Ice Bet: A Forbidden Hockey Romance (Bexley U)

I lived in a world that was highly unrealistic and slightly unhealthy—at least according to those who were closest to me. I didn’t see an issue in spending my evenings hanging out with fictional characters in fictitious settings, and I was sticking to that angle, even as I balanced twelve books on top of one another as I walked up the third flight of stairs to my new apartment.

Of course the elevator was out of order.

The semester had already started at Bexley U. The changing autumn leaves were no longer crunching beneath my shoes on my walks to class. Instead, they turned to dust as each day grew colder, preparing New England for the dreadful snowy months. Not that I was anti-winter or anything. I grew up on the ice. At one point, it was my entire personality. When I was in middle school, there was a rumor traveling around the local ice rink that my eyes were the color of ice because of how much time I spent skating. My nickname was Ice Queen, which was both flattering and disheartening considering I wasn’t only described as that because of my dexterity in the rink but also because of my reserved personality. I could be friendly and even sweet at times, but on the ice wasn’t one of them.

Unapproachable.

Withdrawn.

Icy.

Controlling.

Those were the traits that truly granted me my nickname.

I sighed as I stood in front of apartment 3B, balancing the books on my leg. I dug my free hand in my back pocket and rested my chin on the top of a paperback book, pulling on the end of my keychain. The jingle of my keys was a whisper compared to the throaty laughter behind me.

“Stop fucking around. We’re going to be late.”

A fleeting spark raced down my spine at the smooth, commanding voice from across the hall. I quickly shoved my key into the keyhole and turned the knob before hastily putting my shoe back on the floor and gripping my books even tighter.

“Think fast.”

If I would have taken a step into my apartment a second sooner, I wouldn’t have had the most humiliating three seconds of my life in front of what were likely multiple gorgeous guys if their robust voices had anything to say about it.

I’d fallen a lot over the years and have had many bruises and bumps from landing sideways on the ice. Typically, I try to avoid falling, but I would’ve loved nothing more than to collide with the wooden floor of my new home rather than feel two steady hands on my waist, staring at all twelve of my books splayed out beneath my face.

“Jesus, Berkley. Watch what you’re doing!”

I was hauled up so quickly that my dark hair whizzed past my face and stuck to the sticky gloss on my upper lip.

A pair of bright-green eyes shadowed by a strong, furrowed browline peered at me, and just like that, my exciting new venture of being independent for the first time in a year flew right out the window along with the very fragile trust my parents and I shared.

“Hockey players,” I mumbled, peeling the stuck strand of hair from my lip. My feet were on flat ground again, but I felt like I was floating as Aasher Matthews—one of my father’s best players—tightened his hands on my waist. My fixed spine was unrelenting with his attention glued to me. I swallowed my thick spit and abruptly stepped away from his overbearing presence. Ugh.

I wish I could say I wasn’t familiar with any of Bexley U’s hockey players, but it was hard not to be when my father spent more time with them than he did me. I wasn’t complaining, nor was I jealous. I was simply stating facts.

Aasher Matthews and his posse continued to stand in front of me without so much as a peep. Two of them wore devilish smirks, elbowing one another like they had a secret to tell. My cheeks flamed like the torch I was going to throw at my father’s head the moment I walked into his office. First the elevator doesn’t work, and now this?

The longer I stood there, staring at my father’s players, who were apparently my new neighbors, the more my suspicion grew. Now I knew why my father urged me to move into this apartment instead of the other ones we looked at.

I was likely the only girl attending Bexley U that looked at this situation like a punishment. What normal college girl wouldn’t be thrilled to live across the hall from some of the best hockey players in the division with their hot smirks and muscular bodies. But, unfortunately for them, I wasn’t your average college girl. I was pissed.

“We’ve stunned The Duster, man.”

Berkley would have been burned to ash by my scornful gaze if he had more than two brain cells and noticed my glare. The Duster. Really?

“Are you okay?” Aasher bounced his eyes between mine. I stayed quiet even though I knew he was waiting for my answer.

Efrain stepped forward and swooped down to pick up a set of keys that separated Aasher and me. “We’re gonna be late.” The keys jingled in his large hand as he started down the hall. Neither Berkley nor Aasher followed after him, and I started to grow irritated.

“Who cares if we’re late? I think Coach would let it slide if we were late because we were making sure his daughter was okay after almost falling to the floor.” Berkley smiled at me, but I knew from past experience that when a hockey player tipped his lips the way he was, it was loaded.

“I’m fine,” I snapped. Aasher raised an eyebrow at my tone.

The faint sound of a horn caught all of our attention, and it wasn’t long before I recognized the melody of “We Will Rock You,” which was the traditional warm-up song the hockey team skated to before each game.

“And that’s our cue.” Berkley winked in my direction before skillfully hopping down the stairs.

Aasher stayed kneeled on the ground below me as he started stacking up my fallen books like some type of gentleman. I popped my hip out and crossed my arms, unwilling to trust him. We shared a tense silence that didn’t lessen, even after he stacked my books on top of one another and walked away.

“Wait.” I stepped forward just as quickly as the word flew from my mouth.

Aasher stopped at the top of the steps and peeked over his shoulder. The hood of his BU hoodie pulled back just a little as his messy brown hair fell over his forehead slightly. “Yeah?”

“Why don’t you look surprised to see me?” I asked, already knowing the answer.

All I got in response was one long blink.

My heart thumped violently. “You knew I was moving in across the hall from you guys, didn’t you?”

The air in the hallway stiffened. A breathy laugh fell from my mouth before I bit down on my tongue with hot cheeks. I turned my back to him like it was a punishment, but Aasher’s smooth, arrogant voice broke through the punitive measure. “I had no idea you were moving across the hall.”

“And there goes my respect for you,” I said.

I already had a vengeance for hockey players. Aasher just sealed his own deal in making it permanent.

“Excuse me?”

We turned at the same time, facing each other despite sharing the same scowl.

I shrugged. “I don’t like guys who lie.”

The furrowing along his forehead didn’t last long. He regrouped quickly. “Do you even like guys in general?” Aasher erased the rest of the space between us with the same confident stride that every hockey player had. He bent down beside my stiff legs and grabbed the last book that had fallen from my pile. When he rose to his full six-foot height, I held my breath. “Here you go, Duster.”

I opened my mouth to insult him back, but surprise killed the words on the tip of my tongue when he pushed the book into my chest.

I recovered after a few seconds and scoffed before answering his irritating question. “What kind of question is that? And why does it matter to you?”

Aasher gripped me by the wrist and squeezed it tightly while clamping it over the paperback he had pressed against my chest. He stepped away, leaving me breathless.

“I was hoping you’d say no.” His back was to me, but I still heard him.

“Why?”

“Because your dad forbids any of his players to touch you, and that’s tempting to the majority of them.”

“I do like guys,” I said. “Just not hockey players.”