Dancing On Ice: One-Night Stand With The Hockey Captain

Anne-Marie Potter's P.O.V

Tonight, I'm getting wasted and laid. It's the perfect, perfect night to live like it's my last. Living carefully, being the good girl, hasn't taken me any further in life; in fact, it's set me back several years.

Completed my third year in college and had to take a gap year because my family is always in the deepest of messes-my mom's failing health, creditors on our backs, a leaking and caving roof, or counting down to when we'll be homeless again. One gap year spiraled into two, and still counting. Got a job at a logistics company to support my family. But, guess who has just been fired from her decent front-desk role?

Me.

Because I refused to suck that bald MF's d*** like the other girls have been doing. He's been harassing me for months!

As I pack my cheap office essentials in a box, my eyes travel to my office manager, Mr. Dawson, seated at his desk at the head of the office hall, his gigantic feet out and crossed on a small ottoman under his table, and filing his filthy fingernails as if he's done any job for today. Fat lazy thing!

According to him, I got fired because I defaulted on a task that cost him a position he's been vying for. Maybe. But he's had it out for me since I started turning down his advances.

"You were so good at your job... why did he get you fired?" Mabel, my sweet colleague, murmurs, sadly helping me retrieve things that I've lent to colleagues.

I'm always giving out favors like a fool. Always the nice girl. It ends today.

"Anne, you know, he could get you promoted real fast if you just go clubbing with him..." Rachael from PR says as she returns my mug. She's been hoarding it for months. And in two months, she went from a zero-experience office assistant to a permanent role in PR, while I've been at the front desk for twelve months. I've also had to take on her office assistant role.

I flash her a stare and force a loathing smile.

"I'm just saying." She shrugs, slipping my mug into my box.

"I'd rather get hit by a bus than hang out with that ugly piece of..."

"Anne?" Mabel gasps under her breath, gripping my arm.

Oops! I said that out loud.

Baldie lifts his eyes to mine, indignation flashing in them, and everyone slowly turns their eyes to me.

"Anne-Marie Potter?" He grunts, his hoarse voice scraping my ears wrong as he sits up. " Ugly piece of what? What were you going to say?"

Rolling my eyes, I bite my inner cheek and drop my eyes, putting the last piece of my belongings into my box-a flash card. I stare at it, reading what it says:

'Let's work hard, make enough money, and finish up college!'

I wrote that 2 years ago.

I worked hard. So freaking hard. Pulled all-nighters and overtimes.

I made some money, but it was gone before it even reached my account. And that fat pig over there kept cutting my pay, hoping I'd eventually give in to his pleas to be one of his playthings because his father owns the company.

"Ugly piece of shit," I utter without lifting my head.

Muffled gasps echo through the work hall-a sound that tells me I'm digging my own grave. But I'm done giving a fu–.

"You're going to get into trouble now, Anne-Marie..." Rachael sings in her irritating Bimbo voice.

"Actually, I won't," I say and yank my box off my desk, meeting her eyes. "I don't work for that harasser anymore. The attention is all yours now. I hope you suck his d*** till he runs dry, so you can get all the promotion you want."

Her eyes widen with horror, her face turning ashen.

I smirk in triumph and brush past her, nudging her shoulder so hard that she staggers to the floor, almost landing flat on her back. Silly thing left all the work for me to do, and gets paid for doing nothing in her air-conditioned office.

Mr. Dawson springs to his feet, his cold, unforgiving gaze on me, promising severe punishment.

Keeping my head high, eyes locked on the fat baldie's eyes, I march past colleagues who have walked all over me for months, turning me into their slave because I always took on extra work, hoping to be compensated. All I got from them were stupid lunch coupons and vouchers that couldn't even get me a nice skirt.

And the idiot who's supposed to pay me hourly kept withholding my pay, sending me texts and atrociously vulgar images of himself, bugging me to come over to his place while offering to pay me double or triple what I was owed.

"Don't think because you no longer work for me, you're going scot-free!" He barks, marching toward me with his potbelly, already sweating at 10:00 a.m.

My jaw ticks.

I slide my left hand around my box, hugging it against my chest. Without thinking, I pick up my breakfast bowl of oats and fling it in his face. The lid flies off first, followed by the warm, soggy oatmeal, plastering all over his face like vomit.

He freezes, hands in the air.

I let the bowl drop noisily, drowning the horrified noises of everyone behind me.

"That's what you get for being such an awful boss and a terrible human being!"

He lunges for me. But I back away quickly, kicking him hard on his shin. He splutters a foul word, bending over so clumsily to touch his leg.

"You know what?" I utter, holding my box with both hands. "I'm going to go fu– some random stranger at the club for free. He's going to be freaking hot, not some awful, sweaty, unfit..." I stop myself.

Blinded by oats, he lifts his head to me. I stifle a laugh at how terrible he looks. "I'm going to ruin your life, Anne-Marie."

"Not before I ruin yours... I could send those naked pictures of you to the police and accuse you of sexual harassment. Or I could post them online."

His jaw falls to the ground.

Yes. I kept receipts. It didn't matter that he sent some as view-once.

"Oh," I turn over my shoulder, finding Rachael staring at me with hatred. "You were in one of the pictures."

She drops her head quickly.

"And you, too, Mabel."

Mabel goes white, turning away in shame.

In his bid to get me jealous, the fool ended up exposing everyone. Then I turn my eyes back to Mr. Dawson. "If you wanted a chance with me, being nice instead of overworking, underpaying, and harassing me would have been a start. Then, going to the gym would have increased your chances. Being COMPETENT would have moved you up the ladder. I'm actually into smart and hot men. See you never, d***head!"

I kick the bowl at his shin and storm off.

What's so great about d***s? I'm going to get one for myself tonight to celebrate getting the heck out of this hellhole.

Wait.

I stop in my tracks and turn around, marching back into the office. Everyone freezes as soon as I enter, including Mr. Dawson with his oatface.

"Pay me all that you owe me, or I'll post those pictures as soon as I'm out of this building. I swear to you!"

He chokes, standing upright.

"Anne-Marie?!" Mabel gasps.

I scoff with mockery, turning to her. "You might want to give him a massage for moral support. I need my money as soon as possible... I've actually scheduled the post for six p.m. Did that as soon as he fired me." I confess with a shrug and turn away, heading out for good.

On the bus, determined as ever, I take my phone out and text my girlfriend.

Me: {Omw to your place. Just got fired.}

I can't deal with my sister and mom right now. They'll only quench this fire burning in my chest by reminding me of all the problems and debts we're in. I'd rather be high and dancing. It's Friday anyway.

My phone vibrates.

Beatrice: {Bright side: You don't have to see your horrible boss again. But what do you want? Group tears or alcohol?}

Smiling, I text back: {Both. And I might be down for something else.}

Beatrice: {What?}

Twisting my mouth and taking a deep breath, I type my response before I change my mind: {Starts with a D and ends with a K.}

I can tell she's losing her mind.

Pushing my fringe out of my face, I turn my phone face down and look out the window, awaiting her response. My phone buzzes, and I quickly check it.

It's a picture. Warmth spreads to my cheeks as I stare at an outfit she's laid out on her bed-tiny denim shorts, a sheer shimmery silver crop top, and a pair of slutty red-bottom heels. Another message is added to our chat.

Beatrice: {We're getting fu–ed tonight!}

"We are."

Anne-Marie's P.O.V

I've only been to the club once-my freshman year in college. Not my kind of place, but tonight is for letting loose and forgetting all about my miserable life for once.

Trap music booms from the ceiling, walls, everywhere. Sweaty bodies gyrate hard against each other. Bright red and white laser lights illuminate the entire club, adding to the madness and chaos as people party and drink to oblivion.

I'm not missing out either. In our private VIP booth, which I paid for because Baldie the harasser sent me a whopping twenty-five grand to shut me up-half of what I should have earned in a year-I let out a throat-shaking scream, clapping with liquid courage and temporary excitement as a shirtless, oiled man hops on our table.

Beatrice and Diana, my childhood friends, scream their lungs out to cheer. My cheeks catch fire as he comes for me, sliding and faking a thrust with his thighs spread wide, his gaze locked on mine.

"How do you wanna be pleased tonight, Baby?" He purrs, dragging his eyes so lustfully over my body. My sheer, thin-strapped top is to blame. Despite being already tipsy, I shake my head, screaming, backing away, and hoping he doesn't touch me.

"Go, Anne! Go, Anne! Go, Anne-Marie!" My girls keep cheering and laughing.

I spring off the cushion with a start, bolting in embarrassment. I sway in my steps, but I push my hair out of my face and look over my shoulder at him. He flashes a wink at me before gliding onto Diana's lap.

"Good for you, girl!" I yell, clapping when she starts to touch his chest and holler.

I could never. But I want to. I want to be reckless for one night. My eyes flick to the energetic dance floor. That's where I want to be.

"Girl, how are you going to get laid tonight if you run away?" Beatrice teases, topping a shot glass.

Laughing, I move back to the table and snatch her drink before she can. I down it in one go, then offer the empty glass to her, shaking my head as I stick my tongue out. "More."

"You're getting wasted before you find yourself a d***?"

"Yup!" I answer, watching her fill my glass.

She opens her mouth to speak, but stops, her eyes frozen on whatever she's looking at behind me. I start to turn my head-

"Don't look now," she says through gritted teeth and withdraws the bottle of spirit. I remain still, eyes darting from side to side as my skin tingles. "Four. Freaking. Hot. Men just walked in. They're checking you out. All of them."

I flick a brow, taking my time to move the glass to my lips, savoring the terrible and spicy taste of my drink. And slowly, I look over my shoulder.

The world slows for a moment.

Four 'freaking' gorgeous young men-tall, buff, in designer varsity jackets, leather, jeans, sneakers, boots-walk past like untouchable gods gracing the lands of mere mortals.

I know athletes when I see 'em.

Ladies ogle. But one by one, they meet my gaze. The first flashes a pearly smirk. The second shifts his eyes from my butt and meets my eyes with a toe-curling wink before walking by. The third one just glances, then stares at Beatrice and Diana, and is on his way.

The fourth...

He seems to pass in slow motion, glossy brown hair dangling over his face, and icy blue eyes that trap the air in my lungs. His jaw is sharp and carved to excellence. He blinks, dropping his eyes to my top before pursing his lips. His features morph into amusement. Warmth buds in my stomach. I quickly avert my gaze to catch my breath.

"That's your d***!" Beatrice declares immediately, loud and clear.

My eyes widen in shock. I whip around, hoping they didn't hear. Thankfully, the music is awfully loud, and they're making their way to the bar already.

Maybe this was a crazy idea.

Pulse strumming, I rush to sit beside her, finding something sweet on the table to drown the concentrated taste of my drink.

"Did you see the way he looked at you?" Beatrice laughs, topping her glass.

"They all looked at us." I deflect even as my eyes flick up to see if they're still staring. They're not. They're all my type of men. All of them. It can be any one of them, or none at all. Maybe I just need to keep searching.

A phone lights up on the table. My eyes drop to it to see that it's mine. My older sister is calling.

Mary, not tonight, please. Not tonight.

I stare at it until it stops ringing. Seconds later, the screen lights up again as a text comes in. I snatch it up from the table, catching the message before the screen goes off.

Mom: {Where are you? When are you coming home?}

I quickly type a response: {Busy at work. Sleeping over at Bea's. I luv u.}

Then I lock my phone, ready to keep it sealed in my purse for the rest of the night. Just before I toss it into my purse, it vibrates again. But the DJ has just changed the song.

2 On by Tinashe blasts ear-splittingly out of the speakers.

Already shaking, my eyes pop out of their sockets as I meet Beatrice's widened gaze. This is one of my jams. She knows. The club erupts in a deafening roar.

"Anne-Marieeeeeee!!!!!" Diana echoes my name like a prayer, flying off the sofa as her pleasure-buddy finishes his service.

The music drowns everything.

I drop my phone in my purse and seal it shut, adrenaline pumping raw in my veins. I slowly rise, exhaling and laughing with my girls. My eyes shift to the packed dance floor; my head whirs, wishing it were the ice rink, which I love so much, where I'd be figure skating, spinning, and dancing freely with the wind. I hurt my ligament before I took my gap year, so I haven't even skated in over two years.

"Go, Marie! Go, Marie! Go, Marie!" Both of them begin chanting, clapping, and puffing their shoulders in sync with the beats.

Well... this dance floor's gonna have to contain me.

My shoulders start to rise, shift, sway. I snap my fingers above my head and turn, my long curly ginger hair bouncing.

"Let's go!!!" Beatrice springs up, clapping in my face. She starts to wriggle her chest, snapping her fingers, too.

A giggle bursts out of me. I lean over the table, grab a bottle, and pour alcohol down my throat. I'm getting so wasted, they'd have to drag my body out of this club. Or maybe out of a man's bed.

I use the back of my palm to dab my mouth, then I drop the bottle. But as I lift my eyes, sharp blue eyes capture my entire soul with a grip so electrifying, setting my body ablaze.

Slowly, I start to sway my hips, keeping my eyes glued to his.

Oh, to be on skates. I'd have done a spin right into his heart. But these freaking expensive Louboutins would have to do. My fingers slide into my hair, pushing it up as I go down in a slow squat. From across our booth, he moves his glass of whiskey to his lips, sipping without shifting those dangerous icy eyes even an inch.

Diana grabs my hands, dragging me out of the booth. We wriggle to the dance floor, joining the sweaty bodies and colliding fragrances.

Big boy, you're going to have to come for me.

My head swims as the alcohol sinks into my system, taking over. Head turning from left to right, I slide my heels against the floor, faking a slow skate, while body-rolling with Diana, fully aware that his eyes are still on me.

Diana starts to go down, twerking, eyes on me. And she mouths, "He's staring hard."

I nod.

And soon, I go down with her. Same moves, but much slower.

Diana takes my hand as we sync in movements, then she winks at me-a sign that I've shot and hit my target. She backs away slowly, holding my fingertips until her fingers slip off, and she shifts into the crowd. My eyes stay on her.

Now alone, I ruffle my hair, while pumping my chest, and rolling my hips. I mouth the lyrics of the song, counting down in my head till he gets to me.

"I love to get 2 on..."

A heat so overwhelming cocoons me suddenly. My pulse kicks hard. I drag in a deep breath, shutting my eyes as his right arm bands around my waist from behind, fingers brushing my exposed skin. Citrus, cedar, sandalwood, mixed with winter air, fill my senses. Without warning, he shifts close, pressing me against his hard chest.

Nervous, my chest swells, yet I don't stop moving to the beat, brushing my butt against him-denim against denim. His cold lips find my right ear, and I dissolve into his chest.

"You called..." His deep voice hits me right, sending the fire in my stomach low. "I'm right here, Ma'am."

Anne-Marie's P.O.V

I've never done anything like this before. Never lived so recklessly and free from worry in my life. But that's exactly what I'm doing right now: rocking my hips and grinding on the hottie behind me. He grips my hips with both hands as I bend over, keeping me close and aware of what I'm doing to him. Perspiration pricks my skin. My fingers dig into my hair, raising the mass of ginger curls. His fingers slide up my body to pull me back up, and heat licks down my spine.

With a soft sigh, I lean into him again and start to body roll. He bands my stomach with both of his palms and rolls against me, bumping and syncing with my groove. His breath is hot on my right ear before I feel his lips close on it. My lips part to drag in a breath. Then his left hand slides lower to where my tiny shorts end, cold fingers brushing my skin.

Hungry for more heat, I turn around, and our eyes meet again. Though drunk, I see him clearly. His eyes are fierce and passionate; they drop to my sheer top that sticks to my body like skin; only nipple covers conceal me. His lips curve into a sinful smile as he wraps his strong arms possessively around my waist, pulling me into his warmth.

My head tips upward so I can measure his gaze. I throw my arms around his neck and bring my parted lips before his, exhaling in his face.

"What do you want tonight?" He breathes with a smile, still swaying with me.

Lashes fluttering, I inhale whiskey and whisper, "You."

"I'm right here."

I press my softness against his chest, letting the heat consume me from within. And I utter words I never thought I'd say in my life: "I want you... inside of me..."

He lets out a tiny laugh, finally brushing my lips with his. "At your service, Ma'am."

I kiss him. My bottom lip stays stuck between his in a slow, slippery slide. I close my eyes, locking my arms tight behind his neck as I move my knees too close. My entire body sizzles with burning flames. He snatches my mouth, kissing back softly, ridding me of all my gloss and inhibitions.

Everything is forgotten.

Exactly what I need.

He pulls back, blinking in slow motion, and looking down into my green eyes. My chest is pounding, fluttering.

"Get your things," he mouths.

I turn my head in the direction of our booth, only to see Beatrice approaching us with a grin.

"Here you go," she shouts above the loud music, hanging my small brown purse over my shoulder. Blue-eyed gorgeousness takes it from her. She smiles and says, "Take care of her."

"She's in good hands." His deep voice is like wine as he finds my left hand. He turns toward his buddies and jerks his head slightly at them. They clap and throw fists at him.

"You really found your d***," Beatrice whispers to me, giving me a thumbs-up only I can see. I shake my head; it's heavy and floaty.

Then he turns to Beatrice. "Your phone, please."

She takes it out without thinking, unlocks it, and hands it to him.

He types in it, then returns it. "That's my number. Call me if you think she's missing... I might keep her with me for long."

My eyes flicker to his as I'm rendered breathless.

"Got it," Beatrice says and fades.

Next thing I know, we're in the backseat of a dark G-Wagon that smells like the ice rink and his cologne, kissing slowly. His left hand is on my stomach, his thumb keeps brushing the soft swell of my chest.

It's been years since I've kissed anyone. I melt like butter, shifting closer and closer as his tongue brushes mine. He brings his hand to my face, brushing hair from it. And he whispers, "You've got gorgeous hair."

"Thank you,"

"What's your name?"

I shake my head. "No name... This is just for tonight."

After tonight, I have to face reality.

"Just for tonight," he reaffirms, yet with uncertainty in his voice. But he moves his mouth to the skin beneath my right ear, breaking me into powder; I unravel like a pack of cards, grabbing his hand and putting it against my chest. He rubs my chest, and it burns.

I release a deep sigh, eager to be in the privacy of wherever he's taking me.

"So, what do I call you?"

"Anything..." I breathe, pressing a kiss to his cheek. He smells too divine.

"Ariel?"

"Mmm-mm," I shake my head.

"Little mermaid?" He asks with a smile as he reaches for my hip, pulling me into his lap.

"No... I'm not little... and I don't have a tail..." I hold his face, sliding to fit him, my thighs straddling his hips. "Call me... Princess... I wanna be someone's princess..."

"Okay, Princess," he agrees and snatches my lips again, gently guiding my hips as we grind. His breath deepens. I moan softly, my fingers gripping his varsity jacket to pull him closer.

"And what will you call me?"

"Champ," I utter without thinking, kissing him on the neck. "Champion... You look like one."

"Champion," he tests the word on his soft lips, chuckling so beautifully; it's like music. "I like it... I'm your Champ for tonight... and you're my Princess."

I nod. And we keep going. I'm aroused and awoken, ready for what my champion can do.

*****

With a key card, he unlocks the door to a hotel suite and strolls in with me, hand firm around mine. It's an outrageously expensive hotel that I can only dream of entering. But he's occupying a suite here.

The door shuts, and he turns to me, holds my face; I grip his clothes, and he finds my lips with wildfire.

He withdraws and pulls his jacket, flinging it across somewhere, then he drops my purse on a nearby sofa. I pause to plaster my hands on his hard chest. His navy top clings to his contours. Under these warm lights, he's even more beautiful. His icy blue eyes sparkle as he holds my gaze. His nose sits in the middle of his face like artwork. His lips are swollen and colored from our kissing.

My heart races unguardedly at what I know is about to happen-sex with a complete stranger. An insanely stupid thing to do, but I'm doing it. I really am.

I slide my hands to where his top meets his jeans. Breath shaky, my fingers curl around the fabric and slowly peel it over his body. Heat creeps up my neck. My tongue glides on my lip at what I stare at-his rock-solid body, sculpted finely, abs – six of them, bruises that make me want to hug him. But I just stare and pull the top over his head.

He drops his hand and takes the top from me, then flings it. I touch him again, sliding my hands to the darkened bruises on his ribs.

"Did you get into a fight?" I murmur when he pulls me close.

"No. Hockey."

My eyes flicker up to his intense gaze. My head fills with questions, but it's just one night. Only tonight. And I'll never see him again.

I don't like hockey players, but this one has started pulling off my top. I lift my hands, allowing him to peel the sheer thing off my skin. He drops it to the ground, eyes already glued to my chest.

Intoxicated and not thinking, I keep my eyes on him and slowly peel off my nipple covers. He grabs me smoothly, plastering me against his bare chest. My breath hitches from the burn of skin against skin. He picks me up; I grip his face and hook my legs around his waist as we begin kissing again, deeply, hungrily.

He moves further inside the suite. I work my lips and kiss like it's my last. He's fast and passionate, devouring my mouth, my neck, my collarbone.

My back touches the soft gigantic bed, and he snatches one of my girls in his mouth. My moan floats melodiously. He unzips my shorts. I keep my fingers in his hair and move against the bed as he drags it down my legs. Then he stops to untie the satin straps of my shoes. I watch him, my pulse pounding chaotically.

When he wraps his arms around me again, my thighs brush against his. He's only in briefs and white socks. I'm scooped off the bed onto his chest. His hands cover my butt completely. We keep kissing, moving, drowning in the seas of pleasure. Until it's that time.

I'm naked. He's naked and protected. It's hot. We're panting and sweating. My body ricochets hard from the feel of him, shaking me to my core. Every muscle in my body breaks up and clenches. A throaty gasp spews out of me. My nails dig deep into his skin as I sink my head into the pillow. In between pain and pleasure-filled moans, I voice out a tiny sound:

"It's my first time."