Page 4 of Icebreaker

The door to my new apartment swung open with a creak. I'd rented a loft in a converted warehouse in Portland's Pearl District. Fresh out of college, it was the first place I had on my own, and it was exciting and terrifying at the same time.

My gear bag fell off my shoulder and landed on the floor with a resounding thud. Fueled by adrenaline, my mind raced, fighting for attention with my screaming, exhausted muscles. It had been a hard day, but I couldn't stop smiling.

I'd done it, and I rubbed my hands together with glee. I'd survived my first official practice session with the Portland Lumberjacks. My first scrimmage game would happen in two days, and it could be my first face-off at center ice.

None of it felt quite real, and I thought I might wake up from a dream at any moment. I would lie in the single bed in my old bedroom at Uncle Tyler's house, staring at the Gretzky posters on the walls, dreaming that I might someday skate on the same ice he'd dominated for so many years.

When I took my next step, the little twinge in my lower back and the residual burn in my thighs reminded me it was all real enough. I chuckled softly, realizing my biggest dream was coming true.

I wove through a maze of boxes on the way to my half-furnished living room. The loft was a shambles, full of hockey paraphernalia and half-unpacked personal stuff. I'd put it all in boxes in haste back in Michigan and shipped it off where it arrived two days ago, only a day after the start of my lease.

My second-hand couch would serve as my bed until I received that first paycheck and could buy a real one. Flopping down on it and closing my eyes, I relived the day's highlights. Earning a smile from the coach and claps on the shoulder from my teammates stood out.

Of course, I couldn't forget meeting Axel Karlsson face-to-face. I'd read about his career and the spectacular scandal that nearly killed it, but seeing him in person was next level.

His dark brown, almost black, eyes had bored deep into mine. I'd thought Swedes were blonde and blue-eyed like me, but Axel broke the rules. His jet-black hair framed a chiseled face that took my breath away.

He was a true battle-scarred veteran of wars on the ice, and there I was, a wet-behind-the-ears rookie, having the audacity to prank him. I'd kept those pink skates after someone left them behind when I helped little kids learn to figure skate. I knew they'd come in handy someday.

And who would have known my heart would kick into its highest gear, pounding away, when he looked at me? A giddywave of excitement, nerves, and something else I couldn't name yet crashed over me.

Surely, I had imagined most of it. That electric sizzle when he'd shaken my hand must have been static electricity.

Axel Karlsson was the kind of man to inspire secrets whispered in the corners of the locker room. He'd been up and down, seen it all, and done everything. Now, we were fortunate enough to have him as a leader on our team.

I was merely a rookie, a little audacious, to be sure, but at heart, I was just hoping to find a spot for myself in the big leagues. I wasn't looking for men to…

Damn, I'd always had a brain that ran about three lengths ahead of both the cart and the horse. How could I even think Axel might have looked at methatway?

It hadn't been possible, and to think that he might have was only setting myself up for major heartbreak down the road. I had to nip that silly crush in the bud…and fast.

According to my college literature buddies, that was always much easier said than done. I couldn't stop replaying the moment when Axel's lips almost curled into a genuine smile.

His eyes did linger on me a little longer than usual, too. I wasn't making that up.

With a heavy groan, I raised a hand and raked my fingers through my hair. I needed to find a distraction, something to take my mind off Mr. Tall, Dark, and Adorably Grumpy.

Suddenly, I heard a knock on the door and nearly jumped out of my skin. I'd barely shared my address with anyone except for…

A voice bellowed, "Pizza delivery for Mr. O'Reilly!" from the other side of the door. "I've got a large pepperoni with a side of Moose, hot and ready to eat."

I laughed as I hauled myself off the couch and headed for the door. Milo "Moose"Moretti had been my best friend since ourfirst week of college.We'dgraduated in the same class from Michigan State and were Spartans through and through.

Moose made a last-minute decision to follow me to Portland. He thought the Pacific Northwest was as good a spot as any to look for a job.

Back in college, we started bonding the moment I spotted Moose's dad carrying his bubble hockey table into the dorm. Moose was the kind of guy who could make you laugh on your worst day and always had your back, regardless of whatever the hell you might be going through.

With my head spinning about Axel, he was precisely the distraction I needed. The pizza was a plus.

I pulled the door open to find him standing there with a pizza box in one hand and a 2-liter bottle of Coke in the other. He wore a knit beanie with the words "Portland Lumberjacks,"which looked like someone stitched the letters by hand.

He dropped the pizza box on the nearest flat surface, a weathered IKEA table, and wrapped me in a massive hug. He had the nickname "Moose"for a reason. He was football offensive lineman-sized—wide shoulders and a broad, barrel chest, but he was no jock.

Moose would rather spend time in a biology lab taking cells apart and putting them back together like a crazed mad scientist…or knitting. Did I mention he liked to play bubble hockey, too?

"Special delivery for my favorite Lumberjack!"he declared. "I figured you could use a little real food on your first day of NHL superstardom."

I rolled my eyes at his hyperbole but couldn't stop smiling. "Damn, you don't know how yet, but trust me, you're a lifesaver."I pulled away from the hug and kicked the door shut. "I'm so hungry I could eat a moose, pun entirely intended."

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