Playing With Fire - Stacey Lynn Page 0,1

have no doubt.

To my surprise, the front yard of the three-story, all brick, turn of the century home is completely clean when we arrive. The trees lost their leaves weeks ago and there isn’t a single stray leaf blowing across the yard. And while the tips of my ears and my nose are already frozen from the cruel, whipping wind all Chicagoans complain about, I’m only thankful we haven’t already had snow.

As a girl raised mostly all along the western coast, the bitter cold is my enemy, but I might hate having to be out in snow more. Thank goodness for Ubers and taxis and the El train. Without them, I might never step outside from the months of November through April.

My hands are warm, enclosed in fluffy wool mittens I splurge on every year. I’m already cringing at the idea of having to ditch both my mittens and my North Face coat. It’s not uncommon for coats to be taken at parties or completely forgotten about, and it’s not like there’s ever a good place to store them.

“See? No panties and no naked women yet.” Lizzie bumps her hip into mine and almost sends me slipping across a patch of ice.

“It’s like, ten degrees below with the wind chill. Any girl out here naked now is stupid. Or dead.”

As if I’ve summoned stupidity, a guy bursts through the front door of the house. He’s as burly and rough as all the other hockey players I’ve seen on campus and his chest must be warm, covered beneath his own thick matting of hair all over him. He tumbles through the door, slams his fists to his chest and throws his head back, howling at the moon.

“What in the hell?”

Next to me, Lizzie laughs. She tugs on my hand and we move to skirt around him, but as we begin climbing the steps, three other men come out from behind the wannabe werewolf and shove him forward.

“Hey!” I cry, but it’s too late, my heels slip on the wood step and just like Lizzie did earlier, my arms spin and flail for balance. I reach for the hairy guy in front of me, but he’s too slow on his feet, or he hasn’t even noticed me. Regardless, I fly up in the air, and I can see it in slow motion.

My feet are in the air, my arms flailing. I’m imagining a fractured tailbone and taking my finals sitting on an inflatable toilet looking seat cushion and I brace myself for the impact of slamming onto the cement.

But it never comes.

Two warm arms slide beneath me and catch me just in the nick of time, and then, I swear maybe I already hit my head, I’m concussed. I have to be.

Because the most beautiful voice I’ve heard lands right on my ear.

“It’s okay, beautiful. I’ve got you.”

Chapter Two

Beautiful. Please. The only thing visible on my entire body is my Rudolph nose, the rest ensconced in my long puffer coat, scarf, and mittens.

The fact this guy says it so quickly, with a voice like warm honey that I’m totally ignoring, proves what I’ve suspected about hockey players on campus.

He’s a total player.

On instinct, my arms go to his shoulders to hold on and I burrow my head in embarrassment.

On the front porch, Lizzie is doubled over, laughing hysterically. Her blonde hair bobs and sways as she shakes her head. “That was so funny. You should have seen yourself.”

I ignore her in favor of walking on my own two feet. “Thanks for the help. I can walk though.”

“Ah, but I think I like you in my arms.”

Yeah… smooth. His voice is deep and rich and based on the size of this guy’s shoulders, he’s as burly and bulky as the rest of the players. The fact he’s only wearing a short-sleeve shirt shows his muscles and corded throat.

Without setting me down, he walks up the stairs I’ve just fallen down and shoves two guys out of the way. Werewolf boy has disappeared but the other two guys, with their typical long and shaggy hockey hair, one blonde, one darker, wear their smirks as easily as they probably wear their skates.

“Please.” I dig my mitten-covered hands into his shoulders and push off. “Put me down.”

He stops instantly, and whether it’s the tremble he hears in my voice from the cold, or the mortification sluicing through me, he listens.

“You okay?” he asks.

I can’t bring myself to look at him. If he’s anything similar to the