Watch Your Mouth: A Brother’s Best Friend Hockey Romance (Kings of the Ice)
Watch Your Mouth: Chapter 2

Two Weeks Earlier

Grace

I was used to cheering for my brother from the sidelines.

I’d been doing it my entire life.

From the time I was a baby strapped to my mom’s chest and watching him learn how to hold a stick, my eyes had been cast up to my older brother. I’d watched him learn to play hockey as an awkward kid, watched him get a little better as a hormonal teenager, and watched him absolutely dominate as he transitioned from a boy to a man.

I looked up to him.

Perhaps because I never had a choice in the matter.

So, when I got to be there to see him accept the Calder Memorial Trophy at the NHL awards, essentially declaring him the rookie of the year — I wasn’t the least bit surprised. I stood and clapped and screamed so loud the tables of athletes and their families around us stared at me like I was a wild child. I think even my parents — who were also screaming — were a little embarrassed by me.

Of course, I was used to that, too.

But regardless of living in Vince’s shadow, I was still bursting with pride for him. That was my brother. He was a leader, a damn good hockey player, and an even better man.

I was honored to be his little sister.

The award ceremony was in Austin, Texas, this year, and I’d flown down from Michigan alongside my parents without a second thought. There was no way they’d miss anything when it came to Vince.

It was already unbearably hot in the city, something most of the attendees were complaining about. Me, on the other hand? I loved the heat. I’d take a simmering day in the city over a winter day in Michigan anytime.

Mom and Dad bowed out once the award ceremony wrapped up, knowing the debauchery that would take place soon after wasn’t something they wanted to take part in. They doted on Vince for a half hour before finally hugging him goodnight, and then me by proxy.

I breathed easier once they were gone.

“Are you ready for this?” Maven asked me, threading her arm through mine as we followed the rest of the Tampa Bay Ospreys team toward the party bus waiting to take us out on the town. Maven was my brother’s new girlfriend — which had shocked us all, considering he’d never been the relationship type. Maven was a catch, though — smart as hell, quick-witted, and absolutely gorgeous. She was watching me with her warm honey eyes now, her smile wide and bright.

“Are you kidding? I was born for this,” I told her with a grin, shimmying my hips with a little twerk against her.

She barked out a laugh. “You’re just like your brother.”

I wish.

The thought was sudden, like a bolt of lightning, but it burned out just as quickly.

We boarded the party bus to the roar of two-dozen rowdy teammates, all of them chanting Vince’s name as he hoisted the Calder Trophy high over his head in victory. He propped his foot on the first bus seat and did a ridiculous body roll celly dance with the trophy, making the bus full of hockey players cheer louder.

I’d seen it a million times, my brother celebrating. He was just the kind of person who excelled at everything he put his mind to. The fact that he was currently holding the trophy for NHL rookie of the year, and he could also craft beautiful vases out of clay, was proof of that.

“It’s so loud!” I screamed over the noise.

Maven laughed, squeezing my arm. We paused by the driver at the front of the bus as my brother held his trophy up proudly.

“I’ve dreamed about this moment since I was in high school,” he said, and by some miracle, the guys on the bus calmed enough so they could hear him. “Back then, I saw it as a solo award…”

He continued on, but I only half listened as I scanned the bus full of men watching him with rapt attention.

The Tampa Bay Ospreys.

I’d seen these guys clown around, heard them chirp each other enough that I knew they were like family. But in this moment, they were all focused on Vince, respect shining through their expressions.

He was already a leader to them after just one year on the team, and that made my chest swell with pride again.

As I scanned their faces, my eyes locked with a pair of twilight blue ones in the very back.

Jaxson Brittain.

He was a defenseman for the team, that much I knew because whatever team Vince was on, I made it my mission to know everything about them. I was my brother’s biggest cheerleader — other than our parents.

I also particularly remembered Jaxson because of how those bright blue eyes had trailed the length of me on the tarmac in December when my parents and I had surprised Vince for Christmas.

That was before he knew I was his teammate’s little sister, back when there wasn’t a giant red flag protruding from my forehead.

And in that moment, his eyes had devoured me, had seared my skin and sparkled with dark, delicious promises.

I’d basked in the glow of his attention — however brief it was.

The memory of it now sent goosebumps parading down my spine.

Jaxson blinked, and I tore my gaze away and back to my brother just in time to see him pour a beer into his new trophy before chugging it to the wild approval from all his teammates.

“I hope you’re ready for a long night out,” Maven said to me.

In the next instant, she was tugged into my brother’s lap, and I cleared my throat and looked away uncomfortably so I wouldn’t have nightmares from watching him maul her. I was looking up at the ceiling when my brother acknowledged I was still there.

“Oh, shit, here, Gracie,” he said, moving the trophy and scooting over so I could sit next to where Maven was still in his lap.

I scoffed, pulling my hair behind one shoulder. “Please. I’ll pass on the third wheel.” I turned to the bus full of Ospreys next. “Who’s got an open seat next to them?”

It was silent for two seconds.

And then the bus erupted into chatter, every guy yelling for my attention while they shoved teammates out of seats to make room.

Maven laughed when I waggled my brows at her, a shit-eating grin on my face. I loved to fuck with my over-protective brother, and flirting with his teammates was the easiest way to do it.

Vince’s jaw was tight as he stood up and pointed a death finger at every single one of them.

“Don’t you fuckers even think about it.” He glowered at everyone before focusing on Jaxson at the very back, and with a snap of his fingers, the sergeant gave his order. “Jax, let her sit next to you. You’re the only one I can trust.”

Those blue eyes slid to me again, only this time, they were wide open.

I thought I saw him swallow, which made me grin.

Nothing like making my brother’s friends uncomfortable. I’d been doing that most my life, too, since he’d threatened every friend he’d had to stay far away from me.

Vince pointed at me next. “If any of them lay a hand on you—”

“Oh, my God. Relax,” I said, and then I skipped to the back of the bus, smiling at every player as I passed.

I sank into the seat next to Jaxson, beaming at him with a mischievous smile.

“Hi,” I said.

And this time I was close enough to see him gulp. “Hi.”

God, that voice.

He spoke in a baritone, one I felt like an earthquake in the very foundation of who I was. That one word had rumbled through his chest, deep and smooth and subtly confident. If hockey ever failed him, he’d have a career in commercial voiceover.

I’d buy anything he was selling if he told me I was a good girl afterward.

One of the players tapped me on the shoulder, handing me a beer, which I chugged in one of my favorite party tricks to the roar of the back half of the bus.

I’d made it my mission in college to learn how to shotgun a beer better than any guy who challenged me. To be honest, that was about my only mission in college. I’d never been the academic type. But the frat parties and long nights on the town with my fake ID in hand had turned out useful.

It was fun to surprise people when they saw you as just a petite little thing.

I wiped the suds from my lips with the back of my arm when I turned back to Jaxson, and my smile climbed as his eyes raked slowly over me. He didn’t do it as unabashedly as he had that first time on the tarmac, though.

This time, it was like it was against his own will, like I was something he shouldn’t look at but couldn’t help himself.

Kind of like a car wreck.

Which was what I felt like most of the time, if I was being honest.

“You shouldn’t look at me like that,” I said.

A muscle in his jaw tightened, his eyes flicking up to meet mine.

“I have a boyfriend. Well,” I amended, tapping my chin as I took another beer from someone who offered it. I cracked the top and sipped from this one rather than downing it, sitting back in the seat and crossing my legs. “Technically, we haven’t put a label on anything, but we do very boyfriend-girlfriend things.”

The truth behind that vague and awkward statement was that I’d met Trent while sharing a joint around a campfire in May, and then we’d hooked up in his van. I’d kind of just followed him around like a puppy dog since, mostly because I didn’t exactly know what else to do.

But he didn’t seem to mind having me around, and even though he told me he wasn’t looking for any kind of relationship, he got jealous when he saw other guys try to talk to me. He also showed me public displays of affection, bought me gifts, texted me all day every day, and made plans that included both of us.

Felt very relationship-y to me, but what did I know.

“Trust me — you having a boyfriend is the least of my concerns when it comes to looking at you,” Jaxson said.

I smiled at his honesty. “Ah, scared of my brother, huh?”

“I respect him.”

“Same thing.”

He chuckled, leaning back against the window as he took a pull from his own beer. “This is one of your favorite games to play, isn’t it?” he asked. “Making your brother’s friends fear for their lives.”

“Top five favorite for sure,” I confirmed. “But don’t worry, I think he’s preoccupied enough tonight that he won’t watch you too closely.”

I nodded toward where Vince and Maven were making out at the front of the bus, her straddling his lap, and him doing a piss-poor job of hiding the fact that he had a hand up her dress.

Jaxson laughed a little through his nose before his attention was on me again.

Fuck, he was hot.

Not the kind of hot I was used to, either. I’d been around hockey players my entire life. I knew the kind of hot they were, the swagger they walked with, the long, messy hair and crooked grins and scars in all the right places that made them look just bad enough to get you into trouble.

But Jaxson Brittain was a breed all his own.

His dark brown hair wasn’t long and unruly, but medium length, tamed enough to look like he tried while also being just messy enough to make you want to curl your fingers in the strands and tug.

Every angle of his face was sharp — the slope of his nose, the cut of his jawline, the angle of his cheekbones. He had a face that was almost too pretty for hockey, with scruff lining his upper lip and the span of his jaw.

I wanted to touch that scruff, to feel it under my fingertips and against my neck.

Add in the fact that he had a mouth that did things to you — whether he ever touched you with it or not — and it was maddening. His bottom lip was plump and inviting, the curl of his smirk promising he knew just how to use that mouth, too.

He was built only the way a defenseman could be, with muscles that coiled his arms and back and abdomen and legs. I didn’t need to see him without his clothes off to know that, either. You could see the bulges, lines, and cuts through his button down, could spy how his thick thighs stretched the seams of his slacks.

My bet was that he had an ass of stone, too.

I’d make that my number one mission to replace out when we stood up to get off this bus.

As if the fact that he had a body cut by years of playing one of the most brutal sports wasn’t hot enough, he’d also covered half that body with tattoos.

Long, sweeping lines of blue and black ink wrapped around his right arm, covering him from wrist to shoulder. I couldn’t see those tattoos now, not in the suit he was wearing, but I’d marveled at them that first day I’d seen him on the tarmac.

I wondered if it was just his arm that was inked, or if there was more to discover under those expensive threads he wore.

And the icing on the Jaxson Brittain cake?

His eyes.

Diamond blue, somehow icy cold and searing hot at the same time. His dark brows were almost always folded over them, even when he smirked, but those blue pools shone regardless. They were the kind of eyes that saw right through you, that made you want to back down and look away for fear of having every dirty little secret you’d ever kept hidden discovered.

Those eyes were fixed on me at the moment, narrowed a bit, like he was trying to figure out the answer to a question I hadn’t asked him.

“You’re going to get me into trouble tonight, aren’t you?” he asked as the bus carried us toward 6th Street.

I smiled, my hair falling over my face a little as I took a sip of my beer. I peeked up at him with a smile that would have made my not-boyfriend Trent grit his teeth in jealousy. My high heel dragged against the outer seam of his dress slacks as I crossed my legs the other way, leaning in a bit closer, and his eyes followed that movement with one eyebrow slowly arching into his hairline.

“I have a feeling you can replace trouble all on your own.”

It was a dare, one I could make with faux confidence because I knew none of my brother’s teammates would ever take it.

But when Jaxson slicked his bottom lip, his blue eyes sparking with mischief…

I prayed he’d be the first.