Thin Ice

chapter one

Fifteen minutes have passed since the end of the school day, and Hunter and I are the only two people on the ice. Every day we meet in our high school's rink, occasionally joined by our teammates and friends, often left on our own, and practice like we have since the moment we first met and became friends.

Nearly ten years after that first encounter, our skills have improved immeasurably, as have our insults.

"You piece of fucking swine!" I shout, slamming my shoulder into his side as I attempt to strip him of the ball.

Hunter is silent, but I can tell from his body language he's irked by my words. He's massive now compared to the shrimp he used to be, with hard muscles and sharp lines, a grown-man in every sense of the word, and yet he still finds me annoying.

I can't help but feel a twinge of satisfaction at the thought.

His elbow knocks into my ribs. "Shut the hell up." His voice is cold, and frustration flashes in his steel grey eyes when I don't budge. My stick slips around his, and with a jerk I send the puck a few yards away.

Moving quickly, I untangle myself from Hunter and dart after it. Hunter trails, only a few inches behind, and yet he can't reach me before I fire the puck into the back of the net.

His scowl deepens as I shout with triumph and pump my fist in the air. "Take that you fucker."

Eyes narrowing into slits, he says, "Don't be a bitch about it."

I stick my tongue out and wiggle my eyebrows. "Who you calling bitch, bitch. You're the sore loser."

"How am I a sore loser?" He demands, yanking his helmet off. "I didn't try to dispute your win! And I didn't call you a cheater. Unlike some people, I can admit defeat."

I press my lips together tightly then growl, "I was six you piece of shit. And you did cheat!"

Hunter snorts. "I wasn't talking about that, Alison." For a half second after he says my name, my breath catches in my throat, and then the strange feeling in my chest disappears behind another glare. "I was talking about last week. And the month before that. And every time you ever lose."

He's right.

I hate to lose.

I sniff. "Well, it's a good thing I rarely lose, isn't it?"

Hunter skates forward, radiating confidence and determination. His gloved hand presses against mine atop my hockey stick for a moment. "I think our match-ups generally tend to go in my favor, babe."

Annoyance sparks in my eyes, and I yank my hand away from his. I hate the condescending way he says babe every time he's reprimanding me. It's not often he calls me anything other than Alison, my full and given name, but when he does, it's usually to piss me off further. "I think in the recent months that's not so true, dick."

His lips quirk up at the edges.

"And another thing." I lean forward and whisper, "I fucking won, so guess who gets to pick the music on the way home?"

His expression sours. "I hate that rule."

I'm grinning again. "You don't hate it when you win and get to play whatever ancient hymns you want to hear."

Hunter stares at me and deadpans, "That's a bit of an exaggeration, no?"

I laugh. "Whatever you say, old man. Surprised you can even hear anything anymore."

"With the volume you listen to? Me too." He snaps, visibly pissed. "You're going to blow out your hearing. Mine too." He leans toward me, resting against his hockey stick. "And another thing-"