Spiral (Off the Ice Book 2)
Spiral: Chapter 15

I’VE BURNED THREE pancakes in the span of ten minutes.

Scraping the pan clean, I toss the charred ones into the compost and restart the batter.

Cooking usually relaxes me, but today it fails because I’ve been on edge since last night.

I can still feel Sage’s cold feet resting on my calves. She only fidgeted under my hold for a few minutes before falling asleep. I’m not sure how long it usually takes or if I helped, but I’m glad she got some rest. The number of classes and auditions she does requires sleep. But the trade-off with last night’s arrangement is that I couldn’t sleep. Not when I felt her everywhere.

With her body cocooned against mine and our conversation replaying in my head, I didn’t realize how much time passed. It soon turned to morning, and the light from the shitty curtains sliced through the room. I ordered blackout curtains as soon as I slipped out of bed.

I’m plating the first decent pancake when Sage ambles into the kitchen. It’s still early so I’m surprised to see her because neither Aiden nor Summer is awake. Aiden and I have to head out in an hour because we have a game in Tampa tonight.

Sage looks a little lost, and she freezes when she spots me. Her eyes drift down my torso. I should have thrown on a shirt, but I didn’t want to wake her by opening the squeaky closet door.

She rubs her eye, and the collar of my shirt slips off one shoulder, showing the smooth skin that’s there. She looks both rested and disheveled, and I have to turn away, just in time to save another pancake from burning.

“Sit. I’ll bring you a plate,” I say.

“Don’t treat me like a guest, Elias,” she scolds.

Then the sound of cupboards opening is the only noise in the kitchen besides my thumping heart. I try my best not to stare when she shuffles on tiptoes to find the right cupboard.

Aiden and I put the dishes pretty high because it’s just us living here, but seeing Sage struggle to reach them, I realize that might need to change. I let her try on her own until she lifts her leg to climb onto the counter. I lower the heat of the stove to move behind her.

She stumbles into my chest. I reach an arm around her to grab a stack of plates.

“I could have reached them,” she mutters, sounding breathless.

“I think you mean thank you.”

She twists and her gaze catches mine, holding it for a beat. “Thank you, Elias.”

I nod, knowing her words have less to do with the plate and a lot to do with last night. I break our eye contact and focus on plating her food.

“Are my pancakes smiling?” she asks, amused. I hadn’t realized I’d done it, but I’m so used to making them for the guys at Dalton, it’s autopilot. Kian would suggest something lewd, and I always indulged him by arranging the chocolate chips.

She’s beaming as I follow her to the table and take a seat across from her. Before I can reach for the maple syrup to pour it on my pancakes, she snatches it. “I’ll do it.”

She flips the bottle to draw a swirl, but her aim runs askew, and the syrup coats my thumb.

Sage’s eyes widen as she assesses my blank expression, waiting for a reaction, but I don’t give her one. I only stare right at her.

“What? Want me to lick it off?” There’s a teasing lilt to her voice that sends a lance of heat straight to my groin. She looks at my throat and watches my Adam’s apple bob with amusement, giving away my thoughts.

Then in a moment of what can only be caused by my lack of sleep, I lift my hand and hold it between us on the table. My thumb is inches away from where her lips are parted in shock, and the silent challenge dangles between us. The room is so quiet you can hear the water dripping from the faucet in the kitchen.

She leans forward, and bluff or not, the only thing I know for sure in that moment is I’m truly fucked. Sage takes my thumb in her mouth and seals her lips around it. She hums when her hot tongue touches the syrup and licks it clean before she takes me deeper.

Our eyes lock.

Her pink lips form an O around my thumb, causing all the blood in my body to rush south. My jaw is set tightly to keep a groan from escaping my throat.

Then door hinges creak down the hall, and Sage pulls back, releasing me with a pop just as Aiden and Summer step into the dining room. I drop my hand back to the dining table.

Aiden wordlessly heads to the kitchen, probably to make Summer chai as she slips into the chair beside Sage and exclaims, “Pancakes!”

Summer is particularly interested in getting close to my fake girlfriend. But even as Sage has a full-blown conversation with Summer at the dining table, I can see the way her neck is flushed and how a deeper color flares onto her chest.

I can barely move with how hard I am. For the entirety of breakfast, she doesn’t look at me, not even once, and I can’t seem to take my eyes off her.

Sage 1, Elias 0.

THE THREE-HOUR FLIGHT didn’t go as expected, because I spent the handful of hours fantasizing about maple syrup and a certain pair of lips. The image is bad for my brain, and it doesn’t help that soon I’ll be in a hotel room with some time to kill before the game. Though I’m trying my best not to imagine those lips sucking something else.

It doesn’t help when Socket, our goalie, who’s been on the team for five years, and Owen Hart, our newest right-winger, who are sitting in the section next to Aiden and me, continue to talk about the women they’ve been with while in Toronto. But their conversation doesn’t interest me at all because, unlike Socket, Owen still talks about women like he’s in college. Hearing him go on about things he does with girls doesn’t sit right with me.

“Mind keeping it down? We don’t want to hear about that shit,” I say, interrupting Owen’s useless conversation. That grabs his attention, and Socket winces when he looks at me.

Owen nods, but the smirk on his face is a knowing one, and from the looks of it I’m missing something. Before I can ask him what he finds so funny, Aiden pulls my attention back to the tablet we’re using to help me figure out a better play for my lagging goal. This time he’s identified a play where he can assist, and allow me to let go and break out of the box I’ve built around myself.

It’s still before noon when we land in Tampa. Our game isn’t for another few hours, so we head to our respective hotels. This time I don’t need to worry about naked women waiting in my room and instead fall straight into bed. It’s a foreign feeling not being stressed about what people might be saying about me next, and I owe that to Sage.

My room service order follows shortly after, and when I’ve eaten my pregame meal, I’m checking my gear bag before the bus is set to pick us up.

When we arrive at the Amalie Arena, I’m already in my gear, eager to hit the ice for our pregame skate. Finally on the rink, I knock over the mountain of pucks stacked against the boards and send them sliding across the ice for our warm-up. We glide toward the nets, focusing on our shots and passes, feeling the familiar rhythm of our routine. The sound of blades cutting through the ice fills the air, and with each shot of mine surpassing Socket stationed in front of the net, I’m ready.

Right as the game starts, my mind drifts to the girl who’s been on my mind all day. I wonder whether she’ll watch tonight’s game with Summer at the apartment, or if she’s busy.

“Tonight’s your chance.” Coach Wilson comes up behind me, his gaze on his clipboard.

He’s right. Tampa is the worst-performing team in the Eastern Conference, and I should be able to use that to my advantage tonight. The ultimatum dangling over my head adds to the pressure of today’s game, and I lock in to finally prove everyone wrong. Mostly to shove the goal in Marcus’s smug face.

“I know,” I say, slipping past him to skate to the centerline for the national anthem. When the whistle blows, we’re in full swing. It isn’t long before I’m taking shots at the net.

In the second period, my wrist shot flies past the goalie’s glove, and my heart stops as I watch the puck whiz past him in slow motion. The noise of the crowd fades to a muffled static in my ears. Then it pings off the crossbar, landing on the opposite side of me, and connects to the stick of Tampa’s defender. The tension in my body returns, and the guys bump into me in a silent show of support for the miss.

Blood pounds in my ears and ignites a fire under my skin for the rest of the game. It shoots me forward for each shot to the net, but I only end up assisting every single goal scored tonight, including the tiebreaker from Aiden, which gains a chorus of boos from the crowd when the buzzer goes off, and we win 4–3.

“That was sick!” Socket shouts, bumping into me in the locker room.

I’m fresh out of my postgame shower and still replaying all the shots I missed. Assisting goals for my teammates is all a part of the sport, but I’m tired of it. I can imagine the organization crossing each game off the calendar, waiting until Marcus can sign the papers for my trade and get rid of me for good.

“We’re celebrating tonight. My friend’s family owns a bar in the city,” says Socket.

Aiden glances at me, and I shake my head, not at all up for being surrounded by my drunk teammates.

“I’m still sore from the last game. I’ll see you guys tomorrow.”

“Me too,” Aiden says, packing his bag.

When Socket groans and mutters something about us being the most boring rookies, he turns to the rest of our team to convince them to come out.

“You don’t have to stay back because of me.”

Aiden glances at me. “When have I ever wanted to celebrate something without you?”

“You scored the game-winning goal, man. That’s worth a celebration.”

He only shrugs, and I can’t help but feel bad for dragging him down too. But I can’t fake it right now, so I let myself believe he’s not in the mood to go out either.