Bet on Ice (Boys of Winter Book 9) Read online

  Boys of Winter #9

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Books by S.R. Grey

  Chapter One: Wanna Bet, Sweetheart?

  Chapter Two: Mixing Business with Pleasure

  Chapter Three: Holy Shit!

  Chapter Four: What’s With That Look, Zehner?

  Chapter Five: Mixing Shit Up

  Chapter Six: Hedging My Bet

  Chapter Seven: Sublime

  Chapter Eight: The Best Perk

  Chapter Nine: This One’s for Cricket

  Chapter Ten: My Heart is Definitely Racing

  Chapter Eleven: My Kind of Crazy

  Chapter Twelve: Sweet Release

  Chapter Thirteen: The Sound of Painting

  Chapter Fourteen: Stake My Claim

  Chapter Fifteen: The L-Word

  Chapter Sixteen: I Miss Him

  Chapter Seventeen: Second Thoughts

  Chapter Eighteen: Little Things

  Chapter Nineteen: Poor Choices

  Chapter Twenty: Game Night and Games

  Chapter Twenty-One: Fallout

  Chapter Twenty-Two: The Aftermath

  Chapter Twenty-Three: Cricket on My Mind

  Chapter Twenty-Four: What Friends Are For

  Chapter Twenty-Five: Never Give Up

  Chapter Twenty-Six: A New Start

  Chapter Twenty-Seven: Date Night

  Chapter Twenty-Eight: Landen Scores

  Chapter Twenty-Nine: The Best Kind of Celebrating

  Chapter Thirty: A Night to Remember

  Chapter Thirty-One: Let’s Close This One Out

  Chapter Thirty-Two: What Is My Man Up To?

  Chapter Thirty-Three: Upping the Ante

  Chapter Thirty-Four: I Didn’t See This One Coming

  Epilogue: Forever

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Forward Progress

  Copyright Notice

  Boys of Winter series

  Destiny on Ice

  Resistance on Ice

  Complications on Ice

  Caution on Ice

  Player on Ice

  Vows on Ice

  Illusion on Ice

  Forbidden on Ice

  Bet on Ice

  Men of Fall series

  Forward Progress

  Fair Catch

  Eligible Receiver

  Judge Me Not series

  I Stand Before You

  Never Doubt Me

  Just Let Me Love You

  The After of Us

  Inevitability duology

  Inevitable Detour

  Inevitable Circumstances

  Promises series

  Tomorrow’s Lies

  Today’s Promises

  A Harbour Falls Mystery trilogy

  Harbour Falls

  Willow Point

  Wickingham Way

  Laid Bare novella series

  Exposed: Laid Bare 1

  Unveiled: Laid Bare 2

  Spellbound: Laid Bare 3

  Sacrifice: Laid Bare 4

  Wanna Bet, Sweetheart?

  Smiling smugly, I flip my cards over.

  I have two jacks—that’s twenty.

  Yes!

  I beat the dealer. She has only seventeen. And my teammates, who are playing blackjack with me tonight, are out of the game, having just laid down their shitty hands.

  Brimming with confidence, I reach for the mountain of chips in the middle of the gaming table.

  But as I move the pile an inch or so closer, the pretty woman on my right, the very one who’s been handing me my ass all night, clears her throat.

  I pause, my arms outstretched, still on my loot.

  Glancing over at her annoyedly, I say, “Yes?”

  “Uh, uh, uh,” she tsks, waving her finger. “Not so fast there, Blondie.”

  Blondie?

  Who in the hell does this chick think she is?

  For starters, her hair is far blonder than mine. I’m dishwater; she’s honey and sunshine.

  Her hair is also much longer.

  And so damn shiny too…

  Stop!

  Shaking my head, I tear my gaze from her pretty locks.

  It shouldn’t bother me that she’s been calling me Blondie for the past hour, ever since my teammates and I first sat down at this table.

  Never mind I’ve told her twice my name is Landen.

  She obviously doesn’t care.

  Fine, whatever.

  She clearly has no idea she’s playing cards with three of the best players on the Las Vegas Wolves hockey team.

  I actually kind of like that, though.

  It’s better than the alternative—getting fawned over for being a professional sports player, having to sign autographs, plastering on a fake smile for selfies, and on and on.

  You get the picture, right?

  So yeah, anonymity is refreshing, especially since we’re playing in a back room of a well-known casino on the famous Las Vegas Strip.

  Lying low is of paramount importance, even though it’s not real busy tonight in the private VIP area.

  That’s a bonus.

  And it makes me think…

  How did this pretty woman next to me, the one who insists on calling me Blondie, end up here tonight. This room is reserved for high rollers and premier card players. My teammates and I come here because we like that they play a version of blackjack where both cards dealt to each player remain down.

  It adds intrigue to the game.

  Maybe this chick likes that too.

  She was seated at the table already when Nolan Solvenson, Benny Perry, and I first arrived.

  As we took our seats, she was chatting with the dealer. There were no other players at that point, so it wasn’t like she could play.

  Speaking of the dealer, she’s cute too. She has dark brunette hair, cut in a pixie style, and deep brown eyes.

  I noticed her as soon as we sat down.

  But my attention was quickly averted to my card nemesis.

  She is fucking hot as sin.

  I’d be a lot angrier losing to her if she wasn’t so damn sexy. The short, siren-red skintight dress she’s wearing is unbelievable, and her toned long legs might be the death of me before this night ends.

  I look up at her from what I think is a sly perusal only to realize I’ve been busted.

  “Shit,” I murmur.

  My card nemesis raises a perfectly arched brow, and it’s then that I notice her eyes are as stunning as she is.

  They’re this cool blue, azure like the sea.

  While I’m drowning in their depths, the gorgeous woman smirks.

  She then makes a show of flipping her cards over.

  Fuck, she has a jack and an ace.

  “Twenty-one,” the dealer with the pixie cut declares, like we can’t all fucking see that.

  “Yeah, yeah, yeah, what-the-fuck-ever,” I grumble as I push the chips over to my nemesis.

  “Why, thank you, Landen,” she coos, stacking her take alongside her already formidable pile of chips.

  “Ahh, so you do remember my name,” I say, chuckling.

  “Of course, I remember, Landen.”

  Smartass.

  “Could’ve fooled me,” I mumble.

  She hears me and laughs.

  Good, laugh now.

  This battle is on.

  When I glance her way again, she’s peering over at me curiously, her brow furrowed, azure eyes troubled.

  Have I been had?

  No, I don’t think so.

  This feels more like she’s deciding on something.

  Or maybe she knows some tidbit I don’t.

  Yeah, like what cards are coming up next.<
br />
  This chick is that damn good.

  It’s like she’s the dude from Rainman or something.

  Though I guess she’d be Rainwoman, right?

  Ah hell, it doesn’t matter.

  Suddenly and surprising the shit out of me, she holds out her hand and says very nicely, “I’m Cricket, by the way.”

  This is the friendliest and most genuine she’s been all night.

  Too bad I can’t help but laugh in her face.

  Her eyes flash in anger.

  There goes our tentative truce.

  I’m in for it now, so I may as well head straight to Hell.

  As I wrap my large hand around her dainty one, I snort. “Cricket, eh? What kind of name is that? Was your father or mother an entomologist?”

  Cricket yanks her hand back like I just burned her.

  I guess, in a way, I have.

  Sniffing, she snaps, “For your information, Cricket is a good name. It’s a fun one too. It’s also the name my mother gave me twenty-four years ago. And no, neither of my parents are entomologists. Not that I owe you any kind of an explanation, jackass.”

  “Ooh, burn,” Benny interjects.

  I ignore him and say to Cricket, “True, you don’t owe me an explanation. But you sure as hell just gave me one.”

  That angers her further.

  Man, I’m a jerk.

  I don’t know why I’m doing this.

  “Have I told you that I hate you?” Cricket grinds out.

  Crap, now I feel bad.

  “Ah, come on. I’m just yanking your chain. You know, having a little fun?” With my best mea culpa smile in play—and it usually is pretty dazzling—I add, “I actually agree that Cricket is a good name. A damn good one.”

  “You got that right,” she huffs.

  And then, finally, she begins to relax.

  See, my smile works every time.

  I even catch her trying to hide a bit of a grin. A real one too, not a snotty smirk, like the ones she’s been doling out in our interactions.

  I think I may be growing on her.

  I may be “growing” like a fungus, but hey, I’ll take what I can get.

  Out of the blue, and rather obnoxiously, Nolan, seated on my left, asks loudly, “Are you two in on this next game or not? I mean, hell, I hate to intrude on your googly eyes and flirting, but let’s get this show on the road.”

  “We’re not flirting,” Cricket snaps, narrowing her eyes over at Nolan. “I don’t even like this guy.”

  Now it’s my turn to be appalled.

  “Wait, what? What do you mean you don’t like me?”

  Snorting and turning away, she says, “I don’t. It’s pretty simple, genius. For someone who knows words like ‘entomologist,’ you sure are dumb.”

  “Heyyy,” I protest.

  Nolan, chuckling, snipes, “Yeah, sure you don’t like him. What a crock. Pull this leg and it plays ‘Jingle Bells.’”

  “I don’t even know what that means,” Cricket says, looking confused as hell.

  “Never mind,” I tell her. Cupping my hand to the side of my mouth to address only her, I quietly add, “Just ignore him. We all do.”

  Benny, over on Nolan’s other side, has been laughing like crazy throughout this whole exchange.

  While the dealer just waits patiently.

  Yeah, you don’t rush high rollers.

  She knows the deal.

  Leaning across the table, Benny then says to Cricket, “It’s a holiday saying, the ‘Jingle Bells’ comment. Since yesterday was Christmas and all, Nolan, is apparently feeling extra festive.”

  All three of us crack up then, and Cricket, rightfully so, mutters under her breath, “You’re all a bunch of assholes.”

  In this circumstance, we are.

  We deserve her ire.

  “So,” Nolan begins once we’ve composed ourselves, “are we playing cards or not?”

  I hold up a hand. “Yes, we’re playing. I’m in.”

  “I’m in too,” Cricket states defiantly.

  Whoa, she’s scowling hard over at Nolan.

  Not that he notices. He’s too busy telling the dealer, “We’re ready.”

  She begins passing out the cards, and Cricket directs her attention to her hand.

  I do the same, and we make our bets.

  Cricket goes all in.

  She didn’t start with a lot, but she’s won so much that her pot is currently huge.

  I try to assess if she’s bluffing or not now for this hand.

  I don’t know, though. She has a good poker face.

  Oooh, but wait, maybe not so much at this moment.

  With the way that she’s trying to hide a smile, those cards must be fucking awesome…again.

  Too bad I’m grinning like a mofo too.

  That’s right, bitches—I have a king and an eight.

  Not too shabby.

  I go all in, as well.

  Since I like to live a little dangerously—you should see me out on the ice—I say to the dealer, “Hit me.”

  She slides me another card, face down.

  Grimacing and holding my breath, I take a quick peek.

  Holy shit, it’s a three.

  With my king and an eight, I have fucking twenty-one.

  Cricket can’t beat this.

  I hold, as does she, while Benny and Nolan ask for so many cards that they end up going over and folding.

  Not me, though.

  And I know for sure I’ve won this round when the dealer flips her cards and has only nineteen.

  “Who’s the fucking man?” I mutter under my breath.

  Cricket, hearing that, says, “Not you. The more appropriate statement in this circumstance is ‘Who’s the fucking woman,’ as I so have this.”

  I chortle. “Wanna bet, sweetheart?”

  Cricket cocks her head, and damn, she really is one spectacular woman.

  And I am one smitten fool.

  “So,” she says slowly, “by ‘wanna bet,’ do you mean you’d like to make a side wager? If so, I’m up for one.”

  Ah, a woman after my own heart.

  I think I may be in love.

  Okay, not love, but definitely in lust.

  Nodding, I reply, “Now that you mention it, I do mean exactly that.”

  “Okay, sure, let’s do it. And since I know I’m going to win, you don’t even have to tell me what you want for our little side wager. How do you like that?”

  “I like it,” I say. “Don’t bother telling me what you want, either.”

  “I won’t.” She smiles smugly. “This is going to be so much fun, watching you lose.”

  “That’s not happening,” I declare as I flip my cards over with complete confidence.

  Not missing a beat, Cricket does the same with her own cards.

  We both look down at the same time.

  Yes!

  She has two queens—that’s twenty.

  It’s not enough.

  “I won,” I declare. “Just like I told you I would.”

  She rolls her eyes, muttering, “Whatever.”

  Reaching forward, I haul in the chips.

  And this time they really are all mine.

  With her beautiful full lips poised in a sexy pout, Cricket asks, “So what do I owe you for our side bet?”

  “That’s easy.” I smile over at her. “Just go out with me.”

  Her eyes widen. “Like what? On a date?”

  I laugh. “Exactly like on a date, yes.”

  Why does she look so uneasy all of a sudden?

  Frowning, she says, “Okay, I’ll give you my number. But can we make a final decision on this date thing tomorrow?”

  Huh?

  This is weird.

  “Tomorrow? Er, uh, I guess. Why do we have to wait, though? Are you married and your divorce becomes final at midnight or something?”

  “No,” she states quietly, “it’s nothing like that.”

  “Well, that’s good to know
,” I mutter.

  Still, I am so confused.

  Cricket pulls out a pen and a slip of paper from her purse and jots down her phone number.

  As she hands me the paper, she says, “Trust me on this waiting thing. It really is for the best.”

  What choice do I have?

  Shaking my head, thinking Cricket sure is one hot mess, I tell her, “Sure. We can play this however you want.”

  We can too, however bizarre it’s all become.

  I have no idea why, either.

  Guess I’ll just have to wait and find out tomorrow.

  Mixing Business with Pleasure

  Oh, hell! What did I just do?

  Ugh, I know what I did. I foolishly made a wager with freaking Landen Zehner, and now the big beautiful blond left winger for the Las Vegas Wolves wants to go out with me on a date.

  Not that I’m averse to the idea, as he is beyond hot.

  Oh, and by the way, I know all about him. Pretending that I didn’t was just an act.

  Landen is twenty-six and a relatively new arrival to Las Vegas. He was traded to the Wolves from the Islanders this past summer. He’s a forward who plays left wing and is friends with right winger Blake Cavaletti, another fairly new Wolves acquisition who plays on his line.

  Other facts I know about Landen are that he’s not married or currently involved with anyone, nor does he have kids.

  I’ve also heard he’s a bit of a bad boy.

  I like the bad boy part.

  Landen is my kind of guy.

  Oh, and I certainly don’t “not” like him.

  That was an act as well.

  Kind of like me pretending I didn’t know I was playing cards with three hot and sexy Wolves players.

  It was all just a ploy to lie low.

  I saw no reason to stroke their already big egos.

  So I chose to let them think I was clueless about who they are and what they do for a living.

  It’s funny that since I was at the VIP table, they probably assume I’m some kind of a high roller.

  That makes me laugh, as it couldn’t be further from the truth.

  I was only in that back room because I’m friends with the blackjack dealer, Bettina. She and I went to graduate school together. I finished my MBA seven months ago, back in May.

  Bettina, though, has one more semester to go.

  The money she makes dealing cards in the back room of one of the biggest casinos on the Strip helps pay her way.

  “Enough about Bettina,” I murmur as I pull up to my townhouse on the west side of Vegas. “Let’s get back to Landen.”