Sugar and Ice - RJ Scott Page 0,4

taping up and singing along to whatever was on his iPod. He glanced up when I arrived, and took out the earbuds.

“Hey,” he said, and I could tell just from the tone that he’d seen the insta stuff where Lacey had implied shit about me. We’d had an off day; they’d given me a personal day, but now I was back. Tomorrow we were home against San Diego, a local rivalry, and I had a small hope that today everything would have been forgotten, but no, I could see his expression.

“Hey,” I said back, still awkward with Ryker that one day he would find out that his stepdad had been my first crush, but hey, what the hell, life is screwed up.

“Saw all the insta stuff, forget about it,” Ryker murmured, and stood to stretch. “No one will mention it, and once we start training—”

A commotion at the door had us both turning. Colorado with one of his famous entrances.

“Sugar, saw the shit on the web, damn dude, it’s nice for someone else to take some heat around here.”

“Sugar?” I asked, sounded weak, because who the hell knew what was going on in Colorado’s head.

“Yeah, Tate-sweet-as-apple-pie, Sugar for short.” He tossed me something, and I caught it on reflex. An apple.

“Thanks,” I said because I was lost for words, but was pleased he hadn’t gone for the whole Tater Tot shit I got from my brother.

Then Colorado moved and behind him stood our captain, Vlad ‘The Iceberg’ Novikov, all focused as he looked from me to the apple, to Ryker, and to Colorado who was trying for innocent. My heart beat faster, my nerves tingled, and I swear I was getting hard.

What was it about Vlad and the way he came into a room? Or the way he stood? Or talked? Or even freaking breathed.

And why did it get me so flustered?

Chapter Two

Vlad

There was something about the captain entering the locker room.

It was similar to when Sister Krygina would walk into the small classroom in our Russian Orthodox school back in Chelyabinsk when my brother Dimi and I were children. She was a thin, dour woman in a black habit and wimple who’d inspired fear and reverence in equal measure. Most of the players quieted, as if I were going to discipline them for joking around. Most. Not all. I did notice the fast look from our newest Raptor, Tate Collins, before he refocused on a shiny red apple. Pity my attention wasn’t as easily diverted.

“Yo, Captain Iceberg!” Colorado called out, spinning in an elegant pirouette that made his flowy shirt-robe covering thing flare out around his body. “Check this out.”

“It’s lovely.” I walked around the goalie/rock star/troublemaker. He bounced around in front of me, long, strong legs encased in black leather, sandals on his feet. The man painted his toenails. And sometimes his fingernails. And wore earrings that my mother would’ve envied.

“Dude, for serious, it’s not a lovely look. I mean, lovely?” He smiled a smile that would ensure he never went to bed alone. “Sure, yeah, if I were a chick. No, this is gauzy stage wear that’s been adopted for street wear. It’s part of the new line I’m designing.” He pranced over to Ryker and Tate, looped his arms around their shoulders, and grinned like a monkey high on banana pudding. “Penn Wear, for the rock star in all of us! Like, do you not love that tag line? I made it up. And this is just one of several frocks that I designed to pay reverence to the most amazing sexual deity that ever rocked our tiny world. My idol, Mr. Steven Tyler.”

All three fell to their knees to bow and scrape and say they were not worthy. I had no idea what they were giggling about, but seeing Tate smile, even for a few silly moments, did odd things to my stomach. Things that made me feel out of control.

“You have no idea who Steven Tyler is, do you?” Ryker inquired from his position lying on the carpeted floor beside the Raptors logo. One never stepped on or touched the logo itself—that was bad luck—but reclining beside it was acceptable. Americans. No matter how long I lived in this wonderful country I would never fully understand them.

“Of course I do. He’s a singer.” There. I showed them. “Obviously, a rock and roll singer as only a rock star would cavort around in something that looked like my grandmother’s summer robe.”

Ryker and Tate howled in