Meet Your Match (Kings of the Ice)

I woke up bright and early Sunday morning in Tampa with a raging hard-on.

I had so much testosterone flowing through me after winning an away game against one of the best teams in our division, I felt like I could pick a car up over my head and throw it a hundred yards. Add in the fact that I’d now spent forty-eight hours with Maven King invading every inch of my life, and it didn’t surprise me to wake up with morning wood.

My eyes closed on a groan as I palmed myself, and the first thing I thought of was her rubbing her ass against me on the plane in those tight-as-sin jeans. I kicked my sheets off, not even a little ashamed as I gave in and pumped myself to the memory. I saw her in that yellow dress from the gala, pictured her daring eyes and that sweet mouth of hers that loved to sass back when I challenged her.

When I thought of how those honey eyes had widened when I took her by the chin, when I forced her to look at me while I stared at her mouth, I came.

It was a memory I’d store away for life, how her delicate neck had been exposed for me, her pulse thrumming under the surface and begging to be kissed, to be licked, to be bitten. I could replay the way her eyes dilated for years, how all that gold had been swallowed up, her chest rising and falling in a hypnotizing rhythm as she stared up at me and waited for a command.

She liked it, when I took control of her like that, when I shut her up.

Whether she’d ever admit it or not was another story entirely.

After I cleaned up, I ran a hot shower, and my thoughts of Maven turned less sexual and more guilty. Not that I felt guilty for fucking my hand at the thought of her, because I didn’t, but rather that I felt bad for snapping at her before the game, for being the asshole she already thought I was.

If we were going to work together for a month, I needed to make things right.

With a towel around my waist, I padded into my bedroom and grabbed my phone off the nightstand, thumbing out a text to her.

Me: Breakfast?

Maven: Where?

Me: My place.

Maven: You… cook?

Me: Told you I’m full of surprises.

Maven: You better not serve me burnt toast. See you in twenty.

Right on time, she knocked on my door just as I finished mixing up my mom’s famous waffle mix. She was a fucking vision in my doorway, wearing a flowy bohemian dress that cinched her waist and framed her slight breasts in two triangle slips of fabric. The skirt draped down to her ankles, but two slits on each side revealed her toned legs beneath. She offered a tentative, almost nervous smile when I answered, her face void of makeup, and only a simple pair of earrings donning her lobes. Her black hair was pulled up into a poof on top of her head, the edges of it styled in swirling designs that framed her forehead and temples.

“Damn,” I said, and I thought I’d said it to myself, but when the corner of Maven’s lips curled softly, I knew I hadn’t. So, I owned it. “Good morning to me.”

“Shut up,” she said, softly pressing her hand against my chest as she pushed past me and into my condo. I shut the door behind her before making my way into the kitchen, and Maven slid into one of my barstools like she’d been there a hundred times, setting her purse on the island.

“I hope you’re hungry.”

“And I hope you’re not trying to poison me,” she said, eyeing the goop I was mixing up. I sprayed the waffle maker before dumping the mix in and closing the lid.

“Now why would I do that? You’re working wonders for my brand right now.”

“Well, you did look like you were two seconds from killing me last night.”

My throat tightened at that, and once I had flipped the waffle-maker, I leaned a hip against the counter and crossed my arms, turning to face her.

“I’m sorry, Maven.”

She seemed surprised by the genuine apology.

“It’s fine,” she tried, waving me off. “I—”

“It’s not fine. I was a jerk, and you didn’t deserve that. I’m sorry.”

She swallowed. “Oh. Well… thank you.”

“I just… I am a creature of habit and routine, especially when it comes to game days. I can get a little crazy, I guess.”

“I’m sorry, too,” she said. “For making fun of the process. I was curious at first, but then, I admit I found it a bit bizarre.” She chuckled at that. “And then I saw how worked up you were getting and I…”

“You wanted to push my buttons.”

She bit the inside of her lip like she was ashamed. Then, her smile leveled out, eyes searching mine, and I wondered if she was remembering what I’d done after she mouthed off to me.

I wondered what she’d do if I did it again, right now, without all that anger simmering between us. What would her eyes look like if I wrapped my hand around her throat and squeezed just a little bit…

“It’s okay,” I told her. “I like to push yours, too.”

I turned back to tend to her waffle before I got the satisfaction of seeing the look on her face. Once it was on a plate, I dressed it with the sweet cream cheese I’d mixed up, along with the blueberry compote and fresh blueberries and strawberries on top. It looked like a culinary sensation by the time I slid the plate in front of her, and Maven’s eyes lit up.

She eyed me curiously before taking out her phone and snapping a picture of the waffle. She snapped one of me, too, standing at the island with my palms on the counter, smiling at the camera. I had no problem cheesing it up for the public — especially since I wanted my name at the top of everyone’s mind when it came to selecting Rookie of the Year.

Once she had her pictures, she tucked her phone away and forked off the corner of the waffle.

“Make sure you get the berries,” I coached, which made her smile.

Then, she took her first bite, moaning with her eyes closed as I tried not to stare at where her tongue darted out to lick the compote from her lips.

“Hngg,” she said around the mouthful, swallowing before her eyes popped open and locked on mine. “Holy shit, this is good.”

“Always so surprised,” I chastised, but I smiled in victory when I turned away to make my own waffle.

Maven was almost done with hers by the time I sat down next to her with my own, and she rubbed her belly as if it was a beer gut, sinking back in her chair.

“Call me impressed.”

“I thought I was only supposed to call you Maven.”

She stuck her tongue out at me before leaning her chin on her palm, watching as I took my first bite. “So, I take it you and your sister are pretty close. Especially if she loves you enough to do that whole pre-game dance thing every single game.”

“She’s one of my best friends,” I answered honestly, stacking a few berries on my fork. “We were only a year apart in school, so we grew up together with the same friends and the same problems.”

“You ever date any of her friends?”

“Define date.”

Maven snorted. “Pig. Okay, did she ever date any of yours?”

“Never.”

“Never?”

I shook my head. “My friends didn’t want to die, so they stayed away from my little sister.”

“Oh, that’s rich. You can mess around with her friends, but yours are forbidden, huh?”

“Grace is too good for any of my friends.”

Maven smiled a bit at that.

“I take it you’re the oldest of your siblings,” I observed. “You’ve got the first-born attitude, too.”

“Only-born,” she amended, and her face softened a bit. “I was a miracle baby.”

I frowned, swallowing another bite before I asked, “How so?”

“My parents weren’t sure they wanted to have kids when they first got married. They were in AmeriCorps together, which meant they didn’t really have roots set in place. They were so focused on helping other people, they didn’t really think about themselves. But one day, Mom decided she wanted a baby, and Dad has always done whatever Mom wants.” She smiled, making designs with her fork on the leftover compote on her plate. “That’s when they found out Mom had cervical cancer.”

My heart bottomed out in my chest. I wasn’t expecting such a vulnerable admission, not from the woman who had been hard as steel around me.

“They caught it early, thankfully, but the doctors still weren’t sure she’d ever have kids.” Maven looked at me then. “She had two miscarriages before she had me, and not too long after I was born, the cancer came back, and she had to have her uterus removed.”

I balked. I didn’t have a single word to say to that.

“So, it’s just me,” she said, smiling on a little bounce of her shoulders. “Their miracle baby.”

“You three are close.” I said it as a statement, not as a question. “You post a lot of photos with them.”

“I do. Creeper.”

I smirked. “Hey, you left an impression on me at the gala. Not my fault your bestie dropped your full name, and I couldn’t resist the urge to look you up.”

“Damn it, Livia…”

“It surprised me,” I admitted. “What I found when I did.”

She propped her chin on her palm again. “Why? What did you expect?”

“Not a barefoot hippy working in her garden.”

Maven sighed. “I’m not sure I classify as a true hippy,” she said. “Not with how conflicted I am. Part of me feels like throwing caution to the wind and living my life in a tent. The other half of me wants a career and money and a nice, clean place to lay my head at night.”

“Why does it have to be one or the other?”

“It doesn’t, I guess.” She considered. “It’s just odd. I feel like the loudest inner parts of me are at war. I enjoy my job, especially the thought of using it for good. But then I think about what my job is, social media, and I just… laugh at myself. Because it’s ridiculous.”

“It’s not,” I told her. “It’s essentially you being a modern-day journalist. And trust me, the fact that you want to use all those followers you have for any kind of good sets you apart from the norm.”

She offered me a soft smile, and then another longing breath left her chest. “I miss my plant babies, and my bed. I miss my life, honestly.”

“I’m sure it’s hard, walking away from your routine for all of this.” I waved my hand in the air.

“I mean, I’m not sure I have as much of a routine as you do,” she teased. “But, yes. It’s… different.”

“In a bad way?”

“Just… different. I’m not used to such a lavish lifestyle.” She gestured to my condo. “This place costs more money than me or my family have ever seen in our lives. I flew on a private plane to and from Boston in twenty-four hours’ time. I stayed in a plush hotel suite with a balcony overlooking the city and a bathtub big enough to fit five people in it.”

“It is a lot,” I admitted.

“I’m sure you’re used to it.”

“I’ve kind of grown up in it,” I admitted, and for some reason, I felt a little ashamed. “But I guess you already knew that, judging by your comments the first night we met.”

Maven’s eyes flicked between mine, almost like she was sorry. But then, she snuffed a laugh out of her nose. “Please don’t act like you were offended. Or like you don’t enjoy the women who fall all over you or the guys who would lick your skate if you let them.”

“I’ve always wanted to be the best,” I said, taking our plates to the sink. “And not all the women fall all over me,” I added pointedly, glancing at her as I rinsed the dishes.

She rolled her eyes, popping out of her barstool to stand. “So, Vince Cool. What do you do with a day off?”

“I’ll show you,” I said. “But first… what do you want to do?”

“Me?”

I nodded. “You said you’re missing your normal life. What would Maven King be doing on a Sunday morning if she wasn’t babysitting a pro hockey player?”

At that, she folded her arms with her brow slowly arching. “You really want to know?”

“I do.”

She watched me for a long moment before shaking her head. “Alright,” she said, grabbing her purse off the island. “Let’s go, Tanny Boy. Wear something casual that you don’t mind sweating in. Oh,” she added with a wry grin. “And bring your credit card.”

“Am I taking you shopping?”

“Something like that.”