The Hockey Prince's Secret Ice Queen

e P

slammed shut behind me, muffling the roa

it silence, my chest heaving, the

s duffel bag sat. Kneeling on the rubber matting, I unzipped the r

om-molded white Harlick figure sk

rmer training partner framed me and stole my career out from under me. Mounted to the soles were professional John

Silver Medal-protecting the final ecological research endowment left behi

giving mold of the Harlicks. The leather locked my arches and ankles into pure, unyielding alignment. My fin

nto my marrow since childhood, I raised each boot and

ick. Clic

d into place.

he full-length mir

black athletic top and leggings. The dark cotton clung tightly to my frame, defining my nar

m my hair, letting dark brown waves tumble fre

old of the heavy, thick black-rimmed glasses

eal was comp

ucture emerged in the glass-sculpted cheekbones, a straight, delicate nose, clear, strik

e stood an elite athlete whose natural beauty had si

n the bench, took a slow breath, an

nto the rubber runne

overhead lights, the arena

ned, breathless, collective gasp of an en

lking mid-sentence, one of them dropping his compo

ht up, their mouths hanging slightly open as their eyes

in his throat, his microphone hand droppi

posure on her face cracked wide open. Her eyes raked over my legs, my narrow waist, an

this building, and in five seconds, without a drop of makeup,

oks anymore, Brooke's red lips curl

yone could hear. "She took off her big ugly black glasses and let her hair down.

tion. "All costume, zero talent. Looking pretty doesn't keep you on your

them. I didn't e

found

pale blue eyes were burning with an intense, quiet heat that made

mphant pride, like a man who had waited years just to see this exact moment. H

e hammering in my throat. He

kicked off the rubber mat