Strictly for Now by Carrie Elks

CHAPTERSEVENTEEN

ELI

“What’s going on? Why haven’t you all gone home?” I ask Goran. Half of them are still in the locker room despite the fact I told them to call it a day an hour ago. I check my watch. It’s almost six-thirty. I have things to do.

Telling them about the exhibition match was a mistake. I should have saved that little bombshell for tomorrow. They’ve all been behaving like overexcited kids, trying to guess who’ll be playing on the All-Star team, and then pretending to beat them.

It’s exhausting.

“Just waiting on Carter,” Goran says. “He has a minor problem.”

An icy shiver wracks down my spine. “What kind of problem?” I ask, my voice low. We have two games this week. We can’t afford to be without our best center forward.

“His girlfriend is pregnant.”

“What?”

“We don’t know if she’s pregnant,” Max points out.

“Good point.” Goran shrugs. “She thinks she’s pregnant. He’s on FaceTime with her while she does the test.”

“Where is he?” I look around the locker room. It’s a damn mess. I’m going to have to read them the riot act again tomorrow.

Make them write it out on a chalkboard a hundred times.

My mess is nobody’s responsibility but mine.

I pinch the bridge of my nose. Was I as much of a punk as these guys when I was starting out in my career? Probably. But I was drafted straight into the NHL and we had all the support money could buy. Your apartment needs cleaning? Great, the team has a list of cleaners to choose from. You need some clothes for a night out? We’ll hook you up with our stylist.

Seriously, I was more babied than these guys could even imagine. I find it embarrassing to think about now.

“He’s in the bathroom,” Goran says, pointing at the door. “We’re giving him some privacy.”

A loud whoop comes from said bathroom. Then the door flings open and Carter comes running out.

“You’re gonna be a daddy?” Goran asks.

“Nope! A single line, baby.” Carter does a little dance. “No little Carters for me.”

I clear my throat. His eyes slowly scan the room before landing on me. “Uh, hi Coach.”

“Do I need to give you a lecture on condoms?” I ask him.

“No, sir.”

“Good.” Because I’d feel like a fraud. I was bareback in a woman who gave me her word she has a contraceptive implant last night. Who the hell am I to talk?

But it was Mackenzie. And you trust her.

Yeah, isn’t that the kicker? I trust her so much I want to do it all over again. Multiple times.

“Now clear up this mess and get your asses home.” I pull my phone out and write a quick message to Mackenzie to make it 7:15 and not 7. There’s no way I’m having her walk into a locker room that smells of sweaty hockey balls.

Carter is so hyper than he does most of the cleaning by himself, all the while giving the others a running commentary on how he would have made a great dad if his girlfriend really had been knocked up. I sit in the corner and stare at my notes for plays this week, pretending I’m not listening, but eventually it grates on my nerves.

“Okay,” I say, standing up. “You’re all done. You can go.”

“But there are still clothes to pick up,” Carter points out. Doesn’t stop him from looking hopeful.

“I’ll finish.”

He frowns. “Really?”

“Yes, really. Just go!” Before I lose my damn mind.

They take their time packing up. Too much time. My teeth grit as they finally agree on where they’re going – out to a steakhouse because they need to celebrate the fact that Carter’s sperm aren’t working – but then before they can walk out of the locker room Goran remembers he left his phone on a chair by the rink.

The door to the locker room opens and Mackenzie walks in, holding it so it doesn’t slap her in the face.

“Oh,” she says, looking at the team surrounding me. “Sorry, I should have knocked.”

“It’s fine,” I tell her, trying not to stare at the way her skirt curves over her hips. The same hips I held on to yesterday as I made her scream with my tongue. “Everybody’s just leaving.”

Goran gives her the biggest smile and she smiles back. A little jolt of jealousy rushes through me.

“We’re heading out for a drink,” he tells her. “Carter has something to celebrate. Why don’t you join us?”

Her gaze flickers to mine. She’s still smiling but this time it feels like it’s all for me.

“Actually, I’m here for Eli,” she says. “We have a meeting.”

“To talk about the exhibition game?” Goran asks. “Want me to stay and help.”

“It’s fine,” I say, my eyes not leaving hers. “You have a good time. We’ve got this.”

They take five more minutes to leave. I swear they do it on purpose because every second that passes makes my blood heat just a little more. Finally they troop out, Goran at the rear, and he looks back one more time before leaving.

When the door finally closes I let out a low breath.

“Sorry. They were supposed to leave an hour ago.”

“What’s Carter celebrating?” she asks. Damn she looks gorgeous in her white blouse and gray pin striped skirt. I picture myself unfastening the buttons one by one and immediately get hard.

“It doesn’t matter.” My voice is husky. “Come here.”

She looks over her shoulder. I get it; I do. She’s scared somebody might walk in on us. And yes, part of me is pissed about that because I don’t give a damn who knows. But I’m more pissed because it wouldn’t be me who’d suffer, it’d be her.

I’d get the high fives. She’d get the knowing looks and the people gossiping behind her back. The world shouldn’t be like that.

She steps into my arms and every muscle in my body relaxes. She’s warm and soft and she smells so good.

“Hey,” I say, kissing the tip of her nose.

“Hey.” She lifts her face up and I take the hint, pressing my mouth against hers. She opens her lips, her breath soft against mine, and I groan because maybe some parts of me aren’t so relaxed.

They’re very much standing to attention.

“Did you bring me here for locker room sex?” she asks breathlessly.

“Nope.”

Her eyes narrow. “Have you ever had locker room sex?”

“Nope.”

This time her expression is disbelieving. “I thought that was a rite of passage.”

“You been reading hockey romances or something?” I ask her.

She smirks. “No.”

“So why are you smiling?” Not that I’m complaining. Her smile is one of the best things about her. Along with other things.

“My friend said something about watching hockey porn.”

I frown. “Hockey porn? Is that a thing?”

“Apparently.” She wrinkles her nose.

“Have you watched any?” I’m curious now. How sexy can hockey be? We smell like animals when we get off the ice. Seriously bad. That’s why the locker room has such a powerful ventilation system.

“No.” She shakes her head. “Why would I watch porn when I have the real thing?”

I swallow hard. We’re here for a reason. And it’s not for locker room sex. Though now that I’m thinking about it…

“So why am I here then?” she asks me.

I hold my hand out to her. “Come with me.”

Blinking, she takes my hand and I pull her to the bench, sitting her down. I kneel in front of her and her eyes do that little hazy thing, making me want her more than ever.

Then I reach for her gorgeously high-heeled shoes and pull them off.

Her breath catches.

My thumbs slide along her nylon-covered feet. Smooth and warm. There’s a steady pulse between my thighs.

I lift her foot to my lips and kiss the arch of her sole. Her toes curl up.

“I thought you said…” It’s her turn to sound husky.

“I did.” I put her foot down and reach into the bag I stashed here earlier. “You need to get changed.”

“Changed?”

I hand her a pair of tight leggings and a Mavericks t-shirt, along with another one of my old game jerseys.

“Okay, this porn is turning seriously weird,” she mutters, taking the clothes. “Is it some kind of reverse thing? You want to fuck the hockey player?”

I chuckle. “No. I just don’t think you can skate in that skirt of yours.”

She looks down at her skirt and then up again. “Wait. Skate?”

“Yeah, we’re going skating.”

Her eyes widen. “Oh no we’re not.” She shakes her head vehemently. “I’d rather do the locker room sex.”

I take her face between my hands. “Do this for me, please.”

She looks at me for a moment, tiny furrows appearing between her brows. “Is this because you don’t want to date somebody who can’t skate?”

“Are we dating now?” I ask her.

“I don’t know. Are we?”

“Yes we are.” We really fucking are. “And for the record, I don’t give a shit if you can skate or not. But I do give a shit that it hurt you that you couldn’t. But I can teach you.”

“You can’t. Nobody can. My mom tried.”

“How hard did she try?”

Mackenzie blinks. “I don’t know. Isabella was already competing by then.”

I nod. “I’m not going to teach you to dance. Just skate. That’s all.” I run my hand along her jaw. “Do you trust me?”

She looks at the clothes she’s still holding then back up at me. “I think so.”

My lip quirks. “I’ll take it. Now go change.”

She puts the clothes on the slatted bench and unbuttons her blouse, her fingers deft but slow. My eyes are glued to the movements. She pulls the silk fabric from her waistband and unfastens the rest, then her blouse gapes open.

And I’m almost in pain.

I inhale raggedly. “I’ll meet you rinkside. I’ve got our skates there.”

Because if I don’t leave now the locker room sex is going to be happening.

* * *

MACKENZIE

I can’t believe I agreed to this. I teeter on the skates Eli bought me, trying not to fall before I get on the ice.

“If I end up in the hospital, I expect you to sit by my bed looking guilty,” I tell him.

He smiles and holds out his hand.

Before my blades even hit the ice I get a flashback. Me at nine or ten years old, sitting on the bleachers with a book and a packet of chips, my legs swinging as Isabella and Mom skated like demons, gliding gracefully across the ice, Isabella jumping and twirling and smiling.

By that point we’d learned that ice and I didn’t mix. But I was still too young to be left at home when it was time for practice. Brad and Johnny were young enough to go to the daycare in the big sports arena, but I’d long since outgrown that.

Nobody skates as beautifully as Mom. Isabella came in a close second, but Mom was always more comfortable on the ice than she was on the ground.

She’d call me her little changeling. Tease me that I was probably swapped at birth.

For a while I’d scrutinize every competition that Isabella competed at, watching the girls who were my age, trying to see if there was any family resemblance.

“You need to move,” Eli says. I blink and see him standing there patiently, his hand still wrapped around mine.

“This is only going to end one way,” I mutter. “Badly.”

Gingerly, I put one skate on the ice, telling myself that the faster I do this and fall over the quicker we can leave and have some passionate sex.

He’ll owe me a massage or two, as well. I smile at the thought of that.

The other skate hits the slippery surface. My heart races. The smile melts from my face.

“You’re on the ice,” he murmurs. “And you’re upright.”

“For now.”

“Trust me,” he says again.

“I do. It’s me I don’t trust.” My free hand wraps around the wooden board on the edge of the rink. I’m shaking.

“Look at me please,” he says, his voice soft.

I do. He’s gazing right into my eyes and it gives me a little jolt. He smiles and nods. “That’s it. Now let go of the board.”

“I’ll fall.”

“I won’t let you.”

I take a deep breath and do as I’m told. As soon as I’ve prized my hand away from the wood he takes it in his other hand. “Okay?”

Not really, but I nod anyway.

“I hate being bad at things,” I mutter.

“That’s because you’re so good at everything else,” he tells me. “But luckily for you I’m good at this, and I’ve got it for both of us. I’m going to skate backward now. You need to come with me.”

“Don’t let go of me.” I tighten my grip on his hands. My heart is hammering against my chest.

“I won’t.”

“And if I fall, don’t you dare laugh.”

His thumb caresses my palm. “If you fall I’ll owe you an orgasm.”

My head snaps up. “Really? So I get an orgasm for every time I fall? You’re not exactly motivating me to stay upright. What if I fall a hundred times? I’ll be getting off for days. You really need to restructure the benefits you offer.”

He grins. “You’re moving.”

“I’m what?” Then I realize what he means. While I’ve been babbling, he started skating backward, pulling me along for the ride. Then I look down at my feet and dizziness overwhelms me. I feel myself wobble. More than wobble, I’m flailing.

He lets go of my hands and I know it’s going to hurt.

But instead of my head slamming against the ice, his hands grab my waist and pull me against him. Yes, his chest is hard, but not as hard as the rink.

Instinctively, I wrap my arms around him.

“Don’t look down,” he advises.

“Now you tell me.”

“You need to look straight ahead,” he continues. “Looking down will put you off balance.”

“Sure.” It doesn’t matter because I’m not intending on letting go of him. If he wants to skate he’s going to have to get used to me being a limpet.

“Mackenzie?”

“Yeah?”

He strokes my face. It feels good. But it also means he isn’t holding onto me, so I tighten my grip on him.

“We’re moving again,” he says. He’s so damn nonchalant, skating backward, a thirty-something woman attached to him.

“You’re moving,” I tell him. “I’m just along for the ride.”

He turns, the show off, and I keep clinging. Then he dips his head to brush my lips with his. “You’re doing great.”

The stupid thing is, I flush with pride. Just because I’m staying upright by clinging onto him. I’m a sucker for praise and by the way he’s smiling at me he’s worked that out.

“If you call me a good girl I’ll scrape your eyes out,” I warn him.

“Will you? I wonder.” He kisses me again, still skating backward. How the hell does he know what’s behind him? I glance over his shoulder and see the barrier rapidly approaching us.

Or rather us rapidly approaching the boards.

But then he curves on his right skate and pulls me seamlessly along with him. Clearly, he has eyes in the back of his head.

“As much as I like having your body pressed against mine,” he says as he completes a backward circuit of the rink. “I think we’re going to have to take it to the next level.”

“It’s fine,” I say, gripping the back of his jersey. “I’m quite comfortable here.” I put my cheek against his chest and look up at him. “Let’s not push it.”

Ignoring my protests, he unwraps my arms from his waist and slides his hands along them, until my palms are against his again. “If you stay upright I’ll fuck you until you see stars,” he tells me.

“You’ve changed the bonus system without consultation,” I protest. “That’s bad business.”

“Move your skates, Hunter.”

I go to glance at my feet and he immediately reprimands me. “Don’t look down, remember.”

Yeah, I remember. But maybe a little too late, because this time my blades go out from under me before he can catch me, and I end up ass down on the icy cold rink. I groan as I see him looming over me.

He’s still smiling as he reaches a hand out.

“It’s fine. I like it here,” I tell him. “Nice view.”

“Get up.”

“No.” I’m not completely mortified. He isn’t laughing, for one. Just smiling like I’m the prettiest thing he’s seen.

And yeah, I quite like that.

Two hands slide under me and I’m suddenly lifted through the air. “Hey, what’s going on…”

“You’re getting up.” But he doesn’t let go. Just skates around with me in his arms.

“You’re going to give yourself a hernia,” I tell him.

“I’m giving myself a hard-on.” He doesn’t even wobble as he skates. The man has muscles of steel.

“I’m not having sex with you on the ice.”

He grins. “We’ll save that for the next lesson.” He moves his arms, adjusting his hold on me until I’m vertical and facing him. I’m scared of cutting him with my skates so bend my knees and tighten them on his waist, keeping my feet away from his body. It has the added advantage of pushing me closer to all the right places

“Not helping, Hunter,” he tells me.

“Don’t you just want to take me home? Do dirty things to me?”

“I do,” he says seriously. “Very much so.”

“Then let’s go,” I tell him. “It’s cold and my ass is wet.”

Gently, he puts me back on the ice. “Not until you can skate for five seconds. Without holding onto me.”

I pout.

“Then we’ll leave,” he promises.

It takes half an hour and more falls than I care to think about, but eventually I manage to skate for five seconds without touching Eli or the boards. I still feel wobbly, and keep to the edge of the rink with half an eye on the exit. But the smile on his face makes up for the fear rushing through my body.

He’s standing by the exit to the rink so I deliberately slam into him, using him as a brake because if I use my skates I’m going to end up on the floor again.

He catches me and laughs, putting his hands on me to twirl me around the ice. I still hate it and grip onto his sweater like I’m holding on for dear life, but I’m also feeling kind of jubilant.

“Can we go home now?” I plead.

“Yep. Your place or mine?”

“Whichever is warmest,” I grumble. And then I add. “Mine.” Because my toothbrush is there. And my pajamas. I’m hoping he might stay the night again.

Strictly for now.

I ignore that voice and let him lead me off the ice.