Heartless Player: A College Hockey Romance : (Westfall U Series)

by R. C. Stephens

  “I get it. It’s okay, Rebel,” he says, his cheeks flushing. “You’re totally out of my league anyway.”

  I almost want to ask him to repeat those words. I couldn’t have heard him right. “No, it’s not like that at all. I’m not out of anyone’s league,” I say, and my gaze darts to the floor. Antonio is cute and fit, in a runner’s athletic physique kind of way. He has nice hair and dark eyes, and I’m sure he can get any girl he wants.

  “I-I didn’t mean it that way. I don’t know what I mean,” I mumble. Goodness, I’m just making this so much worse. Why can I not be awkward?

  “It’s fine, Rebel. Honestly. Friends?” he asks.

  “Of course.” I sigh. Only I don’t feel like those words are enough. Antonio is kind and friendly. He deserves more of an explanation, but what do I say? “I-I just don’t d-date,” I mutter, stuttering some more.

  “Why not?” he asks.

  I choke on my saliva. I don’t have a good answer. At least not one that doesn’t involve the clear fact that I’m an amputee. I know how people view me. I’m the cripple.

  “Sorry to interrupt, but can I get a large cappuccino?” a guy beside me asks. I turn my head slightly to see it’s that super-hot hockey player with the blue ocean eyes rimmed with ice. He catches me looking at him and I pull my gaze away fast and walk away. Wolfe. Wolfe Judd, that’s his name. Damn, he is so good looking.

  “Sure, man,” Antonio says to Wolfe. “I was at the game yesterday. Sucks you still can’t play.”

  “My leg still needs rehab,” Wolfe explains.

  “Hopefully you’ll be back for the Frozen Four,” Antonio says.

  “That’s the plan,” Wolfe says. Hockey is a popular sport at Westfall. The whole college roots for our team, and of course all the girls drool over the players. Except me. I don’t drool. Well, maybe just a little, but I can’t be blamed. They are hotter than hot sand in the middle of July.

  I head over to a table close by and set up my laptop and take off my jacket. Then I limp my way back to the counter for my bagel. Antonio passes me the plate.

  “Thanks,” I say, and as I take it and turn away, I glance at Wolfe who must be waiting on his drink. He’s tall. Well over six feet, for sure. His shoulders are broad and muscular, and his eyes meet mine. I pull my gaze to the floor, embarrassed by the way I was checking him out. My cheeks turn hot, like I’ve just eaten a killer chili pepper. He’s going to think I’m a big weirdo. I wish I were a turtle so I could slink back into my shell.

  I lift my gaze briefly, and the corner of Wolfe’s lips tug up. His smile is perfect and warm and so damn sexy. Wait a minute… he isn’t smiling at me. No, that would be impossible. I look over my shoulder, but we’re the only ones in the coffee shop. His turquoise eyes are clearly focused on me. And I feel like an idiot because what am I supposed to do? Do I say something? “Hey, you work at the Firken, right?” he asks.

  My mouth won’t move. My muscles turn stiff. Is he talking to me? He must be talking to me. But why? My brain has turned to mush in front of this hockey Adonis. Get your shit together, Rebel. Guys like him like a confident girl. Not one who can’t even string a sentence together.

  “I work at the Firken,” I finally manage to say evenly and without a stutter. That shouldn’t have been so hard. I wait another moment and Wolfe doesn’t speak so I look at Antonio. “Thanks,” I say.

  “Goodluck with your paper, Rebel,” Antonio says.

  “Thanks,” I say again. Gosh! They must think my vocabulary consists of two words. I sit at the table and stare at my computer for a brief second, feeling out of sorts. I don’t interact with guys and I just had a conversation with two of them. One of them happens to be one of the hottest guys on campus. I take a breath, needing to chill the heck out.

  Wolfe takes a seat at the table across from me.

  Seriously? How will I be able to focus with all that male hotness in front of me?

  I get the feeling someone is watching me, so I look up to see Wolfe and his gorgeous eyes assessing me.

  “Your name is Rebel?” he asks with a cool, deep tone.

  There’s no question who he’s talking to now.

  I nod.

  “Why did your parents call you Rebel?” he asks.

  Damn, I heard he was a big jerk. I guess the rumors are true.

  “Why did your parents call you Wolfe?” I answer, and I don’t know where my bout of sudden bravery comes from, but I bless it, nonetheless.

  “Touché,” he says, and his lip curls again in the corner. The smile is so slight. It lacks warmth but is sexy as hell.

  “My roommates are having a party and I needed to get work done,” he explains, like we’re friends. It’s weird. Why is he telling me personal details?

  I don’t want to be rude. Once upon a time, I was miss social at school, so it’s not like I don’t have any skills. I’m just not the same girl I used to be. “My sister was having sex with her boy toy and I needed to get work done,” I answer. I want to clap a hand over my mouth because TMI. I also don’t say words like sex out loud. My heart picks up pace.

  Wolfe laughs. It’s deep, warm, and hearty and sends tingles through my body.

  I want to sigh, but I don’t. This guy has enough girls falling at his feet. Wolfe returns his attention to his computer. I guess the conversation is over.

  I feel so worked up from talking to him that I can’t focus on my paper, even though I need to get it done. After a good ten minutes of staring at my screen and replaying the conversation we had in my head, I assure myself that he’s just being friendly and that this isn’t going anywhere. Besides, if the rumors I heard are true, then he doesn’t have a heart, or maybe it’s that his heart is black. He isn’t very nice and he doesn’t sleep with a girl more than once. That does not sound like a fairy tale ending I’d be into.

  For the next two hours, I work on my ethics paper and then switch to anatomy. My leg begins to hurt and my neck is stiff, so I stand and stretch by the table. I take a peek to see Wolfe engrossed in whatever he’s doing on his laptop. I took him for a jock, not the studious type. It surprises me.

  Antonio walks over and sees the anatomy notes on my screen. “Do you want me to test you?”

  I try to play it cool this time. I don’t want to come across as a flake in case Wolfe is listening, even though I don’t know why I care what he thinks. He barely knows I exist. Yet he’s my fantasy man. Everything about him just calls to me from his floppy brown hair and blue eyes to his smoking-hot body. I can just picture what his muscles…

  I realize Antonio is waiting for an answer. “Sure, take a seat.”

  Did I really just tell Antonio to take a seat? I must be delirious.

  Antonio goes on to test me on the functions of human anatomy. He focuses on the cranium and facial bones and then I ask him questions on the vertebral column. It really isn’t bad studying with someone.

  “Well, I better close up.” Antonio stands and he wipes his hands on his jeans.

  “It really isn’t busy here at night,” I say, feeling like I found a good place to study that isn’t the library.

  “Nights are easy around here. Day shift is brutal because it’s crazy. At night, students are out partying or in their dorms getting work done.”

  “I’m going to keep this place in mind when I need to escape my house,” I say, and just as I do, Wolfe picks his gaze up and meets mine. A warm flush crawls up my neck to my cheeks. Could I be any more awkward?

  Wolfe grins and I pull my gaze from his.

  When I look back at Antonio, his brows are furrowed, as if he’s trying to figure out a difficult equation or something.

  “I’m going to pack up. Maybe I’ll move to the library,” I say.

  “Thanks, Rebel,” Antonio says. “Guess I’ll see you in the gym in the morning.”

  “See you there.” I smile but not too much because I don’t want to give Antonio the impression I want him as more than a friend, because I don’t. I stop staring at An
tonio awkwardly and pull my gaze down to my laptop. I start to pack up and so does Wolfe. I place all my belongings in my backpack and wave to Antonio before leaving the Coffee Bean. I don’t notice Wolfe behind me until I see him with a backpack slung on his right shoulder.

  He’s so tall and handsome, saliva pools in my mouth.

  “I need to get more work done too. Do you mind walking to the library together?” he asks.

  I’m not sure what realm or alternate universe I’ve entered. Guys like Wolfe don’t talk to girls like me.

  “Um, Rebel?” He waves his hand in my face.

  “Sorry.” I shake myself out of my trance. “Yeah, okay.”

  We walk quietly at first side by side. He smells of forest and sandalwood and just delicious.

  “So, what’s your story, Rebel?” he asks.

  “I don’t have one,” I answer quickly. I really hope he isn’t going to ask about my leg.

  “What’s your story?” I ask him back. “I hate to say this, but I don’t really see jocks studying as much as you do.”

  That buys me a laugh. “And you see a lot of hockey players?” he asks, looking my way.

  “I see all kinds of athletes in the gym. I’m a kinesiology major. We only started our placements in the gym this year, but all the teams come in to train. My group has been assigned to the hockey team the next few weeks. I spend time volunteering in the mornings. Older people from the community come in to get help with injuries or stiffness they’re dealing with,” I explain. I don’t think he wanted that info dump when he asked for my story, but I’m so nervous I’ve become a blubbering idiot.

  “Cool. Did you always know you wanted to major in kinesiology?” he asks.

  I nod. “I used to play volleyball at school. I was always athletic and interested in the way bodies worked. I want to be a physical therapist for one of the national sport teams if I can,” I say, and I gaze down at my leg. I had always wanted to train professional athletes, but since my accident… well, the teams won’t want an amputee to train them. I’m talking too much again, but when I look up at Wolfe, he looks genuinely interested.

  “How about you? What’s your major?” I ask.

  “Poli Sci. I’m supposed to go to law school,” he says.

  “What does that mean, supposed to? Are your parents forcing you or something?” I ask.

  “Not per se. My dad had a big law firm. He always expected me to follow in his footsteps. I had no intention to, but then… well, it doesn’t matter. Now I need to prove that I can,” he says vaguely.

  “Okay. Where does hockey fit in?” I ask.

  Wolfe shrugs. “I’ve always enjoyed playing hockey. I happen to be damn good at it. My senior year of high school… uh… anyway, some shit went down with my family. By the time I applied to college, I didn’t want their help. I got a full scholarship to Westfall and accepted. My spot on the hockey team is important to me, but I also need good grades and…,” he trails off.

  I wasn’t expecting the conversation to be as deep as it has been.

  He gazes down at me. “Sorry. My life is complicated. I thought I had to prove to my dad that I could become a lawyer without him, but I don’t think that’s what I really want. I actually don’t know what I want,” he says, and by the look on his face he looks like he just had an epiphany.

  “Is this the first time you’ve said that out loud?” I ask.

  He nods and laughs. It’s a shy kind of laugh that is very unexpected. His ocean blue eyes no longer look rimmed with ice and he isn’t the asshole everyone says he is. It makes me feel bad that I judged him based on rumors. I can only imagine what people must think of me. The quiet amputee who doesn’t speak to anyone. Well, until today.

  I realize I’ve gone in my head and speaking would be useful. “Well, what are you, in third year or something? You don’t need to have all the answers to life,” I say and then blush, because how would I know what year he’s in. It makes me look like a damn stalker, but everyone probably knows everything about him around here. Westfall isn’t the largest college.

  “I need to get my leg working again. If I can’t play hockey, I lose my scholarship,” he says.

  “I’ll be at the gym bright and early. If I can help in anyway, let me know,” I say.

  “Thanks, Rebel,” he says, and we both make our way into the library slowly but surely, me limping with my prosthesis and him limping with his bad leg. When we reach the entrance, he looks at me and those blue eyes pierce me right in the center of my chest.

  “You have a good night, Rebel.” He says my name like he likes the sound of it.

  “You too, Wolfe,” I say and turn away, my heart beating at a strange pace. I make my way up an escalator and force myself not to turn around. I was just talking to Wolfe Judd. Freaking Wolfe Judd. I feel like shrieking from excitement, but it dies quickly because I realize that guys like Wolfe don’t fall for girls like me.

  Four

  Wolfe

  “This is your idea of training?” I ask the trainer I’ve been assigned.

  “We need to take things slow. You just got your cast off yesterday,” he says.

  This is bullshit. I came to the gym ready to put the work in, but this guy thinks that a full body massage is all I need. It felt great, but I need to do more.

  “What’s going on here?” Assistant Coach Cooper asks.

  “How am I supposed to get back on the ice if my therapy is consisting of nothing but a full body massage?”

  Coach Cooper looks between me and the trainer. “Give us a moment,”

  he says.

  The trainer nods and walks off.

  Coach Cooper looks at me with eyes filled with sympathy, and I don’t like it one bit. “Wolfe, I get that you want to get back on the ice, but you know injuries are a part of being a professional player, and if you rush things it isn’t going to end well,” he says.

  “This wasn’t an injury. It was an attack,” I bite out.

  “Even so. We want you back on the ice. We’re hoping for sooner rather than later,” he says. There’s a freshman named Bozeman who’s taken my spot. I don’t want him to think it was permanently.

  “I’m hoping to make my comeback soon. I’m ready to put in the work,” I say.

  “I respect your drive,” Coach says, giving my shoulder a squeeze. “Just take things slow. The Frozen Four is coming up, but we have some important games to play first. The team still needs you to lead them. We also want you to come back strong,” he says. “I know you don’t have plans to draft. But we need you to help win the championship.”

  “I want to be there too, and I want the championship so badly I can taste it,” I say.

  “Then take the time and heal properly. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve seen players anxious to get back on the ice. You do it too soon and you can end your career. Even if you don’t want to go into the draft, you don’t want a lifelong injury either,” he says.

  “Fine, Coach, you’re right.” I sigh. My mind drifts to Rebel and how I admitted to her that I didn’t know what I want. What is it about her that makes me want to talk?

  “Hang in there, Wolfe. Your generation doesn’t understand the meaning of patience, but it’s a virtue best learned early on,” he says. Coach Cooper has been with the Westfall Dragons for decades now. He’s seen his share of athletes and watched them enter the draft and make it to the NHL. He knows what he’s saying.

  “Thanks, Coach.”

  “Don’t thank me. Just be patient. Let the professionals do their thing and let’s get you back on the ice,” he says.

  I nod. “Okay.” Some of the tension I was feeling melts away. I still have time to leave my mark.

  Some of the guys from the team have come to work out and I say hi to them, itching to do my own weightlifting too. Instead, I take a walk around, limping on my leg. I still have pain. I spot Rebel helping one of the elderly people she was talking about.

  “Okay, Mr. Townsel, let’s see how you get your
self up now,” she says, and from a distance, I check her out. She’s confident here in the gym. Like this is her safe place. She also looks pretty damn hot in a pair of tight leggings. She’s got nice sized tits and a slim figure with a nice ass. My gaze drops lower to her leg and I wonder what happened to her. I don’t focus on her leg for long, though, because I watch as she smiles at the elderly man. She’s pretty, with deep blue eyes and long blonde hair. I wonder what it would look like if she didn’t have it tied up all the time. I bet she would look sexy as hell with it falling over her shoulders. Whoa. Where did that thought come from? She is definitely not my type. I give my head a good shake and move on. Only I don’t move on very far. I continue to watch her interaction.

  The older man turns on his side. Rebel tells him what a good job he’s doing following and remembering all the steps. He gets himself up and stands. Then he claps his hands and Rebel claps too.

  A girl like her should be popular. From this angle, the bench hides her leg and she just looks normal. Beautiful.

  She spots me watching her and her cheeks flush. It’s funny that I like to make her blush. She clearly doesn’t get out much and something about her shyness intrigues me. The girls I meet know exactly what they want and aren’t hesitant to take it. I like a woman who is in control and says what she wants, but also leaves little to the imagination. Rebel is different in a good way. I’d sleep with her and pass her off to the next guy like I would any other girl. But a girl like Rebel would never put up with that, and she probably deserves more than the puck bunnies who like to hang around our house waiting to get a piece of us. I’m sure the guys and I have slept with many of the same girls for that exact reason.

  She says goodbye to Mr. Townsel and Coach Cooper calls her over. I also see the dude from the Coffee Bean last night. It was obvious he was into her and she was completely oblivious. In fact, something tells me Rebel is not only oblivious to guys wanting her but also to her looks. My gaze drops to her bow-shaped lips, then moves to her creamy exposed shoulders. Stop it! Why am I obsessing about this girl? The way she keeps her head ducked and her gaze low, it’s like she would rather be invisible. My attention is the last thing she needs.