Find Me on the Ice: Hockey Romance (Nighthawks Book 2)

Stepping onto Chloe’s private jet, I tighten the hoodie over my head and face. And I question ever becoming her friend. This is crazy. How in the hell did I let her convince me to fly to New York for a spur-of-the-moment friendscapade? The only reason I gave in is because I can cover my face and head in between destinations, and I will not be leaving my hotel room, except to go to Fireflies for the masquerade-themed opening night. This is, like, rule number one of what not to do if you are trying to stay hidden. But Chloe fricken Dupont managed to break that rule with her charming self.

As we settle into seats, she smiles, her dirty-blonde curls flowing effortlessly down her shoulders.

“Breathe. It will be okay, I promise. We have a ride straight from the plane to our hotel, and I even arranged for us to enter at the back of the hotel for more privacy. Please just try to relax. I have all of the bases covered.”

I haven’t relaxed since the day I died. It is almost too easy to feel comfortable with this. But I deserve this. I deserve to feel free for one night, to let loose and be myself again. I deserve to dance the night away with no care or concerns in the world.

Pushing my anxiety and fear away as best I can, I take Chloe’s hand and lightly squeeze it.

“Okay, I’ll relax and try to have fun.” I laugh when she smiles. “But only for tonight. Tomorrow, I am right back to paranoid Nikki Satinn.”

At some point, between the flight and Chloe showing me outfit inspo ideas based on the clothes she packed, I doze off. Only to be awakened by the wheels touching down in New York.

“Here, babe. Here, put this on.” Chloe hands me a white masquerade mask that is completely covered in gorgeous white feathers. Some of the tips of the feathers are painted gold.

It’s stunning. I know exactly why she picked it. It’s reminiscent of a dove. She knows the meaning behind it, which brings tears to my eyes.

Dove. My fingers brush over the inside of my wrist, the only piece of my past that I’ve kept—the tattoo of a dove, my real last name.

“Chlo.” I smile at her as I caress the feathers of the mask. “Thank you.”

I keep the images at bay that try to surface, but a stab to my gut slips through at the thought of my mother. I miss my parents so much.

Slipping the mask band over my head, I adjust it until the mask is sitting on the bridge of my nose. Then, I throw the hood of my hoodie up, covering my hair and head. Chloe leads the way off the plane and into the car waiting for us. The driver gives me an odd look that I do my best to ignore. I’m guessing it’s not every day that someone gets in with a mask and a hoodie on. Before we left home, Chloe explained that Bill, her driver, would take care of the bags and get them to the hotel for us as well as do anything else we might need.

She shoves her phone in her purse before saying, “I hope you don’t mind, but I brought us outfits for tonight. I know you always insist on doing shit yourself. But that’s dumb.”

She laughs when I shoot her a glare. She has done enough for me in this lifetime tenfold.

“Nik, come on. You deserve to be spoiled, and I have the means to do it. And when I saw this dress, it would have been physically impossible for me to leave the store without it. I think it might have killed me. You were meant to wear it, I swear, especially with that mask.”

It’s hard to be mad at her for doing nice things for me. It’s just hard to explain. Nice gestures don’t always feel selfless or kind. It’s a fine line between happiness and suffocation. If my ex did a nice thing for me, it meant the opposite was inevitable. So, it’s difficult for me to take Chloe’s kindness at face value. He rewired my brain when we were together, convincing me every thought I had was wrong, every feeling I had was crazy. He continued until I was a shell of myself, and now, every day is a struggle for me to decipher what is a genuine thought of my own and what has been manipulated by him.

I’m nodding before I realize it, forcing my brain to think happy thoughts—that Chloe did it for me because she loves me, no ulterior motive.

“Thank you. I mean it, Chlo. Thank you.” My voice is small and weak, but it’s my own.

She throws her arms around me, doing her best to avoid the mask. “I love you, Nik, always.”

“I love you too,” I whisper to her, squeezing her a little harder, not wanting to let go.

I crave contact in any form. A hug, a high five, any skin-to-skin contact I can get feels like taking a deep breath after being underwater for too long.

Don’t even get me started on my sex life. There is none, not a one-night stand, nothing since I became Nikki. It’s embarrassing what turns me on these days. I swear a guy can shake my hand, and my clothes practically disintegrate. At this point, eye contact for longer than a second gets me wet. Which means tonight might be the first time in a long time that a guy touches me more than from the pass of a coffee cup. And I am so fucking excited. I need to wear a mask more often. I can be anyone tonight. I can be fearless, sexy, and free.

“Stop fussing. You look like a damn goddess. I’m almost mad at you for it.” Chloe slaps my hand away to stop me from fidgeting with my hair as we move closer and closer to the entrance of Fireflies.

I audibly gasped when Chloe showed me the dress that she had picked out for me. The gold satin material flows down my body like it was made just for me. It crisscrosses across the back from right above my butt and all the way to the thin straps that run over my shoulders. I opted out of the jewelry she had offered me because they would potentially fall out of my ears or break, and they were probably worth more than my life.

Most of the scars on my body are on full show tonight, not hidden by this small dress. Not many people notice them. Most of them are small enough that they are missed at first glance. The tiny ones scattered up and down my arms are from when he shoved me and I fell into the glass coffee table, including the longer scar that runs right beneath my jaw. A much larger milky-white ridge runs from my mid-forearm to my pinkie from when he threw his large pocketknife at me because I’d spoken out of turn. There are plenty of scars that cannot be seen because of my dress and because a lot of them show no physical mark.

A flash of luscious brown hair flits past my vision as the girl a few feet ahead of us in line is spun by who I imagine is her boyfriend. As she turns, feelings of déjà vu hit me. I know this girl somehow. When she laughs and says something to her friend, it hits me. Laura Young. I wonder if she would recognize me at all. We never had personal conversations outside of the ones that usually arose during short interactions. It’s impossible not to notice the group that is with her. All the guys are easily over six feet, and all of them look like they are straight off of a magazine cover. With masks covering a portion of their faces, a sexy, mysterious aura surrounds them.

My brain quickly puts the pieces together. The one who was spinning Laura must be her fiancé, Alec. Charlotte is with them, too, and has one of the towering men wrapped around her petite frame. She is wearing this stunning navy-blue dress that clings to her every curve. And then they disappear into the darkened club, bright flashing lights outlining their bodies before the door shuts behind them.

After a few more minutes, we are next to enter. The bouncer checks our IDs.

Thank you, Chloe, for the best fake only a lot of money can buy.

“Have fun.” The bouncer smiles at Chloe and me as we enter.

Lights strobe and flash all around us as our ears adjust to the loud music. The dance floor is a rainbow of different-colored masks. This Fireflies is almost identical to the one back home—circular bar in the center of the room, touch-reactive flooring, the whole works. I went one time with Chloe, but my anxiety was too much. I had a panic attack in the restroom and told her I would never go back there.

Without meaning to, Chloe and I wander near Laura’s group. Spinning to face Chloe, I’m about to ask if she wants to get a drink when I’m bumped forward.

“I’m so sorry!” Laura’s words slur together as she catches herself on my arms. Her eyes connect with mine for a brief second. Laura’s head tilts a bit to the side, like she recognizes my eyes, but can’t place them.

I don’t blame her. At work, I am usually in laid-back clothes with minimal makeup on. And I don’t usually have a mask that covers half of my face. She continues to stare at me, no shame in the fact that if I didn’t know her, she would be locked down in a stare-off with a stranger.

Something compels her to look at my wrist, and I know what she’s looking for—the dove. I’m surprised she remembered it. I never go out of my way to point it out, fearing that, from that one tiny tattoo, he will somehow find me. When her gaze latches on to it, I swear her eyes actually light up like a light bulb. She shrieks and throws her arms around me, clearly recognizing me. A wave of alcohol burns my nose.

How in the hell is she already this drunk? They just got inside.

I laugh to myself.

“Nikki! Hi. It’s Laura. I don’t know if you remember me. I used to go into your coffee shop with Jack all the time when I lived in Duluth.” Her words slur slightly.

Laughing in my mind, I smile as I feel Chloe’s arm brush against mine. She’s being the overprotective friend that she is, which instantly spreads warmth through my entire chest.

“Of course I remember you, Laura!” I do my best to shout over the music. “I couldn’t forget you or Jack’s cute little face if I tried.”

I laugh, and she cheeses. A flush sweeps over my body out of nowhere, and the gentlest tingle dances across the back of my neck.

Laura pulls my focus back to her. “Oh good! I was worried. I thought I was the only one. Oh my God, I love your hair.”

She laughs, and I question if she wanted to say all of that out loud.

“Thank you. I did that,” Chloe interrupts and smiles.

My hair has been pink the entire time I have known Laura, but I don’t know what else to do but smile. In my element, I could talk her ear off for hours, but not here, wearing a gorgeous dress in a club.

A deep voice cuts through the music. “Lu!” Alec, her fiancé, seems to part the crowd of people as he approaches.

And he is not alone.

I look away, putting my attention back on Laura, who is already wrapping her arms around Alec’s waist. He lifts her chin up and kisses her as if no one else were in the room. That tingling sensation burns the back of my neck again right before I find the breathtaking source. Pools of the deepest blue are locked dead on me, studying me, memorizing me. His face is hidden by a mask of golden feathers, the tips painted white. My seemingly perfect match for tonight.

The few people between us seem to slowly fall away as he makes his way over, his eyes staying glued on me. I’m unable to look away. Like the second he looked into my eyes, we froze, never to melt again.

When I begin to think this is where I will stay forever, Laura greets him, pulling me out of my stupor. “Cam, this is—”

“Ahh, hold on!” I cut her off as a wave of confidence washes over me, and she turns to me, looking almost offended. I lean into her ear. “Laura, do one thing for me. Super please, don’t tell him my name,” I say.

If I’m going to live tonight how I said I would, then let’s keep this going. I am not Morgan. I am not Nikki. I have no name, no rules, no boundaries. As long as this mask is on, I am free to just be. Although I don’t know if free is the right word because I do something that I would never do, not as Morgan and definitely not as Nikki. I am possessed—that’s the only explanation.

Pushing my shoulders down, I walk up to this blue-eyed sex god, getting a full look at him for the first time. Black button-up, rolled cuffs, with black tattoos wrapping around his left forearm and scattered tattoos on his right. A tattoo of a raven stands out among the rest, and I remember it. He came to my coffee shop before. I remember thinking how strange the tattoo was. The raven is missing an eye and a chunk of the feathers on its head. And all around the bird is smoke, like it’s emerging through it. It’s quite eerily beautiful. Slim-fitting black jeans outline his muscled legs.

He must be one of the hockey players.

Blue Eyes licks his lips before glancing at my parted ones. The air between us is thick, something I’ve never felt before, especially with a stranger. I think if we touched, we might electrocute this entire room. Although it could be from the fact that by his mere eye contact, I’m ready to go fuck him in the restroom.

He stays completely still, stalking my every move, every breath, every blink, until I’m on my tiptoes in these heels, my hands on his chest, my lips pressed against his ear, and a voice I recognize as my own says, “Dance with me.”

My heart thrashes in my chest, running off of the high of my confidence.

What the fuck has gotten into me? I laugh to myself. I just walked up to the hottest man I’ve ever seen in my entire life and told him to dance with me, seemingly fearless.

Firm, rough hands fly to my waist, and Blue Eyes shifts his head, bending down slightly. His warm lips graze my jaw, moving up, and then he flicks his tongue against my earlobe. Then, the deepest, smoothest voice I’ve ever heard falls from his full lips. “Don’t start something you can’t finish, Little Dove.”

Little Dove.

Squeezing my thighs together, I try to come up with something to say, something to knock him off his high horse. He has no idea what I can and can’t fucking handle.

But I can’t get a single word out before his hands slide lower on my back, bordering on the top of my ass, and he says, “Go find a good, nice boy to dance with, Little Dove. This is not the path you want to take.”

A growl of anger forms in my throat, but it doesn’t reach him because of the booming music. His hands start to slide off of me, which irritates me even more.

A good, nice boy. A good, nice boy!

There are two things in this world that piss me off more than anything else. One, being told what to do. And two, being underestimated.

I unclench my hands from his shirt, not knowing that I was squeezing so tight that my knuckles turned white. And I do something that he is definitely not expecting. Sliding my hands around his stubbly jaw, I bring his lips down hard onto mine. He remains still for only a second, and then, like a volcano, he erupts. His callous hands grab my waist, squeezing so hard that my back arches, pushing my chest into him. Our breaths are fast, uneven. His tongue parts my lips, tasting me, savoring me. I gasp as he bites down on my lip, and a small moan rumbles from my mouth into his. I kiss him like it’s the last kiss I’ll ever have, like my last breath will be taken between his lips.

His fingertips dig into me, and I can feel my panties dampen. He wants this. He wants me. And now, I’m going to give him exactly what he said he wanted. Sliding my hands down his chest, my lips still melded with his, I push off of him, watching the hooded almost-black eyes look at me in a way no one ever has. Like I’m claimed. Like I’m his. Normally, that would terrify me, remind me of Trey. But this look is so much different. Blue Eyes is looking at me with passion. Trey looked at me with hate. He never wanted to love me. He wanted to own me and abuse me.

I smirk. “See you later, Blue Eyes. I’d better go find me a good, nice boy to dance with.”

Spinning, I grab Chloe’s hand before meeting her wide eyes, her jaw on the floor.

She pinches herself. “Holy shit, that wasn’t a dream. We are totally doing this every weekend.”

I scoff, “No, absolutely not.”