Caged (Gold Hockey Book 11) by Elise Faber (romantic love story reading TXT) 📕

“Baby,” she grumbled. “Max?”

“Ditto what the Big, Juicy Brain said. Legs. Game. Don’t wanna die.”

She frowned, sighed heavily. “I miss Stefan. He always ran with me.”

“Run with your boyfriend on your own time,” Max grumbled. “God knows the man must be glutton for punishment, considering he’s the only one who ever comes close to catching you.”

Brit blew on her knuckles, buffed them on her shoulder. “That’s how he put a ring on it.”

Max snorted.

Ethan grinned, just as Coop and Blue strolled up, workout gear on. Those two, apparently, were gluttons for punishment.

“Ready?” Coop asked.

“These two”—Brit waved a hand at the pair—“are real men.” Her voice rose. “Just in case anyone was looking for them.” Boos and hisses abounded, along with a few rolled-up socks tossed in her direction. Which she caught effortlessly because she had that killer glove hand. “Later, losers,” she called, throwing them back.

Ethan grinned, shook his head, and got ready for the game.

His way.

Though he found himself adding one new ritual.

Brushing his thumb over the rock Dani had painted and remembering the feel of strawberry-scented skin.

Yeah, life was good.

The game went great.

One of those perfect matchups where the system worked, bounces went their way, and they won handily in front of a kick-ass home crowd.

He’d skated hard, done his job, coming off the ice on a high that would take several hours to come down from.

Of course, he had one thought of how he’d like to come down.

Or . . . with whom, anyway.

Maybe he could tempt Dani into a milkshake from the Dairy. He wouldn’t call it a date . . . just an exchange of milk-based fluids? He froze, hands in his hair, shampoo running down his back. Yeah, no, he wouldn’t sell it that way. Instead, he’d call it . . . a chance to discuss the positive qualities of rock-painting in correlation to reduced stress and increased satisfaction? This time he snorted because that, too, was horrible.

How about just going for milkshakes in a no pressure, no expectation, no—

Just milkshakes.

Keep it simple.

Satisfied with that, Ethan knew he’d even slum it with a frozen yogurt variety (on the diet plan), if it meant that he could chisel out some time with Dani.

She was shy, nervous around people in general, but sometimes she relaxed with him, and seeing that smile, hearing her talk without being self-conscious . . . well, the glimpses he’d gotten of that side of her made him feel like a fucking superhero.

Not to mention the little moan she’d given, rasping up from the back of her throat, sliding through the air and caressing his skin like velvet.

That made him feel like a superhero who was desperate to kiss every inch of her.

And then to plunge deep inside, to get his hands on that lush ass, to hold her close and bring them both up to and over the edge again and again and again.

But first, he’d start with milkshakes.

Because if he continued down this train of thinking, he’d end up giving himself a boner. In the locker room. With no shortage of teammates to tease him for eternity about it.

Shuddering, he pushed the thoughts from his mind and took his time through his post-game routine, knowing that Dani would have plenty of work to keep her busy in the meantime, then he dressed and slipped out into the hall, finding himself—look at that—in front of her office.

The door was open, Jess, her assistant, was shrugging into her jacket and gathering up her purse.

Their voices—one laced with humor and plenty of volume (Jess) and the other softer, more melodic (Dani)—tangled in the air, weaving together into a pleasant series of techie terms and players’ names. Then Jess called out a goodbye and slipped into the hall, nearly stumbling into him.

“Oh,” she murmured. “I’m sorry, I—”

“It’s okay,” he said. “My fault.”

She looked up at him, and he struggled to keep his focus on her, his gaze already drifting to the office, to Dani.

“Go easy on her,” Jess whispered. “She’s had a rough day of it.”

He frowned, wondered what that meant. Dani had been smiling when he’d left her, and not a fake one either, the beautiful, genuine smile he was just starting to learn. So, what had happened in the last few hours?

Nodding as he puzzled that out, he waited until Jess had disappeared around the corner before knocking lightly on the doorjamb.

Striking brown eyes on his.

Eyes that filled with happiness for one glorious heartbeat before they went cold.

And God, cold was such a fucking lame word to describe the ice that overlaid Dani’s gaze, that shut down her expression, that had her shoulders curving forward and down, just slightly.

Just enough that he knew something bad had happened.

A vice clenching around his heart, frost prickling through his veins sharp enough to make his fingertips ache, he stepped inside, closing—and locking—the door, for good measure. “What happened?” he asked without preamble.

She became a statue.

Like one of those iron ones outside the library, a still life in repose, a granite formed into an amalgamation of life. But the statues didn’t have her pain.

Pain that was sharp enough to wound.

“What is it?” he asked, crossing over to her. “Is someone hurt?”

In an instant her face changed, going completely blank, shoulders straightening, chin tilting up. She would have appeared . . . well, not completely at ease so much as neutral and unaffected—if he hadn’t seen her in agony just seconds before.

“Nope.” The P made a popping sound, and he was processing that serrated noise as she turned back to her computer, effectively giving him the cold shoulder.

“Dani?”

“You should go.”

He gripped the back of her chair, spun it to face him. “What’s going on, sweetheart?”

Silence, those russet and amber eyes on his then away then on his again. “I’m not going to date you.”

Well, fuck, there went milkshake night.

He crouched down, hesitated for a second, then placed his hands on her jean-covered knees. “I’m going to ask one more time. What