Deals On Ice

Melina's POV

The slapping sound echoed down the third-floor hallway as I approached. I paused near the stairs and gripped the gift box in my hands. Today marked my one-year anniversary with Tristan and I wanted to surprise him with a visit to his fraternity house.

The noises grew louder as I approached his room and the door stood ajar. I pressed my palm against the frame and peered into the dim room.

Two overlapping figures moved on the mattress. Through the gap I recognized the athletic back and sandy blond hair of my boyfriend. He was on his knees, hands gripping the hips of a blonde woman whose legs were wrapped around his waist. The woman shifted her face toward the hallway light and my stomach dropped.

Chloe. My childhood best friend.

The gift box slipped from my fingers before I even noticed my hand had gone numb. It hit the floor with a loud thud that seemed to come from somewhere far away, underwater almost. My ears rang and for one absurd second, all I could think about was the ribbon I had spent twenty minutes curling that morning, now crumpled uselessly against the floorboards.

Then the room tilted and everything came rushing back at once... eight years of sleepovers and whispered secrets, the maid-of-honor speech Chloe used to joke about giving someday, her hand squeezing mine outside this very building exactly one year ago tonight. Something in my chest folded in on itself, sharp and airless, like a fist closing around my ribs.

Tristan froze and scrambled backward, dragging a bedsheet up to cover himself.

“Melina?” Tristan gasped. “What are you doing here?”

My voice came out steadier than I felt, flat and distant, as though someone else had borrowed my mouth. “I came to say happy anniversary,” I replied. “I brought a gift, but I see you were already busy.”

Chloe pulled the blanket over her chest and refused to meet my eyes. The refusal stung worse than if she had looked straight at me. Eight years of friendship and she could not even give me that. “Mel, please let us explain.”

Heat crawled up the back of my neck, prickling and furious, chasing away the numbness. “There is nothing to explain, Chloe,” I stated. “You two deserve each other.”

“Babe, wait,” Tristan pleaded. “We had drinks and it just happened.”

A short, disbelieving breath escaped through my nose. “You planned this,” I countered. “You chose to do this today of all days.”

“You have been distant all month,” Tristan argued. “You barely look at me lately.”

My throat tightened until swallowing hurt. “So you decided to sleep with my best friend?” I asked. “That is your excuse?”

“I didn't mean to hurt you,” Chloe offered.

The words landed like static, meaningless noise against the roar building behind my eyes. “Do not speak to me,” I commanded. “Do not ever speak to me again.”

I turned on my heel and walked away, my legs moving before I had fully decided to move them, carrying me down the hallway on instinct alone.

“Mel, stop!” Tristan called out.

“Let her go,” Chloe murmured behind me.

I ignored them and hurried down the stairs, pushing past the partygoers in the living room, their laughter and cheap music blurring into one indistinguishable noise around me. 

I stepped out into the cold night and the air hit my face like a slap and only then did I realize I was shaking. My eyes burned but nothing fell, as if even my body could not decide what to feel first.

I wandered the city streets for an hour, arms wrapped tight around myself, replaying the image over and over until it wore a groove into my skull. A tavern caught my attention. I pushed the door open, took a seat at the end of the bar and set my purse down, my hands trembling faintly against the worn wood.

“Tequila,” I requested.

The bartender poured the liquor into a glass and slid it over. I downed the drink in one motion, welcoming the burn because it was easier to feel than everything else clawing at my chest and tapped the rim.

“Another,” I demanded.

Before the bartender could reach the bottle, a man on the neighboring stool leaned closer. “You look like you need company. Can I buy the next round?”

Every nerve in my body recoiled. “I prefer to drink alone,” I answered.

The man reached out and wrapped his fingers around my wrist. My pulse spiked, sharp and cold. “Don't be rude. I'm just being friendly.”

“Let her go.”

The voice was calm but carried an edge of danger. The man turned his head quickly and his grip on my arm loosened.

Jace Hamilton stood behind my stool. The star captain of the Westbridge hockey team wore a dark jacket over his broad shoulders and his blue eyes fixed on the man's hand. Even off the ice, Jace commanded attention, radiating an authority that went far beyond typical college athletics.

“Mind your own business,” the man snapped.

“I'm making it my business,” Jace replied. “Take your hand off her right now.”

The man released my wrist, muttered a curse and hurried toward the back exit. Jace took the empty stool beside me and signaled the bartender. My wrist throbbed faintly where the stranger's fingers had been and I found myself grateful for a pain I could actually point to.

“A glass of water for her and put her tab on my card,” Jace instructed.

He dropped an exclusive black card onto the counter. The bartender nodded respectfully and hurried away to fetch the water.

“I didn't ask for your help, Jace,” I said, though the words carried less bite than I intended.

“You didn't have to,” Jace answered. “I saw you walk in looking ready to fight the city.”

Something in my chest cracked open at that, some careful seam giving way. “Tristan and Chloe,” I explained, my voice wavering for the first time all night. “I caught them together tonight.”

Jace tightened his jaw. “McGreggor is a coward. You are better off without him.”

“Is that your idea of comfort?” I asked, blinking hard against the sudden sting behind my eyes.

“It's just the truth,” Jace stated. “Drink your water, Melina. You need to rest.”

“I don't want water,” I argued, my hands curling into fists in my lap. “I want to forget the last three hours of my life.”

“Drinking more won't change what he did,” Jace advised. “It only gives him more power over you.”

“You sound like a therapist,” I noted, a humorless huff of air slipping out of me.

“I sound like someone who knows how Tristan operates,” Jace corrected. “He wants a reaction from you.”

“He won't get one,” I declared, even as my voice cracked slightly on the last word. “I am done with him.”

“Good,” Jace agreed. “Now let's get you out of here.”

“I don't want to go back to my dorm,” I admitted. “My roommate will ask questions.”

“My car is outside,” Jace offered. “You can crash at my place. No one will bother you there.”

“Why are you helping me?” I questioned, searching his face for some catch I was missing.

“Consider it a favor,” Jace replied.

I followed him out of the tavern and got into his vehicle. We drove in silence through the city until he pulled into the underground garage of a luxury high-rise building.

We took the elevator to the top floor and the doors opened directly into a massive penthouse. Tall windows offered a panoramic view of the Manhattan skyline and modern artwork lined the walls. This was not the apartment of a college athlete relying on a sports scholarship.

“Make yourself comfortable,” Jace instructed. “The guest room is down the hall on the left.”

“This place is huge,” I noted. “How do you afford this?”

“I have private investments,” Jace replied evasively. “Let's stick to the present.”

“You are hiding something,” I observed.

“Everyone hides something, Melina,” Jace stated.

I stepped closer to him and looked up into his eyes. The ache in my chest had curdled into something reckless, something that wanted to hurt someone the way I had been hurt. “Tristan hates you more than anyone else on campus.”

“The feeling is mutual,” Jace confirmed.

“He betrayed me with my best friend,” I continued, tracing a finger down the lapel of his jacket, my heartbeat loud in my own ears. “And he prides himself on his rivalry with you.”

Jace went still. “What are you doing, Melina?”

“I want to ruin his day,” I answered. “I want to take something from him.”

Jace caught my hand and held it firmly against his chest. “You are angry and you have been drinking. This is a dangerous game.”

“Are you scared of him?” I challenged.

“I'm not scared of anyone,” Jace promised, his gaze darkening as he stepped into my space. “But if we cross this line tonight, there is no going back.”

“I don't want to go back,” I confessed and for the first time that night, I meant it completely. “I want to move forward.”

“Are you sure about this?” Jace asked.

“Show me you are better than him,” I demanded.

I reached up and grabbed the collar of his jacket, pulling his face down toward mine.