On Thin Ice (A Dallas Demons Hockey Romance) Read online

  Table of Contents

  ON THIN ICE

  Acknowledgements

  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

  Epilogue

  ON THIN ICE

  A Dallas Demons Hockey Romance

  AVEN ELLIS

  SOUL MATE PUBLISHING

  New York

  ON THIN ICE

  Copyright©2016

  AVEN ELLIS

  Cover Design by Fiona Jayde

  This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, business establishments, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the publisher. The only exception is brief quotations in printed reviews.

  The scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book via the Internet or via any other means without the permission of the publisher is illegal and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized electronic editions, and do not participate in or encourage electronic piracy of copyrighted materials.

  Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.

  Published in the United States of America by

  Soul Mate Publishing

  P.O. Box 24

  Macedon, New York, 14502

  ISBN: 978-1-68291-272-0

  www.SoulMatePublishing.com

  The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.

  For Jo, Kelly, and Maryline

  Jo-Thank you for always giving me laughter

  from across the pond.

  Kelly-Thank you for always being

  my cheerleader.

  Maryline-Thank you for inspiring

  Holly’s love of Harry Potter.

  Acknowledgements

  Thank you to Deborah Gilbert at Soul Mate Publishing for giving me another opportunity to write another Dallas Demons hockey book. This series doesn’t happen without your belief in me and my way of telling a story.

  Thank you to CeCe Carroll for your masterful copy editing and making my book the best it can be.

  Thank you to my Beta Baes. Thank you for always giving me what I need, and not just with the writing process. Thank you for reassurance, for reading, for being a part of my life every day. None of these books happen with you.

  To Alexandra, my assistant. You put up with me on a daily basis and I love you for it. Thank you for your guiding hand, your voice of reason, and your belief in me. Love you.

  To all my animal consults for this book-thank you for bringing the sugar kitties to life. Thank you to these members of the Feline Diabetes Message Board: Lisa and Spot, Vyktor’s Mum and Vyktor, Bobbie and Bubba, Elizabeth and Bertie, Dyana and J.D., and BJM and Gracie. All of you were patient, kind, and so good about sharing your wisdom and personal stories. I’m grateful for each and every one of you.

  To all my Lovelies-thank you for your endless support and cheerleading. This journey doesn’t happen without all of you.

  Amanda and Claudia-Your love, friendship and support is always a given. I love you so much!

  Lauren Linwood-thank you as always for reading my words and helping fine-tune the book.

  Julie Laszczak , Kirstin Albert, and Kierstin Veldkamp-thank you for your contact lens stories.

  To my Twinnie, Holly Martin- Thank you for always reading my work, offering suggestions, helping me be a better author. But it is your friendship I value about all else. I love you.

  Tanya Shelton, thank you for reading every word I’ve ever written. Your belief in me has been there from the first page you read. I’m so blessed to have you in my life!

  Thank you to Jennifer and Mary, who run the Aven Ellis reader group on Facebook (Kate, Skates, and Coffee Cakes.) You both are such amazing women with a passion for books. I love you ladies so much!

  And thank you to all my readers. None of this happens without your support. I’m truly blessed.

  Chapter 1

  The Game Plan for December 31st

  √Come up with resolutions for the New Year.

  √Finish chapter one of my debut novel.

  Put on a happy face and pretend I’m excited to go to the Dallas Demons New Year’s Eve party tonight.

  Get dressed and try to project confidence in an evening gown while pretending I don’t care I’m surrounded by the players’ wives and girlfriends who are practically supermodels.

  Refrain from staring at Matt Rhinelander like a lovesick tween from a Disney Channel show from across the room.

  I furrow my brow as I stare at the list written in my Things To Do Today! planner. I absently tap a gold pen against my lips, knowing I can’t place the final checks next to the last three items on my list. I toss the planner aside and anxiously twist my long brown hair into a knot, securing it at the nape of my neck by shoving the pen in it.

  Uggggggggggggggggh.

  It’s already six o’clock.

  And I’m still sitting on my bed with my computer on my lap.

  I haven’t even showered yet.

  And I have to say, my Harry Potter Ravenclaw T-shirt and yoga pants are way more comfortable than the cocktail dress hanging on the back of my door.

  I would be much happier writing for Calla, the fairy heroine in my manuscript, than standing awkwardly in the corner of a party, trying to act like I belong. I’d rather stay here in my brother’s guest bedroom in Dallas than go to a New Year’s Eve shindig in ritzy Highland Park.

  Besides, if I weren’t Holly Johansson, little sister of Demons superstar Nate Johansson, I wouldn’t even be invited tonight. Not that I want to be. I’m not into parties. Or getting drunk.

  Since graduating from Northwestern this past month, I’m focused solely on my post-graduate life.

  Which means finding gainful employment.

  Yes, I am working—and working hard—at writing my debut fantasy novel, but since that won’t even cover a ketchup packet at a fast-food restaurant, I need to get a day job.

  And since Dallas rent is more than I can afford, I’ll move back home with my parents in Minnesota after the holidays.

  I sigh. So far my website, which I designed to offer edit
ing and proofreading services, has gathered fewer clicks than I care to think about. I’ve already inquired at the local library in my hometown, and they don’t need anyone. And I’ve applied for entry-level jobs in all areas of communication in Dallas, Minneapolis, St. Paul, and Chicago. I’ve had some interviews. But no offers.

  But the truth is, all I want to do is write novels. I know becoming an author is a marathon, not a sprint. Even if it’s my dream, I need a day job to earn money now and stick to squirreling away whatever free time I have for writing.

  I glance down at what I’ve written:

  Calla knew she shouldn’t venture across to the North Woods. That land was beyond Flagstone Forest. Fairies were feared there. Normally Calla would never dream of stepping over the line, but the towering redwood trees and waterfalls were so beautiful, and for some reason she couldn’t explain, she was drawn to enter it this December evening.

  North Woods inhabitants considered fairies evil, but despite knowing the dangers, Calla flew across the boundary as if no one was there. She soared between the redwoods, hiding between leafy branches, admiring the beauty of the foreign land below her. She would simply take in the view, that was all. See if danger truly lurked there as her older brother often lectured. But she needed to experience this for herself. She would observe quietly from high above, then leave. Nobody would notice she had been there.

  That was when she saw him.

  “Holly?”

  I blink as I hear Kenley say my name, followed by a rap on the door.

  I quickly close my laptop. “Come in.”

  My brother’s girlfriend enters, already dressed in a gorgeous black evening gown. She’s wearing a maxi dress, floor-length with spaghetti-straps, but embellished for formal wear with a sexy V-neck mesh insert. Her blond hair is long and flowing, her makeup soft and subtle.

  As always, Kenley is stunning.

  “Are you going to get dressed?” Kenley asks. “We’re going early so I can supervise set up of the dessert table.”

  Kenley has a business called Confection Consultations, where she helps plan desserts for parties. She coordinated the display for tonight, so of course, she has to be there early.

  But maybe this can be my out, I think hopefully.

  “You can go ahead without me,” I say. “Obviously I’m not in New Year’s Eve form yet.”

  Kenley cocks an eyebrow. “You promise you’ll show up later?”

  Damn it.

  “Uh,” I say, testing the waters. “I’m not a big party person. It’s the writer-recluse personality in me. And I have so much work I want to get done before I have a full-time job. It really makes more sense for me to stay home and work.”

  Kenley studies me. “You know my mother will not allow you to skip out on this.”

  Kenley’s mother is CiCi Hunter, who happens to be dating the owner of the Dallas Demons, Peter Deveraux. She is, in essence, the co-host of this holiday bash, an annual event thrown for the entire Demons organization.

  There is no way CiCi would forgive me if I didn’t attend.

  I push the laptop aside and stand up. “Okay. But this party only. I’m not going to the party at Harrison Flynn’s afterward,” I declare, referring to the after party being hosted by the Demons’ captain.

  “I know you don’t like parties, and you’d rather be in your writing world,” Kenley says. “But sometimes it’s good to do something different. One night won’t throw you off your timetable, I promise. You can talk to me all night. And Lexi,” she adds, referring to her best friend who is dating the Dallas Demons’ producer. “You won’t be standing in a corner by yourself.”

  My heart fills with gratitude for Kenley. I misjudged her in the beginning, fearing she was dating Nate for all the wrong reasons. I swallow down the shame I feel for treating her poorly. She is good for Nate, and I have to admit, she’s been good for me, too.

  “How did I get so lucky that Nate fell for you?” I ask.

  Kenley begins to blush. “Oh, stop it.”

  “She’s telling the truth,” Nate says, grinning at us from the doorway and looking sharp in a black tuxedo suit. “Nobody is luckier than me.”

  I see the gaze exchanged between Nate and Kenley and I have no doubts of how much they love each other.

  I clear my throat. “Okay, I’ll get ready, but only for this party. Nothing more.”

  Nate smiles at me, his dark-brown eyes dancing. “I wouldn’t ask for more. It’s a miracle Kenley is prying you away from your laptop as it is.”

  I grab a throw pillow off the bed and lob it at him. “Shut up.”

  He laughs and catches the pillow mid-air, like his famous in-flight puck grabs on the ice.

  “Get ready,” Nate says, tossing the pillow back on the bed. “Don’t make me give you penalty minutes for being late. Earn enough and I’ll force you to go to Flynn’s party.”

  “Okay, okay,” I say, laughing. “I’ll get ready.”

  “I’ll leave my car keys on the countertop for you,” Kenley says, “along with the invitation. Directions are inside.”

  “Thank you,” I say.

  “You’re welcome,” she replies. “We’ll see you there.”

  “Right?” Nate adds, eyeing me.

  “Yes, yes, I’ll be there,” I reassure him.

  After they leave, I get up off the bed, and Nate’s dog Marabou comes bounding into my room, his puppy tail wagging in excitement.

  “I know, I’d rather stay at home and play with you,” I say, bending down and stroking his head with affection.

  Because it’s true. I’m much better with animals and books than I am with people.

  I close the door to my room, and my New Year’s Eve gown is hanging on the back of the hook, a reminder that I can’t escape tonight.

  I sigh. At times like this, I wish I were normal. That I didn’t suffer from social anxiety in group situations. Nobody knows this secret. Not even Nate. He thinks it’s a writer thing, and that I’m shy, but it’s more than that.

  In reality, I feel inadequate in party settings. Like I’m being judged. Like people know I’m only there because of Nate. I know they are all wondering how super-cool Nate Johansson has such a socially inept sister. I’m the picture in the Sesame Street bit where one of these things is not like the others.

  The setting tonight will be worse than usual. Surrounded by women who are not only gorgeous—some of them actual models—but also supremely confident. Confident in being social, letting loose, and having fun at a party. In being able to date hockey players and interact in a high-profile scene. While the mere idea of being at this party sends me into a mild panic. I’ll wait to hit full-blown panic until I get there. It’ll be something to look forward to. I smile. Okay, despite having crippling social anxiety, I at least can joke about it, even if it’s only with myself.

  Once I get to the party, though, the anxiety will kick in, along with the physical symptoms. I’ll start sweating. Oh, this ought to be lovely in an evening gown. Good thing I use clinical deodorant on nights like these. Nervousness will overcome me. I’ll shake. As soon as that symptom pops up, I’ll make sure I put down any drink I’m holding.

  But the best is when my eye starts twitching and I look like my contact is stuck—entirely possible in my ongoing war with my contact lenses—and I take on a similarity to a certain cartoon character who is a sailor man.

  Ugh.

  I hold up the dress and carefully remove the plastic. Kenley helped me pick out the one-shouldered silver gown by Laundry, and I have to admit it’s gorgeous. It is made of silver sequins, embroidered in an art-deco-inspired pattern, with a long straight skirt and slit up the side.

  I study the dress, wishing it could give me some kind of superpower to be normal at the party. But while I could write this superpow
er into a book, it’s not going to happen in reality, so I hang the dress back up and head into the guest bathroom to get ready.

  I turn on the hot water to the shower to let it warm up. While I wait, I remove my tortoiseshell glasses and place them on the countertop, knowing tonight calls for contacts. Maybe for once they’ll cooperate and I’ll be able to get them in without dropping one down the drain.

  I quickly shower and wash my hair before stepping out into the now steam-filled bathroom. I wrap two towels around me, one for my hair to help soak up the water and keep the damp strands from my face and the other around my body. I proceed to moisturize, deodorize, and blow out my long, brown hair with a big round brush. Once I’m primed, I zip myself into the dress.

  Next step: contacts.

  The one thing I’m in a love-hate relationship with. I wear my glasses all the time—hardly ever choosing these thin torture devices—but I feel like this dress calls for the contacts.

  If I can successfully get them in, that is.

  I mean, really, how hard can this be? In addition to social anxiety, I’m dealt the card of being utterly inept when putting contacts in.

  Life is cruel.

  I know I’m being dramatic, but I’m a writer. I think it’s in the writer’s handbook. The license to be dramatic.

  I open the case. I pick one up and put it in my right eye, praying it doesn’t slide off into the corner. I blink a few times and holy shit, it’s in! I’ve successfully put in a contact before an event!

  “Okay, down to the left eye,” I say to myself. I tip my finger into the left contact holder and go to lift it, and rip! It catches on my fingernail and tears in half.

  “Damn it!” I yell. “Damn it, why? Why can’t I do this?”

  Marabou barks in response. I’m lucky he can’t speak or he’d tell Nate I’m a loon who talks to herself.

  I focus on my reflection in the mirror. My vision in my right eye is perfect, the left is completely blurred. So much for thinking I could skate by with one contact in. Too bad I’m out of replacements.