Ignition And Ice; A Racer's Forbidden Blueprint
Awkward Pen · Ongoing · 140.2k Words
Introduction
The first? Becoming an architect worthy of finally making her mark.
The second?
Convincing herself that one day, Hayes Gallagher–NHL superstar, lifelong best friend, and the man she’s secretly loved for years–will finally see her as more than the girl who’s always there when he needs her.
He doesn’t.
So when Hayes abandons her for yet another girl, Merritt decides she’s done waiting.
One reckless night later, she ends up in the arms of a stranger whose touch makes forgetting Hayes dangerously easy.
She never expects to see him again. Until that stranger turns out to be Stellan Mercer.
Formula One’s most infamous golden boy. And Hayes’s stepbrother who is the one man Hayes would rather destroy than share a room with.
When Stellan uses his influence to make Merritt lead designer on his luxury penthouse project, staying away from him becomes impossible.
Working behind closed doors quickly turns into a secret neither of them can afford. Because the more Merritt falls for the man she was never supposed to touch… the more Hayes realizes he may have lost the only girl who ever truly loved him.
And when jealousy, family rivalry, and the spotlight collide, Merritt will have to decide which dream she’s willing to lose.
Her career, her heart. Or both.
Chapter 1
Merritt POV
The bass in the VIP lounge was loud enough to rattle my ribcage, but it couldn't drown out the sound of my own stupidity.
I adjusted the hem of the ridiculous, emerald-green slip dress I had spent half a week’s paycheck on. It was entirely too cold for a November night in the city, but I hadn't dressed for the weather. I had dressed for Hayes.
Hayes Gallagher. NHL golden boy, captain of the city’s hockey team, and my best
friend since we were fifteen.
Tonight was his celebration party after a massive rivalry win. I’d spent three hours getting ready, practicing exactly how I would smile when he finally looked at me and realized I wasn't just 'good old Merritt' anymore.
"Get you a drink, Merritt?" one of Hayes’s teammates yelled over the heavy thud
of the DJ’s track, passing around a bottle of expensive vodka.
"I'm good, thanks," I muttered, keeping my eyes glued to the staircase.
When Hayes finally pushed through the crowd, he looked exactly like the god the sports media painted him to be. Broad shoulders filling out a dark designer jacket, a freshly bruised jaw from a fight on the ice, and that cocky, effortless grin that had kept me hopelessly tied to him for years.
He spotted me in the leather booth and headed over. My heart did that familiar, pathetic flutter. I stood up, smoothing down the emerald silk one last time.
"Hayes," I started, the practiced smile already forming on my lips.
"Mer, you made it." He clapped a heavy hand on my shoulder–a buddy tap. He didn't even look at the dress. His eyes were already scanning the crowded room behind me. "Crazy game, right?"
"Yeah. You played amazing. I was thinking we could..."
"Hey, Gallagher!" A blonde girl in a skin-tight dress squeezed past the bouncer and threw her arms around his neck. "Incredible goal tonight."
His attention instantly snapped to her. The cocky grin widened into something entirely different. "Appreciate it. You coming upstairs?"
"Only if you're taking me," she purred, dragging a nail down his chest.
Hayes laughed, his arm already wrapping securely around her waist. He glanced back at me, his eyes slightly glazed from the adrenaline and the alcohol. "Mer, um, I’m gonna head up to the private rooms. You good staying down here with the guys? Or you can put a cab on my tab if you want to head home. Text me when
you're back."
He didn't wait for an answer. He was already turning away, completely consumed by the blonde.
I stood there, surrounded by a dozen loud, massive hockey players, feeling completely invisible.
It wasn't the first time Hayes had ditched me for a random girl. It was the hundredth. But as I watched him disappear up the stairs, his hand resting low on the blonde's back, something inside me finally snapped.
A cold, hard realization settled in my chest. I wasn't his best friend. I was his safety net. The reliable, boring girl who would always be sitting in the booth, holding his coat, waiting for him when he got tired of the fancy girls that constantly flocked him.
No more.
I grabbed my clutch off the leather sofa. I wasn't going to cry, heck I was way too pissed off to cry.
Pushing past the celebrating athletes, I shoved my way out of the VIP section and down into the main club. The air was thick with sweat and cheap liquor, but I needed a drink. A real one, not the watered-down stuff they handed out
upstairs.
I wedged myself into a small empty space at the end of the crowded bar.
"Tequila," I snapped at the bartender. "Neat. Please."
"Rough night?"
The voice came from my right. It was low, smooth, and laced with a quiet kind of arrogance.
I turned my head. A man was sitting on the stool next to me. He looked entirely
out of place in the chaotic, sticky club. He wore a dark baseball cap pulled dangerously low, casting a shadow over his eyes, and a sleek, black jacket that screamed quiet, aggressive wealth. There was a half-empty glass of amber liquid in front of him.
"You have no idea," I muttered, turning back to the bar. I wasn't in the mood to make small talk with a stranger.
"Try me."
I glanced at him again. The lighting shifted just enough for me to catch the hard, sharp line of his jaw and a pair of intensely dark, calculating eyes studying me. He wasn't looking past me. He wasn't scanning the room for someone
better. He was looking at me to the point it became unnerving.
"I just realized I wasted five years of my life waiting for someone who doesn't even see I'm in the room," I said, the bitter words spilling out before I could stop them. I blamed the loud music and the sheer exhaustion of my own pathetic reality.
The bartender slid my tequila across the counter. I picked it up and downed it in one sharp burn.
The man in the cap let out a dark, quiet chuckle. "Sounds like the guy is a total idiot."
"He is." I set the shot glass down with a clink. "And I'm a bigger one for letting it happen."
He tilted his head, his gaze dragging down the length of my emerald dress, slow and deliberate. It wasn't the sleazy look of the guys upstairs. It was a look of pure, unapologetic appreciation. It made the skin on my neck prickle with sudden heat.
"For what it's worth," he said, his voice dropping to an octave, easily cutting through the heavy bass of the club, "if you were waiting for me, I wouldn't have looked anywhere else."
My breath hitched. I stared at him, my heart hammering a sudden, erratic rhythm against my ribs.
I didn't know who this guy was. He was a complete stranger hiding under a cap in a crowded bar. But the way he looked at me made me feel reckless. It made me feel dangerous. For the first time in five years, I didn't want to be safe, reliable Merritt.
"What are you doing right now?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.
A slow, devastating smirk touched the corner of his mouth. He picked up a heavy, matte-black hotel keycard from the counter and slipped it into his pocket.
"Whatever you want me to be doing."
I looked over my shoulder at the stairs leading up to the VIP lounge, where Hayes was currently forgetting I existed. Then I looked back at the stranger.
"Get me out of here."
He didn't hesitate. He stood up, towering over me by at least a foot, and placed a large, firm hand against my back. The heat from his touch shot right through the thin silk.
"Let's go."
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