Ice Bet: A Forbidden Hockey Romance, page 1
ICE BET
SJ SYLVIS
Ice Bet
Copyright © 2023 S.J. Sylvis
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form including electronic or mechanical, without written permission from the publisher, except in case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews. This work is a piece of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Published: SJ Sylvis Books LLC
sjsylvisbooks@gmail.com
Cover Design: Ashes and Vellichor
Photographer: Ren Saliba
Editing: Jenn Lockwood Editing / My Brother’s Editor
Proofing: Emma Cook | Booktastic Blonde / Wordsmith Publicity / All Encompassing Books
For Booktastic Blonde (Emma)- You’re the Taytum to my Claire - never ever change. <3
CONTENTS
Preface
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Epilogue
Afterword
Also by SJ Sylvis
Stay Up To Date
About the Author
Acknowledgments
PREFACE
AASHER
A long, drawn-out breath drew from the pit of my stomach and quietly drifted between the open space that separated me from Coach’s messy desk. Papers were spewed all over the place, and the white board propped behind his back had yesterday’s practice notes scribbled all over it. The longer I stared at the chaotic jottings, the more I wondered if that was what the inside of my brain looked like when I was seven beers deep after winning a game.
“Aasher!”
Coach entered through his office door, and my spine straightened. I caught a glimpse of my teammates and grinned at their loud laughter. The stench of perspiration-covered hockey gear traveled through the opening, and I saw Theo—my best friend and captain—raise his eyebrow at me. If he was wondering why Coach Lennon wanted to chat, I wouldn’t be able to answer him. I had been killing it at practice. Zero flaws.
The door slammed, and the locker room disappeared. By the growing red on my coach’s round cheeks, I knew why I’d been called into his office.
Jesus Christ.
“Coach,” I eased into the conversation, trying to hide my agitation. All I said was hi to his daughter…that was it. “If this is about your—”
“It is.”
It took every ounce of strength to keep my chill, and that was saying something because off the ice, I was pretty easygoing. Put me in a room with overzealous puck bunnies fighting for my attention, and I would stay as cool as a cucumber. Better yet, put me in a room with overzealous puck bunnies and their moms…I’d still be sporting my natural, smug smile.
“Coach.” Again, I eased into the conversation. I loosened my tight shoulders and evened my tone. I would be lying if I said a flame of anger didn’t dance on the inside at his constant nagging. “I swear to you, I wasn’t trying to hit on your daughter.”
Our gazes snagged, and I watched the visual come to life right behind his glare. Was he picturing me with his daughter? I shifted my attention to his ears, and they grew redder by the second. Oh, shit. I began writing my own obituary and accepting my fate.
“I know you weren’t, damn it!”
I blew out a breath. My forehead was damp from sweat, and it wasn’t because we had just finished with practice. I was prepared to go into the logistics of why I wasn’t actually hitting on his daughter, but Coach Lennon was hard to read. Would he be happy that his quiet, seemingly uptight daughter wasn’t my type, or would he be offended?
You never knew with him, and I didn’t want to take my chances.
Coach snapped his arm out and spun the gold frame around on his desk. I sliced my attention to the girl I’d simply said hello to a year prior at our game against Shadow Valley.
There was the slightest twitch on my face before I pulled away from the girl staring at me in the photo. The Riley Lennon I met a year ago didn’t exactly resemble the brief glimpse of her that I just caught inside the golden frame. Her long, dark hair and icy eyes were the same, but the soft smile below her cheeks was new. When I met her, she was as tight as the laces on my skates. She wouldn’t even look at me.
“I know the story, Aasher. You didn’t know she was my daughter at the time.”
Even so, I wasn’t trying to sleep with her.
I sat up straighter in the hard chair. “I also don’t sleep with every girl I say hello to, despite what campus says about me. I was standing beside her, so I simply said hello because where I’m from, it would be rude not to.”
Coach snickered. I tightened the hold on my smirk because, truth be told, I had a reputation. But so did almost every other athlete at Bexley U. Personally, I didn’t slut shame, because what was the issue in two consenting adults having sex with one another? I was always upfront with my partners too—they were aware it was a one-time deal.
“You have your eye on the Hops, don’t you?”
That was a sudden shift in the conversation, but instead of noting the abrupt segue, I slowly nodded. “Yes, that’s correct. Season just started, though. Their scouts aren’t coming out yet, are they?”
The Hops had been a top NHL team for the last several years. They were also notorious for waiting until the very last second to secure their contracts.
Coach leaned back in his squeaky swivel chair and steepled his fingers together. His lips puckered with his rapid eye movement, and my pulse raced. Once he pinned his gaze to me and smirked, he was the smuggest one in the room.
“I need you to know that this is not a bribe. Bribes do not fly on my team.”
I said nothing. Instead, I tipped my chin to show my understanding. Not a bribe. Got it.
“It’s a promise.”
Uh, what?
“I’ve been watching you, Aasher.”
I grew antsy. “And what do you see?” Hopefully a skilled hockey player.
“I’ve seen you on the ice, looking out for your teammates. I’ve seen you do it off the ice too.”
My antenna was up. I was seconds away from aborting whatever mission Coach was about to put me on. “I’m just being a good teammate and friend. We all look out for each other. It’s part of why we’re so good this year.” I didn’t technically like every teammate, but you didn’t have to like someone on the ice to work well together. We weren’t there to be best friends. We were there to win.
Coach nodded, and my spine tingled, urging my brain to send the abort mission signal to my legs so I could walk the fuck out of his office.
“Riley is moving into the apartment across from you.”
And just like that, we were back on Riley. I skimmed over to the framed photo of his daughter again before I swung my gaze back to him.
“Oh?” I didn’t mean for my response to sound like a question, but nonetheless…
“Yes, oh.”
I paused. I blinked. Then I thought over his words before trying to recover. “Your off-limits daughter is moving into the apartment complex littered with…” I cleared my throat and skirted past the word horny and continued on, “Bexley U athletes?” Everyone on the team knew that when Coach’s daughter was anywhere on the ice, we were to keep our eyes elsewhere. The coach's daughter was always off-limits. Didn’t matter the coach, or the girl…she was always off-limits.
“What are you? A parrot? That’s what I said, isn’t it?”
I couldn’t hold back my laughter. “Why would you ever do that?”
“It doesn't matter why.” There was a bite to his tone that I’d heard plenty of times in the rink, and thankfully, I could recognize the shut-up cue when given. “I need you to watch her.”
“What do you mean?” I was fully fucking invested. What drama lies between Coach and his daughter?
“I mean, just watch out for her. Treat her like you would your sister if you saw her at a party with a bunch of simple-minded, immature young men who only want one thing.”
I didn’t have a sister.
“So…” I gripped the arms of the chair. “You want me to stalk your daughter?” My question was slightly sarcastic, and I could tell with the rising tension in the office that Coach didn’t appreciate it.
The grinding of his teeth caused me to slink backward. “No! Yes! But don’t be obvious about it! Don’t tell her you’re…watching her. I need to let Riley have a little breathing room and given the circumstances…” Coach’s stern gaze pulled away, and I one hundred percent noted the change of direction the conversation was going. “I just need someone I can count on that will make sure she’s with the right crowd, making the right choices, staying safe.”
In other words, not fucking his hockey players? Or if she is, maybe throwing a condom at her?
“And you want that person to be me?” I raised an eyebrow. “You’ve given me so much harassment over the fact that I said hello to her a year ago, but now you want me to make friends with her?”
“Whatever you have to do to make sure she’s making the right choices. You know, make sure she gets home if she shows up to one of your parties…and remind your teammates that they are to keep their hands to themselves when it comes to her.” He paused before leaning back in his chair again. “The same rule applies to you. Do not cross the line, Aasher.”
My brows furrowed. There was obviously much more to the dynamic of their father/daughter relationship, but it wasn’t exactly my business, and the last time I meddled in the family drama of someone other than myself, it bit me in the ass.
“Can you do that? Because I promise you that I can ruin your dreams of wearing a Hops jersey with a snap of my fingers.”
I gripped the arms of the chair harder.
Coach put his hand up. “I’m not going to unless you break my trust. I need someone that has good morals and someone who is so focused on the game that they won’t think twice about crossing a line with her. Given the fact that Theo lives in the dorms and is currently dealing with having a new roommate...”
There was a slip in his armor, and the hope lingering behind his words was enough to get me to nod, but there was an edge to my acceptance too. I didn’t like to be intimidated or bullied into something. I was at a crossroads, though, and Coach held all the marbles in his hands. Sure, there were other NHL teams that would sign me, but if I wanted to make it big and accept the future that was once taken from me, I didn’t really have a choice.
“Yeah, sure. If she happens to show up at one of our parties, I’ll make sure she gets home safe.” And I’ll keep my teammates' sleazy hands off her.
“I can count on you?” he asked, placing his elbows on the desk. “And I can count on you to keep your dick in your pants, right?”
I chuckled, purposefully shielding my eyes from the blue-eyed baby doll staring at me from the picture frame. “Coach”—I stood and took a few steps toward his office door—“your daughter isn’t my type. Not to mention, you just promised to screw my chances with the Hops. So, yeah, you can count on me.” I wondered if Coach knew about my little bump in the road before I started at Bexley U, but I refused to go back down that road. “No one will touch her.” Including me.
He nodded before flicking his hand. “Keep this between us. Now get. I’ve got game plans to work on.”
“Yes, sir,” I said, opening the door to face my teammates who would demand to know what Coach wanted to talk to me about. I already had a plan. I’d tell them he was stroking my ego because I’m the best player he’s ever had, which will cause nothing but chaos and verbal jabs, changing the entire direction of the conversation.
1
RILEY
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.
