Playing With Fire: Ice Kings, #0.5

By Stacey Lynn

Jude Taylor swept me off my feet the moment I met him.

Literally.

 

He chased me. Tried to win me. For the first time in my life, he made me feel like taking a risk might not be so scary.

As soon as I gave in, everything was ripped away.

 

I knew I never should have trusted him.

Not with my dreams.

And most definitely ­– not with my heart.

 

Playing With Fire is a prequel novella to Playing To Win. It does not have to be read first to enjoy Playing To Win. It's an EXTRA for readers who wanted the history to Jude and Kate's relationship in Playing To Win. It can be read at any time.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Stacey Lynn
• Release date: Aug 11, 2020
• ISBN: 9781393864790

Stacey Lynn

Stacey Lynn lives in the midwest with her husband and four young children. She can usually be found lost inside her own head, trying to bring her characters to life. When she's engaged in the real world, she's spending time with her family, drinking large amounts of coffee, and eating Skittles by the handful. For more information about Stacey Lynn and her upcoming books visit: www.staceylynnbooks.com Facebook:http://www.facebook.com/staceylynnbooks Twitter:@staceylynnbooks

Book preview

Chapter One

"You never come out with me anymore. Please, Katie?"

My roommate Lizzie steps into my room, hands pressed together in prayer. She’s one of the few people who get away with calling me Katie, and I love her to death. Most days.

Please, pretty please? I’ll pay for your keg cup.

As tempting as that is…I’m not falling for it.

I raise my beer in one hand, barely looking up from my book. First semester finals are in one week and I plan on acing mine. Stay in if you want to drink with me. I’m not against fun, I’m only over frat parties and sticky bar floors.

We’re seniors at Chicago College and I’m not exaggerating. I’ve risked losing enough heels in the last couple of years from the amount of alcohol spilled on our campus bar floors. And fraternity parties? They’re even worse. I’ve seen the aftermath of them, too.

At twenty-one, I want to spend my last year solely focused on school. It’s time to buckle down to ensure I’ll be accepted into the graduate program. Nothing will risk throwing me off my planned track.

Not even Lizzie, cutely pouting at the side of my desk, bottom lip plumped out and giving me sad puppy dog eyes. As I speak, a twinkle appears in her pretty blues.

Then it’s a good thing it’s at the hockey players’ house, isn’t it? She points a finger at me before I can say anything. "And you’ve never been there, so you can’t say it’s gross and germ and STI infested. You don’t know that."

I’m a girl of facts. The hockey players on campus catch more tail than any other sport combined. I can hypothesize with the best of them, and my best-educated guess is that Lizzie is absolutely wrong about this one.

I tap my pen on my opened Advanced Statistics book. In truth, I’ve got this. Science, math, and I go together like peanut butter and jelly—grape only, though. I’ve wanted to be a physical therapist and work in the medical field for as long as I can remember, so I’ve worked my tail off for years.

My eyes are scratchy from staring at my computer screen for so many hours this week despite using my blue-light blocker glasses when I study. Frankly, I can use the break.

But the hockey players’ house? Ugh. It’s larger than the fraternity houses and more than once I’ve walked by and there’s been what looks like a clothesline filled with a variety of women’s underwear hanging from it.

They’re animals. Sweaty, bulky, shaggy-haired, and full-bearded animals.

I hate hockey.

Lizzie snorts. She always knows I’m caving when I break out the worst excuses.

She also knows when I’m lying. I’m not a sports fanatic, but I’ve learned a lot over the years. It comes with the territory of having labs and putting in hours in the college’s training facility helping student-athletes with minor injuries.

She slaps closed my textbook.

Hey!

The only studying I want to do tonight is figuring out if they really know what they’re doing with their hard sticks. Consider it medical research.

She eyes my book playfully and waggles her eyebrows.

I lean back in my chair and cross my arms. No researching their sticks.

Not even to measure?

You are crazy.

And you’re growing cobwebs where no one virile twenty-one-year-old woman should, Katie. Come out with me. We only have a semester left and we need to live it up, create as many memories as we can before I leave.

Oh, yay, the guilt trip. After this year, Lizzie’s heading off to study economics in England for graduate school. She’s not only a party animal, she’s wicked smart, invested in everything she does, which is probably why she’s able to talk me into anything.

I have to work tomorrow. I need to be home early.

One?

Midnight.

She pouts but knows when I’ve negotiated all I’m willing to.

She holds out her hand. Deal.

I grab it, going to shake it, but as I do, I yank my arm back and tug her forward. She loses balance on her heels and her arms pinwheel across my bedroom until she braces herself right before she collapses onto my bed.

You’re a brat, she says, laughing, blonde hair covering her face before she blows it out of the way.

Call me names again and you’ll be going by yourself. I’m out of my chair, heading for my private bathroom in the apartment we share right off campus. I need to shower and get ready but I’ll be ready in thirty.

I’ll be on drink number three and ready to party!

Of that, I have no doubt.

To my surprise, the front yard of the three-story, all brick, turn of the century home is completely clean when we arrive. The trees lost their leaves weeks ago and there isn’t a single stray leaf blowing across the yard. And while the tips of my ears and my nose are already frozen