A/N: This is a collaboration between myself and poor-dumb-killian as a birthday gift for brooke-to-broch. We decided to split this into two parts in the most evil way we could imagine. So enjoy the suspended UST until part two is written and perfected in the next few days (YAY for extended birthday gifts). Many thanks for beta duties by OnceUponSomeChaos, wingedlioness and captain-k-jones
And there is a new women's Professional hockey league (just search NWHL-National Women's Hockey League) and the Pride is the Boston team. Games stream free on youtube, support the ladies!
Each shot Emma buried in the net relieved some of her frustration. She spun on her skates and looped around to rip another slap shot into the upper corner.
If only I'd been able to do that in the game earlier.
In the solace of her childhood rink, rocketing shots off the boards was helping to forget the loss, although punching the Mills sisters in the face would work better. Maybe hitting the bar, grabbing a drink and ending her dry spell would also alleviate some of her frustrations.
"You know, love," an accented voice interrupted her thoughts, "your stick is a spot too long for you."
She cut hard on her skates and turned to look at the owner of the offending voice, expecting to see another know-it-all from the men's novice league taking pity on the girl.
Except it was anything but.
It was Killian Jones, two-time hockey all-star, leaning casually against the bench, watching her with an interested expression. A wave of surprise washed over her. Had she magically conjured the very person who starred in a few of her fantasies?
What is he doing here? Granny's tiny rink certainly isn't a regular stop for professional players.
On television, he was far too attractive. In person, the mere sight of his blue eyes increased her heart rate.
"Is that so?" She silently praised herself for not sounding too breathless before she rifled another puck towards the net. After a lap around the rink, she skated in his direction.
He was still leaned against the boards, smirk on his face, as she approached. "Just a spot too long," he teased, "Unless you enjoy that."
God, was he just like all the others? She wasn't in the mood to be belittled as a player by another man, especially Killian Jones.
She stopped quickly, sending a shower of ice in his direction. "You should know that it's not the size, but how you use it."
Did I really just say that to Killian-freaking-Jones?
"You're a tough lass, aren't you?" he chuckled, "I've got some time if you'd like some pointers."
"I'm busy," she spun away from him, returning to her pile of pucks at center ice. His notoriety was legendary and she wouldn't be another bimbo in the Killian Jones trophy case. She smacked a few that had frozen together in the pile, possibly with more gusto than needed.
He nodded, "You know, Swan, there are better ways to blow off steam than taking it out on the pucks."
Emma raised an eyebrow at him - How did he know my name?
She wondered briefly if he had been one of the few scattered fans in the stands to catch the matinee of her game. It was embarrassing enough to lose, but if he'd seen Zelena throw her temper tantrum on the bench that would've been even worse; certainly not the behavior for a professional hockey player. She'd rather pretend no one watched at all - especially not him.
"You think you can help?" she asked and returned to the boards where he waited. "Seriously? You think you know how I should blow off some steam."
Granted it had been awhile since she'd 'blown off steam' or had any true physical release. Training and practice didn't leave much time to date.
She flipped a puck up at him and his gloved-hand flashed up to snag it. "Oh I have a few ideas, love."
The wink he shot her way made her falter on her skates, but she recovered quickly. "You are awfully presumptuous, Captain Hook."
"So, you know who I am."
"I haven't been living under a rock," she deadpanned. Everyone in Boston knew who he was - they also knew his penchant to hook other players with his stick.
His tongue darted out to moisten his lower lip as he chuckled. "Drills could do you some good."
She wasn't surprised to hear another innuendo; he had a well-known reputation as the team bad boy, and seeing that tongue put thoughts in her head. Thoughts of him trailing it along her collarbone or using it to…
"Plus," he interrupted and flashed his very blue eyes at her, "You can't practice passing drills alone."
She looked at him suspiciously. Never one to back down from a challenge - especially one presented by an all-star - Emma offered her own. "Great, so you'll be making passes at me for the rest of the afternoon?"
"Only if you can handle them." He grabbed his helmet off the bench and swung himself over the boards. She noticed him cringe as his torso bent, and was reminded of his recently reported injury.
"Oh, I can handle it," she said, smirk forming, "I'd be worried about your ribs though, old man."
He slid to a stop in front of her, "No one reported it was my ribs, Swan."
"They didn't have to," Emma leaned against the dasher and smiled smugly, "You just gave yourself away."
"Good eye," he said with a genuine smile as he started to skate backwards, moving away from her.
In all the pictures and interviews she had seen from the media, she never saw him smile like that. His eyes seemed to sparkle in the harsh lighting of the rink; it made him even more handsome.
Stop ogling him, Emma. He's here to play hockey.
He turned and she watched as he took a few loops around the rink, warming up his legs. There was a grace to his skating across the ice that didn't come with training - he was a natural. She was easily able to fantasize he'd be that fluid in bed.
Killian rounded the circle and crossed over gaining speed. She sprang into motion, catching up to him as he flew by and dished a perfect pass up to his stick before crisscrossing behind him, heading towards the net.
"Good form, Swan!" He grinned and snapped a return pass to her for a perfect tip into the net. Her cheeks heated at his sincere compliment; it was rare to be admired for her skill by a male hockey player.
They looped around the rink a few more times passing the puck back and forth before she pulled up to the boards for a short break.
He slid in next to her, lifting his helmet to squirt water into his mouth. She tried not to stare at the lines of his throat as he gulped down the water, but failed miserably.
He caught her eye with a flash of curiosity, "So how long have you been playing?"
Emma was trying to judge if he was being condescending or if he was genuinely interested. Most men complained that women didn't belong on the ice; they believed that without the violent body checking, the women's game wasn't worth the time.
She wasn't exactly sure what to make of the man in front of her. If men weren't mocking her for playing hockey, then they were usually intimidated and scared off from getting to know her. Killian didn't seem fazed at all. The way he seemed to relish being on the ice with her showed a genuine love of the game. It was hard not to get caught up in his enthusiasm and charm.
"No need to question my motives," Killian said, filling the silence, "I simply wanted to compliment you on your skating."
Emma ignored the thrill that flowed through her. Instead, she wondered what he wanted from her. She rolled her eyes, "You're trying to butter me up."
She pushed off the boards and skated back to the pile of pucks. She could hear the sound of his skates on the ice as he raced up behind her.
"No, just a friendly observation," he responded as he flew by her and snagged a puck from the pile.
"Hockey is not a friendly game." She picked up speed as he passed to her and moved behind the net.
She followed after and sped to catch up to him. They rounded the rink and she smiled as she kicked the puck out in front of them and into the corner.
Killian arched an eyebrow at her and turned to retrieve the puck from against the boards. Emma accelerated and grinned devilishly while she threw her hip into his; checking him lightly against the board and stealing the puck off his stick. She spun away and sprinted down the ice to flip it into the goal.
"Isn't body checking illegal in women's hockey?" he chased her down, hooking her arm with his stick.
"Checking is a penalty," she glanced down at his stick, "As well as hooking," she grinned in challenge. "What's the matter, Jones?" she grabbed the shaft shoving it back at him. "Afraid of a little… contact?"
She couldn't believe she just said that to an All-Star NHL player.
Killian's expression grew almost predatory as he moved towards her and boxed her against the boards, leaving only enough space to keep them from touching. Emma flushed as heat built between them, even through the layers of padding and equipment.
"I would never shy away from a beautiful woman's hips -" he licked his lips and her eyes darted down to follow. His grin grew wider as he continued, "Checking me or otherwise."
He was out of her space and skating down the ice before her brain had a chance to catch up. Emma shook off the pang of disappointment now that he wasn't pressing her close and refocused to get back into hockey mode.
They proceeded to spend the next hour running through drills up and down the ice without another blatant flirting incident. Killian pointed out slight changes in her hand placement and gave her pointers on her slap-shot.
They sat back on the bench to relax after they were done. "Well, Swan, same time Thursday?" Killian asked.
Her heart skipped a beat at the thought of seeing him again, but something didn't add up. "Don't you have a team to practice with, Jones?"
"Uh - aye," he averted his eyes and scratched behind his ear, "Well, not exactly at the moment - no."
She was even more confused now, "What's that supposed to mean?"
"Well," he cleared his throat and looked up at her with a guilty expression, "The team doctor won't clear me to be back out on the ice - uh - yet, at least."
"What?" she smacked him on the arm, "You are supposed to listen to your doctor, dumbass."
"He's a bloody idiot," Killian said defensively, "I'm fine. At least… well, I'm good enough to practice."
She laughed and rolled her eyes, "You're an idiot."
"Aye," he shrugged, "So Thursday?"
"If you're lucky," she shot back at him confidently as the doors opened and the Zamboni lumbered its way onto the ice to clear the scraped up evidence of their hard work.
"Swan!" he cheered, already on the ice, "I was starting to think you wouldn't come."
His smile was infectious and she couldn't stop the corners of her mouth from turning up in reply.
"I couldn't let you off the hook that easy, Jones," she said as she slipped onto the ice with him, "Someone's got to keep you in peak physical condition."
"Oh? Up for a bit of body contact are we?" He raised a mischievous eyebrow at her.
She playfully tapped his rear end with her stick, "What about those sore ribs?"
Killian skated around her, joyfully keeping the puck out of her stick's reach, before she poked it away and tried to make a move around him. He trapped her along the boards, pressing his chest into the numbers on her back, the puck sliding away forgotten, "They're on the mend, love," his breath tickled her ear while he spoke, sending a chill down her spine that had nothing to do with the temperature in the rink, "Although I am pleased you're concerned with my well-being."
Emma turned around to face him before he sealed her tighter against the boards, caging her in between his arms. His eyes twinkled with delight; she found it very hard to think of a witty comeback.
"Hmm," she tried desperately to ignore his musky scent surrounding her, "How did you know my motives were anything more than concern for the Bruin's cup chances this year?"
He threw his head back in laughter as he skated backwards from her; she missed the heat of his body instantly. "Aye, that's a fair point, lass." He stooped to relocate a cone, "Although, you'll be happy to hear I've got an appointment with the doc to perhaps clear me for practice with the team."
Emma schooled her features to not show the stab of disappointment when she heard that bit of news. This routine was something she found herself looking forward to. She pushed the anxiety down and slipped back into the easy banter they shared.
"How about we work on," she paused, trying to keep a straight face, "Stick handling?"
Killian chuckled and continued setting up cones. "Time to get to work, Swan."
"You're bloody unstoppable on the ice, love," Killian said as they pushed into Granny's co-ed locker room after their third ice session. "You could give a lot of men in the league a run for their money."
She'd kept up with him on every stick handling drill he'd laid out.
She laughed, but it came out more as a scoff. "Even the lowest paid men in the league get more for one game than the professional women players make in an entire year." She sat and started loosening her skates. "I already run enough for my money, thanks."
"That's a bloody shame," he said as he sat to shed his own skates.
Emma had shared a locker room with men countless times, but this was the first time she had to actively fight the urge to check someone out. Killian shed his shin pads and was standing to tug off his jersey as she tried to focus on her own routine.
The sound of velcro tearing drew her attention as he shucked his shoulder pads and exposed his sculpted torso in a skintight, black Under Armor shirt. She gulped hard, unable to draw her eyes away from him.
He was a perfect specimen, and he knew it. The corner of his mouth lifted into a smirk as he deliberately peeled his shirt up, exposing inch after inch of skin. She learned that his chest hair dwindled to a perfect happy trail down his six-pack abs before disappearing below the waist of his pants.
She licked her lips as her eyes travelled its path before a throat clearing startled her to awareness. Her entire body warmed in embarrassment as amusement danced with the banked heat in his eyes. He raised an eyebrow high as he unlaced his bulky hockey pants and slowly started to draw them down his legs, and she focused on her own pads to save what little dignity she had left.
"I wanted to thank you, Killian," she started hesitantly, "for all your help." She trained her eyes on his face, avoiding the temptation to look below.
"Aye, well," he smiled sheepishly, "It hasn't been for purely selfless reasons, love. It's been good to be back on the ice, and -" he paused for a moment, mischief twinkling in his eyes, "I must say, you've done well in kicking my arse up and down that rink."
Her cheeks flushed with pride. She knew she was good, but men so rarely paid her (or any other female athlete for that matter) genuine compliments. They would mostly grunt about her "not being bad for a girl." She wasn't sure what to say so she busied herself with removing the rest of her gear.
"Since you're so good at kicking my arse, Friday night's trivia night and the boys and I have a long standing tradition to kick each other's arses." He scratched at his ears as the tips turned red, "you should consider coming to the Tavern."
"I - uh," she stopped when she realized she had no idea what to say. She felt like a fish out of water, so silence seemed wiser.
Is he serious?
His fidgeting suggested he was, he had no other reason to be nervous. But did he really want her to hang out with his friends?
"Come now, Swan," he smiled that sincere way that made her knees weak, "Surely an hour or two of your time can be bought with a libation or two?"
"Who talks like that?" she commented with a snort of laughter, "Just an hour or two?"
"Aye," he bent to peel off his socks, reaching into his bag for a towel.
"Ok, trivia night," she wasn't entirely sure it was a good idea; but somehow she was struggling saying no. "I'll try to make it."
"You know," he drew her attention fully back to him, now standing in nothing but his boxer briefs and seductive grin plastered across his face. She tried to keep her eyes on his, not down at his muscular thighs or anything else, but mostly failed. "I could use a hand scrubbing my back. Care to volunteer, Swan?"
Emma would like to say she hesitated because she was surprised and not because she'd actually wanted to. "Maybe next time." She smirked as she put her elbow pads into her bag.
"My ribs make it hard to reach some places, your assistance will be missed," he shrugged and turned to open the door to the shower room, leaving her alone to change into her sweats and brush out her sweaty hair.
She'd shower when she got home, and possibly use the time to relieve some built up pressure.
Had he meant it about wanting her to join him in the shower?
She was pulling her hair up into a ponytail when he padded back in, towel wrapped low around his waist. She flushed and turned her back to rearrange some of her gear in her bag, trying to adhere to the coed locker room etiquette of not gawking at him.
Again.
She was already having a hard enough time keeping her head straight around him. They had amazing chemistry on the ice and part of her was curious what it would be like off-ice.
Once his ribs were healed, he may not be around the rink as often. She may never get another opportunity to see what it would be like to kiss Killian Jones.
He was buttoning up the top of his jeans when she turned back to put on her sneakers. Her eyes were drawn to his lips; his teeth worried at them as he concentrated on getting dressed.
I wonder if those lips are as soft as they look?
His chest was still glistening from the moisture of his hot shower, and she licked her lips as her eyes travelled down his torso once more.
Fuck it.
She moved toward him as he eyed her with curiosity. He opened his mouth to speak, but with a quick breath Emma pressed her hands to his chest and dove in to seal her lips against his. He gasped and sank a little lower, hesitating a moment before his soft lips explored her own. Warmth raced down her body, curling her toes, and Emma tried to catch her breath. He tasted a bit salty from their workout and his skin was warm and clean from the shower.
His arms wrapped around her waist and tugged her more firmly against him as he turned his head and deepened the kiss. She moaned in appreciation as his tongue massaged hers with knee-weakening precision. Her mind had conjured up plenty of dreams over the past two weeks, but nothing compared to the real thing.
He moved before her brain could catch up, flipping their positions and pressing her to the wall in his place. The scent of his freshly washed hair added to her growing haze of lust as he surrounded her. She ran her fingers up his chest, around his neck and into his hair before tugging lightly. He groaned in response as his hold on her tightened.
She whimpered in desperation, wanting - no, needing - more.
Killian abruptly stopped the kiss and dropped his hold on her. She felt the loss of his body heat as he backed away. She opened her eyes to see him smiling with a glazed look in his eyes as he touched his lips, "That was…"
Emma was trying to catch her breath, unsure what to say.
That went further than I thought - she scolded herself, locker rooms were gross and not the ideal place for a romantic interlude - but somehow that wasn't nearly far enough.
"A thank you," was the first thing her lust-addled brain could muster as she tried to sidestep around him. Her knees felt a bit wobbly and her heart hammered in her chest.
He reached for her hand and stopped her retreat with a small tug back in his direction. "Perhaps you should tell me what I've done," her eyes were transfixed on his mouth as he placed a gentle kiss to her knuckles, "So I can do it more often, love."
But he's going to get better soon. Then what?
She mumbled something out in reply and left in a hurry, with Killian smiling wide the entire time. Her mind and body both in turmoil, she didn't bother to look back.
I am so screwed.
Killian sipped his rum while his eyes swept over the room. He'd arrived a bit early on the off chance that Emma would take him up on his invitation to trivia night with the guys.
Emma.
Just the thought of her name brought a dopey grin to his face. She was feisty and beautiful; as graceful (and ferocious) as her namesake on the ice. She was everything he never knew he wanted by his side.
And damn could that woman kiss.
He started to grow hard at the mere thought of their kiss. He had been moments away from losing all control in that locker room; her whimper snapped him back to reality and forced him to step back.
He wanted her - bloody hell did he want her - but he had a sudden realization that he really liked her. She made his heart beat again, and he wanted more than just one - no doubt amazing - night. If he hadn't pulled away, one night was all she'd have given him.
The usual crowd was here and he avoided the stare of a familiar, blue-eyed brunette at the bar.
She'd been a good lay, but that's about it. No substance.
His concern for substance was a new concept as his mind kept drifting back to the fierce green eyes that had stared him down all afternoon.
They had an amazing connection on the ice - he wanted to explore it further. He had a sneaking suspicion that chemistry would extend far beyond the rink.
The door opened and Will swaggered in, August not far behind him. Killian waved so they'd see that he'd grabbed their lucky table in the back.
As they approached, he noticed the impressive shiner Will sported. "What the hell happened to you?"
"Got into a bit of a scrum in the last game."
Killian snorted and clapped him on the back. "You couldn't wait till I'm back on the ice to cover your sorry arse?"
Will shrugged and hung his head. He opened his mouth as if he was about to retort when August interrupted.
"What's got you in such a chipper mood?" He eyed him suspiciously. "We half expected you'd be nursing a hangover and drowning your sorrows since Doc still hasn't cleared you to play."
"Did you have a threesome or somethin' mate?" Will shoved his finger in Killian's chest.
"Of course not," he shook his head with a chuckle and sipped his drink.
August stared at him. "You've been skating!"
Killian's face heated with a flush of guilt. He couldn't hide anything from his teammates; they knew him too well.
"You have!" August poked him in his sore ribs to make a point, "Killian, Doc said no ice time! Your ribs need to heal after being bruised like that."
"I'm not daft, Booth," Killian rolled his eyes and took a sip of his rum. "I'm taking it easy."
"Where've you been skating, mate?" Will leaned back swirling his drink, "I mean - most rinks 'ave so many people - surely you'd've shown up on Instagram or Twitter by now." He paused and wiggled his eyebrows, "The ladies love you and your bad boy image, after all."
"It's a little place over in Cambridge, near the Harvard rink." He shrugged. "Granny Lucas lets me in afterhours sometimes."
"What were you doing over there?" August asked.
"It was the first home game for the new women's pro league. Figured I'd check it out, show Boston some support." Killian was trying desperately to stamp down thoughts of Emma on that ice; her blonde braid swinging behind her as she flew with grace and ease down the rink.
"Women, you say?" Will asked, curiosity piqued. "How'd they do?"
"They've got some real talented ladies," Killian smiled, no longer able to contain his thoughts of Swan and her fury towards her line mates, "if not for the way the Mills sisters fought. With each other. On the bench."
"Seriously?" August asked, "Aren't they on the same team?"
"Same line," he took a sip of his rum, hoping to appear nonchalant as he continued, "I feel bad for the Swan lass, she was hung out to dry because they wouldn't pass." His smile had to be giving him away by now, but he couldn't control it. Emma was a force to be reckoned with, and he'd witnessed her rage boiling over from his seat behind the glass. "Cost them the game."
"What's that smile, then?" Will eyed him, "Surely a lost game and some alone time on the ice don't warrant that."
"Yea," August studied Killian's expression, "You're definitely leaving something out."
"Well, er -" he stumbled, trying to find the right words, "The Swan girl - Emma - she happened to be at Granny's rink when I got there." He shrugged, "So I wasn't alone on the ice."
"Oh, was she now?" Will's eyebrows nearly touched his hairline.
"And how did that go?" August added with a knowing smile.
"It's nothing like that, mates," he tried to be a gentleman, "We just practiced some drills, I gave her some pointers -"
"Oh, some drills," Will said sarcastically to August.
"Yea, and pointers," August winked back.
"Will you two bloody stop it?" Killian scowled at them. "She's like a mind reader on the ice, just knows where to be, or where I'm going." August and Will exchanged a knowing look, as Killian scratched the back of his neck. "After our ice time this afternoon, I invited her here. I don't know if she'll come, but I expect you to be on your best behavior."
"Wait," August said, "you saw her again today?"
"Ya invited her here?" Will's eyes widened, "To play?"
"Aye, it really isn't the big deal you two are making of it -" He saw a flash of blonde enter the bar, and lost his train of thought the moment his eyes met hers.
She was weaving her way through the crowd in a red leather jacket and jeans; her hair loose down her back. Quite a different look from sweats and a ponytail at the rink. She looked stunning.
"She's here," slipped out of his mouth before he had a chance to cover the wonder in his voice. He couldn't stop the wide grin that spread across his face.
"See that, Booth?" Will nodded at Killian. "It's not a big deal."
August rolled his eyes. "Clearly we're reading too much into it."
I'm so screwed.
She had been repeating this mantra to herself all afternoon. As she approached the Tavern she trailed her fingers across her lips. Her body was still vibrating with the need that she'd stoked by kissing him.
It was easy to admit she wanted him - but she was also trying to figure out why they had such a connection. He was likeable and she wanted to spend time with him - but who knew how much longer he'd be secretly skating on his own? Once he was cleared by the team doctor he'd be back with the team practicing and no doubt carousing with them after games. That would leave little time to be hanging around Granny's small rink and working drills with her. He couldn't possibly find the time to spend with her for much longer.
She'd enjoyed the ride on the ice, now she had to take advantage of the opportunity to see what it would be like to ride him off the ice. The black lacy bra and panty set she'd picked out may have been in the hope that her dry spell would be ending tonight.
She slowed as the bar's flashing neon sign came into view. Now was the chance to see if he could back up all his innuendo with action.
I really need to get laid.
She shifted on her feet while staring at the door of the bar. A group of college students jostled her and pulled the door wide, spilling light and music out into the street. Emma took a deep breath and trailed in after them.
She pushed through the crowd near the entrance before she finally spotted him at a table in the back. His blue eyes locked on her and a bright smile flashed on his face instantaneously.
His hair was adorably tousled and his eyes sparkled with promise - a promise she hoped she could take advantage of.
"Shut up," Killian hissed at his teammates as Emma pushed her way through the crowd, "And remember… good form."
The men all stood as she approached the table.
"Gentlemen, this is Emma Swan," he gave a theatrical flourish with his hand, "And Emma, these two gits are-"
"August Booth and Will Scarlet-defenseman and winger -" she rolled her eyes and shook their hands, "I know."
"Oh, I like her, Jones." August grasped her hand a little longer than Killian liked.
"Yea, I like her…" Will quirked an eyebrow and made no secret of admiring her rear end as she took a seat "… spunk."
I'm going to murder them both when Doc gives me clearance to skate.
"What are you drinking, Swan?" He decided to ignore them and turned toward her instead. "I need a refill, so I'll get this round."
"Whiskey sounds like a good option if I'm to put up with this crew." August and Will managed to look chagrinned and raised their glasses in toast.
Killian downed the rest of his rum and turned to the bar. He worked his way through the press of people gathered, making sure to avoid the lass he'd recognized earlier. It was far too long before he got the bartender's attention, and by the time he returned to their table the trivia teams had been picked.
"You're stuck with Will." Killian wanted to wipe the smugness off of August's face. "Emma and I are a team."
"Great," Killian tried to keep the aggravation out of his voice, "thanks for that."
"Well it's her first time playing," August squeezed Killian's shoulder, "I figured she'd want to be on the winning team."
"Are you insinuating that I'm not as well versed in the trivial bits of information needed to excel at this game?" Killian slid Emma her drink and pulled his chair a little closer to hers.
"Let's just say I didn't want to get stuck with Will." August slapped him on the back.
"Oi!" Will glared at August before tipping his beer back, finishing it off.
August's eyes sparked with mischief; Emma had a hint of a smile curving her lips.
Bloody bastard, he brooded silently, he did that on purpose.
He leaned in to her space before her attention was lost to the game. "I'm glad you came out to join us, Swan," he whispered, trying to avoid unwanted attention, "I must say, you look ravishing in those jeans."
She nudged him with her shoulder and smiled as the bar quizmaster turned on the microphone and the crowd settled down around them. Killian elbowed Will aside to grab the pen for their answer sheet.
"In terms of the amount of alcohol you get," called the emcee from his place on the stage, "which is the most expensive: whiskey, beer or wine?"
"That one's easy," Will grinned and whispered "beer" into his ear.
August leaned into Emma's personal space to murmur to her and drape his arm across the back of her chair. Killian gripped his pen tighter and slouched lower in his chair.
"Next question," the voice boomed through the bar speakers, "Which mythological figure flew so close to the sun that the wax of his wings began to melt?"
"Ooo, I know this one!" Emma beamed excitedly and shifted in her seat to whisper into August's ear.
Killian glared at August's smug expression and looked to Will, who gave him a blank stare and shrugged, "You're bloody useless, Scarlet."
Killian scrawled a name just in time for the next question. "What year did the Olympics first allow women's hockey?"
"If you get this one wrong, Jones," August smiled and sat back with his arms crossed, "She may never speak to you again."
"I'm not that mean," Emma laughed and shook her head, "but you better get it right." He hoped that he wasn't looking as panicked as he felt at that precise moment. He closed his eyes and tried to visualize the gold medal ceremony.
August was to the point of tears from whatever Emma had whispered in his ear. "Oh God, Emma," he clutched at his side, "You have to come to one of our practices."
"You're in trouble now, Jones." Will pointed at the empty spot on the answer sheet and chuckled.
Killian's gaze slid across the table to take in how intimately Emma and August leaned into each other whispering and tightened his grip on the pen as he tried to grasp at his sparse Olympic knowledge.
"You have no bloody idea," he glanced down at the empty answer and tapped the pen against the table as Will snickered. Killian elbowed him in the ribs, "I don't hear you helping, mate."
With the game over, Killian's mood appeared to improve. She suspected it may have to do with the fact that August wasn't hanging onto her every word. The emcee weaved among the teams to collect their answer sheets.
She was pretty sure that they hadn't won, but she and August definitely knew more than the Killian and Will duo. She had to admit that Killian had not hidden his jealous streak all that well and it was fun to torture him just a little bit, if only to see the tips of his ears turn red.
Killian made Will pay for the next round, before he and August excused themselves go across the bar and flirt with a large group of women.
"When's your next game, Swan?" Killian asked placing her fresh drink in front of her, "I really enjoyed your home-opener, and the boys want to come to your next one."
"Wait," she was stunned, "You actually came to our game?" she assumed he had streamed it on YouTube. Her ears burned in shame, "You saw the Mills sister meltdown."
"Aye," he chuckled, "I was surprised to see you at Granny's rink when I got there. How'd you beat me?"
"I, uh -" she sunk down in her seat, embarrassed, "- kind of flipped out on them in the locker room and drove right over there without showering or putting my game gear away."
"I would've been just as angry," he admitted. She finally chanced looking up at him and saw nothing but truth. "They were unprofessional and cost you the chance at two goals."
"THANK YOU!" She nearly shouted in relief. "That's exactly what I said. We would've won!"
He chuckled again and tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear. She sucked in a breath and her eyelashes fluttered as his touch lingered on her neck.
"Aye, you definitely would've." He pulled his hand away and took another swig of his drink. "How do you know Granny, anyways?"
Her spine stiffened. It was hard to explain her closeness to Granny without delving into her painful past. But, she had read his bio and knew he was an orphan too. So, maybe a few little nuggets about her wouldn't hurt.
"I, uhm," she hesitated, trying to find the words, "I didn't have a lot of stability in my life until I found my way into that rink when I was eight." She smiled fondly at memories of Granny fawning over the poor, orphan girl with shoes two-sizes-too-big. "I learned how to skate on that ice, and she made sure I always had donated gear to play in." Emotion welled-up inside her and she knew she had to finish and deflect the conversation. "If it weren't for her, I wouldn't be where I am."
Somehow in the course of their conversation he had gotten closer to her, their knees bumped against one another under the table. He brushed his thumb along the apple of her cheek and she leaned into his space, drawn to him.
"Somehow I think you would've managed it, love," he finally whispered before he pulled back again and broke the brief moment.
"So how do you know Granny?" she toyed with her glass, "You seem to have the same off hours access that I have."
"Well, I fancy myself a supporter of the local establishments," he ran his hand through his hair and scratched the back of his neck. "Granny's is well known in the neighborhood and I'm happy to share some of my good fortune to help some of her youth programs."
Maybe there's more to him than I want to admit.
She took a slow sip from her drink - trying to reconcile the playboy with this new information as she licked the remnants of the expensive whiskey from her lips. Killian's eyes were locked on the motion, his own tongue mirroring the path on his lips.
Her conflicted thoughts about the man sitting beside her suddenly got replaced by her lust once more. She wanted that tongue to run along her lips instead and maybe along -
"Oi, Jones!" Will's voice interrupted her fantasizing as he slapped Killian on the back. "I've found a car companion that is far lovelier than you, mate. So I won't be needing that ride."
Killian jumped - startled, "Excellent," a grin spread across his face. "But I doubt you've found someone lovelier than me." He returned Will's back slap to send him on his way. "Enjoy yourself mate."
Emma held back a smile at the exchange. She liked Killian's friends, but she needed to get him alone if she was going to put her lingerie to good use.
They climbed into the black town car and sat in silence after Emma gave Killian's driver her address. The air practically crackled with electricity. She inched closer on the cool leather seat until her leg brushed against his.
Killian turned to say something; she didn't give him a chance before she leaned in and sealed her mouth to his. He responded immediately, his hands wrapping around her waist as she gripped the front of his shirt and pulled him against her. She sighed into his mouth, finally able to relieve some of the pent up desire that had been simmering in her since this afternoon.
His lips were soft and pliant beneath hers and he nipped at her lower lip. When she angled her head and pressed closer he groaned, fueling her want and sending tingles down her arms.
I need to hear it again.
She shifted towards his body and could feel the muscular lines pressing through their shirts as pulled her tighter against him.
Emma pulled back to catch her breath. Killian looked as wrecked as she felt. He tugged her into his lap and pressed his forehead against hers.
"You're so bloody beautiful," he whispered reverently.
"I -" she stuttered, unsure of what to say. She never expected so much sincerity from hockey's favorite scoundrel. He wasn't at all what the media made him to be.
Her train of thought was lost as Killian placed gentle kisses across her cheek and down her throat. She allowed herself to finally relax into his lap and moaned as her center settled over his obvious arousal. She couldn't resist leaning forward on her knees, angling herself against him, rubbing just enough to make her breath catch.
He gripped her hips, anchoring her to him in a possessive manner, before his tongue darted out to taste the hollow of her throat. She threw her head back in encouragement as she slowly ground her hips down on his; wound so tight she would surely break if they weren't alone soon.
He muffled his groan by biting gently on her neck. "Killian," she gasped breathlessly as he surged forward with a growl and grasped her ass firmly with both hands.
Their lips found one another again in desperation, as her mind swirled with emotions. She was starting to think once with him would never be enough. Emma slowly dragged her right hand down his neck, and scratched lightly along his collarbone - eliciting another core-clenching groan from him - before she stopped over his pounding heart.
She was already on the edge of an orgasm - dry humping an NHL all-star in the back of a car like some teenager - she should feel embarrassed as she circled her hips. Her tension had stretched to the point of snapping; she held her breathe lost in the firm grasp of need.
She couldn't remember ever wanting someone so much. Her hand drifted further from his chest and down his stomach. She heard his intake of breath when her fingers barely brushed below his belt buckle before a clearing throat sprang them apart.
The car had stopped - when did they stop?
"Sorry to - er - interrupt," said the driver, "but we've arrived at your address, Ms. Swan."
She chanced a look up at Killian. His head was thrown back, and his eyes were shut tight - almost as if he were in physical pain.
God can I sympathize. Her body ached for him. She needed Killian now.
Emma leaned back into him and kissed up his neck and to his ear. "Do you want to come upstairs with me?" she whispered.
She pulled back expecting to see relief on his face, but instead found agony.
"Aye, I do… but not tonight," he smiled at her, but it didn't reach his eyes, as he tucked her hair back and cupped her cheek. "I want you, but I'd like to do this properly, love." His thumb grazed her lips. "Will you allow me to escort you to dinner later this week?"
"I -" she stumbled over her thoughts; confusion clouding her lust. "There's no need to wine and dine me; you shoot and you're going to score."
She pressed her lips back to his and kissed him hungrily. Forgetting they had and audience, she ground down against him, and grinned in triumph when he thrust up against her. It would be easier if he gave in - then she wouldn't have to let the hope that there could be more creep its way into her heart.
When she pulled back from the kiss, she saw Killian's resolve teetering from the furrow in his brow and clenching of his jaw. She grinned victoriously as she swiveled her hips again.
He groaned and dug his fingers into her hips - holding her in place.
"I like you, Emma," he said through clenched teeth as one of his hands buried itself in her hair and brought their foreheads together. "I don't want this to be a one-time thing."
Panic rose in her throat as his words sank in.
He is a millionaire playboy. He can have any woman in the world.
He couldn't possibly mean what she thought he meant. She was a nobody and chances were she would be the one heartbroken in the end.
"I - I can't," she finally managed, "You have tonight," she shut her eyes, no longer able to stomach the crestfallen expression she saw reflected in his, "Take it or leave it, Hook."
She told herself using his nickname made it easier.
His lips gently pressed against her forehead before he murmured, "See you at Granny's on Sunday, Swan?"
"I don't know," she said as she climbed off his lap and opened the car door, not once looking him in the eye - too afraid of what she might see.
She couldn't risk falling for him, so she did was she did best… She ran.
Before Killian knew it, Emma was off his lap and out of the car - the door shutting quietly behind her.
"Well, that was…" his long-time driver, Marco, cleared his throat from the front seat, "… different."
Killian groaned as he scrubbed his hands roughly through his hair, before he dropped his head back on the headrest.
"She's different," he sighed, as he shifted to adjust himself.
He couldn't believe he'd told her no. He was so hard it was to the point of painful. The way her hips had circled his had conjured all sorts of images of what lay ahead if he went up to her flat.
"Marco," he ran his hand down his face, "Get me home, please."
Quickly, before I jump out and follow her.
Sunday he'd fix it. He'd seen the panic clear as day before she ran from the car. Their practice session would give him the chance to convince her of his intentions.
Shit, he realized, I don't have her number.
"I'm sorry, Killian," Granny said as she locked the door behind them Sunday night, "I don't know where that girl is."
It was almost laughable - the first woman to make him feel something in years left him before they even had a chance.
"It's all right, Mrs. Lucas," he tried to smile, but it felt insincere. "I'm sure something came up or she forgot."
She patted his cheek with a sympathetic smile before turning to her car. She knew as well as he did that Emma didn't forget.
"I guess I'll be seeing you tomorrow, then?" she asked as she opened her door.
"Aye," he mumbled, determined to keep trying. She would have to come skate eventually.
After all, a man unwilling to fight for what he wanted… deserved what he got.
Emma glided through the quiet rink in nothing but her sweatpants and zip-up hoodie. The rink was empty and dark - just like my heart - as Granny prepped to close.
I was a coward.
Two weeks later, she could finally admit it. She had avoided Granny's altogether the first week, and only came after closing since.
I miss him.
She shouldn't miss him. She only saw him on four different occasions; two of which were on the same day. It was crazy, right?
She'd run - and regretted it - but felt too foolish to seek him out.
How would I even begin to seek him out - even if I wanted to?
He had been back on the ice for two games, and had played like shit. He was ornery and quick to fight; she was pretty sure he had spent more time in the penalty box than on the ice in the second game. She couldn't watch after the first period (and his third penalty); she turned the TV off.
A lot of players struggled to get their head in the game after an injury. It had nothing to do with her - it couldn't - that would be ridiculous.
Right?
He was playing again right now. She thought maybe if she skated instead of watching she would escape her thoughts of him. Practicing was supposed to distract her, but the empty ice taunted her with memories of their time on it.
I miss having him around.
But I can't risk my heart.
He made me smile and I miss his laugh.
Was I wrong about him?
She sighed and slapped a puck as hard as she could towards the net in frustration.
Her mind drifted back to their make-out session during the car ride. It was the kind of moment that shifted your entire existence off-kilter. His soft pliant lips and roaming hands had brushed across her body each time she slipped her eyes closed.
Every morning for the past two weeks she awoke wet and wanting. On the second morning she had resolved to find someone – anyone – to help her get some relief.
She went to a bar that night and met a man with dark blonde hair and kind, hazel eyes. She tugged him into a dark corner and pressed her lips to his; but it wasn't right, she couldn't do it.
The images of Killian pressing his body into her were too strong. She didn't want anyone else.
She knew from past nights that she wouldn't sleep without being exhausted first. So she picked up her pace and skated as fast as she could around the rink while working her puck handling.
"About time you showed up again, Emma." Granny's voice echoed over the rink. She dropped a milk crate onto the ice by the bench and tossed a few of the stray pucks that had flown over the boards into it.
Emma circled back towards her. "I've been busy with the team the last couple of weeks," she lied, knowing full-well that Granny would never believe it.
She slid some of the extra pucks toward Granny, resigned to the fact that she wasn't in the mood to hang around here much longer. Granny dipped down and grabbed more pucks, throwing them in the crate for the kids in the morning.
"You've been avoiding your ice time here, there's got to be a reason," she glanced over her spectacles at Emma. "It wouldn't have something to do with a certain captain, would it?"
Emma tried to look nonchalant at his mention; but judging by the raised eyebrow Granny gave her, she had failed miserably.
"I blew it with him didn't I?" She bent down to stack the rest of her practice pucks up for Granny. "I ran before I could get burned."
"I know he has a well-known reputation in the public eye. It's a persona he's built to protect himself," Granny said as she cleaned her glasses, "But he's a good boy - with a good heart. He just has problems letting anyone else see him for who he really is." She placed her glasses back on her nose and peered over them at her, "You know, you look like a lost girl out here all by yourself."
Emma shrugged off the observation. "I'm missing that spark on the ice. I just need to refocus and work a little harder."
"Maybe you should evaluate what's changed recently," Granny smiled knowingly, "Maybe you're feeling a bit lost and adrift out on that ice without someone to pass to."
Granny didn't give her a chance to respond. She just winked, turned back to the front office, and strolled away with a smile on her face leaving Emma to wonder what she was up to.
Killian slammed the door of his SUV behind him and beat his hands on the steering wheel in frustration.
Three bloody games.
Today was his third game since back on active status and he still hadn't scored one goal - not even a bloody assist. He couldn't snap out of his funk - he couldn't focus at all.
Emma consumed his every thought; he second guessed every move he made in the few weeks since trivia night.
He had turned her down. He wanted it to mean something; he wanted to actually try for something real with her. Apparently he screwed up. All he'd gotten since was total avoidance.
He ran his hand through his freshly-washed hair and groaned when he heard his phone chirp in his pocket.
"I bloody swear," he seethed to his empty car, "If this is coach or August with some pep talk about -"
He stopped mid-sentence when he saw the name "Granny Lucas" on his notification screen.
GL: You didn't hear this from me. But I'm locking up in 30 minutes and there's only one person here.
"Thank you, Granny." He smiled for the first time in weeks as he started his car and headed for Cambridge.