dilated for years, how all that gold had been swallowed up, her chest rising and falling in a hypnotizing rhythm as she stared up at me and waited for a command.

She liked it, when I took control of her like that, when I shut her up.

Whether she’d ever admit it or not was another story entirely.

After I cleaned up, I ran a hot shower, and my thoughts of Maven turned less sexual and more guilty. Not that I felt guilty for fucking my hand at the thought of her, because I didn’t, but rather that I felt bad for snapping at her before the game, for being the asshole she already thought I was.

If we were going to work together for a month, I needed to make things right.

With a towel around my waist, I padded into my bedroom and grabbed my phone off the nightstand, thumbing out a text to her.



Me: Breakfast?

Maven: Where?

Me: My place.

Maven: You… cook?

Me: Told you I’m full of surprises.

Maven: You better not serve me burnt toast. See you in twenty.



Right on time, she knocked on my door just as I finished mixing up my mom’s famous waffle mix. She was a fucking vision in my doorway, wearing a flowy bohemian dress that cinched her waist and framed her slight breasts in two triangle slips of fabric. The skirt draped down to her ankles, but two slits on each side revealed her toned legs beneath. She offered a tentative, almost nervous smile when I answered, her face void of makeup, and only a simple pair of earrings donning her lobes. Her black hair was pulled up into a poof on top of her head, the edges of it styled in swirling designs that framed her forehead and temples.

“Damn,” I said, and I thought I’d said it to myself, but when the corner of Maven’s lips curled softly, I knew I hadn’t. So, I owned it. “Good morning to me.”

“Shut up,” she said, softly pressing her hand against my chest as she pushed past me and into my condo. I shut the door behind her before making my way into the kitchen, and Maven slid into one of my barstools like she’d been there a hundred times, setting her purse on the island.

“I hope you’re hungry.”

“And I hope you’re not trying to poison me,” she said, eyeing the goop I was mixing up. I sprayed the waffle maker before dumping the mix in and closing the lid.

“Now why would I do that? You’re working wonders for my brand right now.”

“Well, you did look like you were two seconds from killing me last night.”