Tripping (Iced #2) - Kristine Allen Page 0,3

other side of the barricades as the security duo guided me out of the restricted area I’d tumbled into.

As they let me out, he barreled into me and wrapped his arms around me. “Girl, I thought you were gonna die!”

“Well, that makes two of us,” I muttered as I extricated myself from his exuberant embrace. I slapped his phone in his hand. “I hope I got a few good shots for you.”

“I don’t care about the pics!” His hand landed over his mouth as he tried to contain his excitement.

“Can we please go?” I was starting to get a headache, and I was shaking from the adrenaline of the incident.

Sergio’s shorter legs were damn near running next to me as we fought the crowds to get out of the stadium. With the premium seats came fantastic parking, thank goodness, so we didn’t have far to walk.

“Bleu, do you want me to take you to an ER?” he asked.

“I’m fine,” I insisted for the umpteenth time.

“Then do you want me to buy you a drink?” he asked as he opened the car door.

“Please. Something strong.” I dropped into my seat, and my head fell back to the headrest. He rounded the vehicle and climbed in.

“You got it, babe. One strong drink coming up!” I chuckled as he pulled his Range Rover out of the parking spot and got in line to slowly exit the facility. It seemed to take forever, because though we were parked close, the number of cars trying to get out of the lot was incredible.

We went straight to his favorite little pub, and I gave him a glare.

“What?” He shot me an exaggeratedly innocent look.

“This is where you like to go because the hockey players come here after their games.”

“So? Come on, Princess Merida, I’ll buy you a big fat heavily alcoholic drink of your choice. In fact, drinks on me all night.” He made prayer hands and batted his thick dark lashes. He loved calling me Merida after that kids’ movie.

“Fuck. You. That princess shit ain’t workin’ on me this time,” I muttered as I crossed my arms. “You better keep those drinks coming.”

We went inside and quickly found a corner booth that Sergio claimed before two leggy blondes could get there. I snickered at their snide comments. This was Sergio’s favorite booth because it had a perfect view of the front door and the bar. Better to scope out sexy hockey players for him.

Probably the same reason those chicks had wanted it.

Staring at my phone, I ignored the rapidly filling bar. Sergio placed our order when the server stopped at the table.

It wasn’t long before the waitress plopped a giant margarita glass in front of me with sugar on the rim how I liked it and a cute little umbrella sticking out of the top. A satisfied grin tipped my lips as I pulled my beanie off and tried to tame my curls. “Okay, you’re forgiven for making me go to that hockey game, almost killing me by having me get your damn pictures, and making me come here. Keep ’em coming.”

“You got it honey,” he said with a snicker as he sipped an old fashioned.

I was three drinks in when a shadow fell over me. Sergio stopped speaking midsentence. I frowned and looked up at the cause of the shadow and Sergio’s silence.

“You have room for three more?”

“No!” I growled.

“Yes!” Sergio insisted at the same time. I turned my growl on him.

Without a care, the big hockey dude that Sergio had the hots for scooted me further into the booth. “Hey! My drink!”

Without thinking, I reached across him for my glass. As my fingers wrapped around the thick stem, I froze. Realizing I was damn near in his lap, I turned my head slightly, and my gaze landed on his perfect lips.

I dragged my glass over so fast, some spilled on his hand where it rested on the table. Ever so slowly, he raised it and licked my drink off. Like an idiot, I sat there dumbly staring as that tongue of his licked between the cleft of his fingers.

Against my better judgement, I imagined him licking somewhere else like that.

“You’re very good at that,” Sergio said with a giggle, breaking my transfixion with the movement of his tongue. My face burned, and I knew it would be redder than my hair.

I hate hockey players. I hate hockey players.

“Why?” Mr. Blue Eyes asked.

“Huh?”

“Why do you hate hockey players?” he clarified, and my traitorous pale