Twisted Wrister: A Next-Door-Neighbor Sports Romance (The Playmakers Series Hockey Romances Book 7)

by G. K. Brady

  “That’s too bad,” Lisa said. “So you protest her drinking by not drinking?”

  “You drink too much.” He cringed inwardly as he recalled his words during his fight with M. God, what an ass he’d been. And yet he couldn’t tell her that, could he, because she hadn’t fucking called him back! How hard would it have been to send a text saying she was doing great? Not that he wanted to hear she was doing great—he wanted her to be as miserable as he was.

  Lisa’s brows furrowed with concern, and her hand squeezed his arm. “Are you okay?”

  “Uh, yeah. Having a great time.” He flashed her a fake smile.

  She fluttered her eyelashes at him. “Want to dance?”

  Ferguson and Tracy had left to dance some time ago. Dancing wasn’t Blake’s favorite pastime in the best of times, but he definitely wasn’t feeling it tonight. Still, he needed to break out of this bleak mood he was in. “Yeah, let’s do it.”

  The dance floor was packed, forcing him and Lisa close together. She gave him a sultry smile and started doing this undulating thing with her hips. She was good at it, and it should have been a turn-on, but he found himself shrinking away from her.

  Fuck me! Is it time to go yet?

  Someone poked his shoulder, and he whirled, surprised to see Fiona behind him. He bent down and squeezed her so hard she squeaked. “Where’s James?” he yelled above the music.

  “I left him with our friends.” She waved to a table, and James waved back. Blake gave him a nod as his eyes strafed the other people at the table. No M. “I saw you dancing out here and thought I’d say hi,” Fiona added.

  “Where’s M?” he wanted to blurt but held back. “Thought you guys were headed to Maldives or someplace like that?”

  “We leave in a few days. We diverted to the Springs because James wanted to check out a business opportunity that came up.” Blake’s eyes roamed the dance floor. “She’s not here,” Fiona added.

  “Who?” His innocent tone rang hollow in his own ears.

  “Weren’t you looking for Micky?”

  I totally was. “Uh, no. Have you seen her lately?” The casual note he was going for didn’t fly when he was shouting.

  “Just saw her for lunch, as a matter of fact.”

  His heart pounded, competing with the music in his ears, making it hard to hear. “How is she?”

  “She’s doing about as well as you seem to be doing, which is somewhere between okay and not-so-great.”

  Now his pounding heart fell. “Can we go someplace and talk?”

  Fiona pointed behind him. “I think your date wants your attention.”

  Oh shit. He whirled back around, meeting Lisa’s frustrated glare. “Sorry. An old friend. Let me introduce you.” He did, and it was awkward as hell. No judgment on Fiona’s part, but plenty on Lisa’s. Fiona seemed to sense his discomfort, and she pushed up to her toes and lined her mouth up beside his ear. “I don’t think your date appreciates me taking you away from her. Text me tomorrow and we’ll find some time, yeah?” She slipped a card into his hand. Lisa probably saw and misinterpreted the gesture, but he didn’t give a fuck because finally, finally, he would get some answers.

  He nodded vigorously and mouthed “Thank you” as Fiona danced back to her table. He would have a hard time sleeping tonight, and it had nothing to do with the fact that he’d be sleeping alone.

  “How did the rest of your date with Lisa go last night?” Fiona shot Blake a coy look over her latte. He had texted her at 6:00 a.m. the morning after seeing her, unable to contain himself any longer.

  “It wasn’t so much a date as it was me helping my buddy Ferguson out. I went home alone, in case you’re wondering.”

  Fiona gave him a noncommittal nod.

  “Why won’t Michaela call or text me, Fiona?” he blurted. No reason to beat around the bush, was there? “I just … I want to apologize for being such a dick.” He sat across from her and James at a local coffee shop before practice. And now not only was he a dick, but he was a whiny, pathetic dick. Hearing himself made him sick.

  Fiona’s eyes softened with sympathy, but her voice was full of skepticism. “Really? That’s all you want?”

  “No,” he admitted.

  “Good. Then she needs to understand that.”

  He groaned. “That’s what I’m trying to do, but she won’t let me. I don’t know what to do. I’m not good at this stuff.”

  She lowered her brows at him. “None of us is, Blake, but somehow we bumble along until we get it right. Tell me something. Did you know how to play hockey the first time you strapped on skates?”

  “No, of course not.”

  “But you learned, didn’t you? Because you loved the sport. You pushed yourself, got better and better. You fought to get where you are. I expect you’re still fighting.”

  He stared for a beat, two, three. “What you’re saying is I should treat Michaela like hockey?”

  “Give the man a ribbon! In your case, the Cup. Yes. Exactly.”

  “Okay. Got it. Now how do I get her to listen to me?”

  Fiona pursed her lips. “Well, between you and me, that part’s a little trickier. I’ve known Micky my whole life, and she’s fiercely independent and doggedly determined, which I admire about her. However, there’s a flip side that also makes her blindly stubborn. You have to understand, she never expected to be bowled over by you, but I’m trying to get her to come around and see reason.”

  He blinked a few times. “Are you saying I bowled her over?” Fiona nodded. “And that she’s being blindly stubborn by not communicating with me?”

  She nodded again. “I understand why, but I don’t necessarily agree with her. Nor do I believe her stonewalling is in her best interest.”

  A breath of relief squeezed from his lungs. There was hope! Did he have an ally? “Since you understand why, would you please explain it to me?”

  “She stormed into a corner, and she’s not quite sure how to back herself out without appearing wrong. And her appearing wrong is, in her mind, a big chink in her armor, if that makes sense. Her confidence is a little shaky after what she’s been through at work.” Fiona filled him in on the developments at Steadman, Fast & Hart, and he sat back in stunned silence as she went on. “More than anything, Micky doesn’t want to appear weak or stupid.”

  “But she’s not! She’s the strongest, smartest woman I know. Who else could come through what she just came through in her professional life and land on their feet? Jesus! She’s my freaking hero.” I’m in awe of her.

  “You and I see that, but she doesn’t. And this rule of hers doesn’t apply to other people in her life. No, she reserves that collar for herself alone. She sets herself a high bar. This is what I mean by ‘tricky.’”

  “So by giving me a chance, she’s what? Admitting to herself she was wrong and therefore weak?”

  “Something like that. Because she shouldn’t have shut you out in the first place, and deep down she knows that, but it’s like she’s stuck on this train track and doesn’t know how to get off.”

  He sat back, feeling more defeated than when he began. “I’m not sure I know how to solve that.”

  “Maybe she just needs a little more time to wriggle out of the situation she’s put herself in. Can you be patient with her?”

  “If you think I have a chance, then fuck yeah! I can be as patient as she needs.”

  Fiona grinned. “See? Patience and persistence. Just like your approach to hockey.”

  “I love her more than hockey.” Whoa. He’d said it out loud, and it felt … right.

  Fiona smacked her palms on the table. “Good! I knew you were the best one for her.”

  “I’m not so sure I am—”

  “You gonna let that stop you?”

  “Fuck no.”

  She held up both hands for high fives. “Yes! You’ve got this, Blake.”

  Blake wasn’t sure he had a firm grip on exactly what the plan was here—or if there even was a plan—but he
was buoyed by having Fiona on his side.

  James, who had been quietly listening to their back-and-forth, sat forward. “What you need is a grand gesture.”

  “What? What the hell is that?”

  He shrugged. “It’s something women really like us men to do to show them they’re important to us.” He dropped his voice and mumbled, “As if all the other shit we do doesn’t prove it.” Then he flashed a smile. “Pretty sure it involves prostrating yourself, though.”

  Fiona scoffed. “The grand gesture can come from either party, and in this case I’m thinking some mutual grand-gesturing is in order to get you both to the finish line. Er, goal line. I need to brush up on my hockey-isms. Anyway, as long as you do your part, Blake—and I have no doubt you will—I’ll see if I can move Micky’s end along a bit.” She winked at Blake, and his spirits lifted a little higher.

  Several days later, in the locker room after practice, Blake asked Ferguson what the “grand gesture” was—assuming Fergs would be familiar with the term since he’d recently patched things up with Tracy. Big mistake.

  “Oh shit, bro, I think it’s basically where you lie prone in front of your woman and beg for forgiveness. Invite her to stomp all over you in front of your closest friends.” He grinned. “If I were you, I’d lie on my stomach and let her walk all over my back with spiky heels. Hopefully, she’d be willing to do it naked.”

  Blake threw a roll of tape at him. “Stop picturing my girlfriend naked.”

  “Oh, interesting. So she’s your girlfriend again. I guess you haven’t given up entirely yet, huh? Which means you’re not as big a loser as I pegged you for. Then again, even a blind squirrel finds a nut once in a while.”

  “Are you calling Michaela a nut?”

  Ferguson laughed as he snatched the tape out of the air. “If she wants to be with you, she might be certifiable.”

  Blake fired a second roll of tape at him.

  “You know he’s needling you so he can get your tape, right?” Cam Blue grunted from where he sat on the bench, pulling off his skates. Blake blinked at him—it was the longest series of words he’d heard the guy string together in a while. “And you’re playing into his hands like the dumb fuck you are,” Cam added helpfully.

  “All right, asshole,” Blake growled. “What grand hand gesture have you used?”

  Ferguson hung his tongue out and mimicked jacking off. “What, you looking for a grander way to do it? Try using your left hand.”

  Now Cam chucked a roll of tape at Ferguson. “Grand gesture, dickhead. There’s no ‘hand’ in there.”

  Quinn piped up from his stall. “You want to win her over with a grand gesture so you don’t have to use either of your hands.”

  Ignoring Quinn and Fergs, Blake arched an eyebrow at Cam. “You were saying about your experience with grand gestures?” He figured Cam’s spare use of words made him some kind of sage.

  “Don’t ask me,” the sage responded. “I’ve never grand-gestured in my life.”

  “You mean you never pissed a woman off so badly you needed to resort to it?” Blake asked. “The grand gesture, I mean, not your hand.”

  With a chuckle, Cam went to work loosening the tape around his socks. “Didn’t say that. I’ve pissed off plenty of women. Just haven’t been interested in reversing their opinions of me.”

  Blake might have growled in frustration at being more confused than ever, but his lips quirked with a grin as he busied himself with the rest of his gear. Despite his race to the bottom of the stats sheet—or maybe because of it—his footing with the boys seemed more solid than it had ever been. Was it because he and Fergs had patched things up? Did the struggles in his non-love life make him more sympathetic? Who knew? There hadn’t been many bright lights these last weeks, and this was one that outshone any other. So there was that.

  “Hey, dumbass,” Fergs hollered at him.

  Blake narrowed his eyes.

  “You’re heading home, yeah?”

  “Yeah, why?”

  “I still have some stuff I left behind at your place I want to swing by and get.” He looked at his phone. “Oh shit. I better hurry. I have a stop to make first.”

  “Yeah, whatever.” Blake arranged and rearranged his bag a few more times while he listened to the boys swap stories. By the time he left the locker room, Ferguson was nowhere in sight. Not that he was looking for him. No, his head was occupied with ways to find his way back into M’s life.

  He was still pondering and discarding alternatives as he stepped off the elevator. A grunt came from down the hall, and he paused, taking in a sight he wasn’t quite sure his eyes were reporting correctly to his brain.

  M’s red couch was wedged in her doorway, and a body was draped over its arm. The ass belonging to that body stuck up in the air, all round and perfect and having an effect on things south of his waistband. No one else caused those kinds of stirrings. It could only belong to one person.

  Right now that one person huffed in a muffled voice at whoever was on the other end where Blake couldn’t see. “Seriously? This is the best you’ve got? I thought you knew what the hell you were doing?”

  A male voice clucked somewhere inside her condo. “God, you’re sassy!”

  “Well, you’re slowing me down! When do you think Blake will be home?”

  “Blake’s right here,” Blake announced, feeling all kinds of stupid for talking about himself in the third person, but his brain wasn’t firing on all circuits at the moment.

  M swung up from the waist, pivoted, and fell on her ass on the couch, her legs splayed over the arm. “Oh, hi. What are you doing here?” Her bright gray eyes went wide and round, matching the shape of her open mouth. Her cheeks flushed pink.

  “Uh, I live here? Need some help?”

  She shook her head, and her curls bobbed. “No, I got this. I’ve got a helper.” She jerked her thumb over her shoulder.

  Ferguson stuck his head out of M’s door, a shit-eating grin all over his face. “Hey, Bear. Didn’t know you’d be here.”

  Blake parked his fists on his hips. “Yes, you did, jackass. I just saw you at—”

  Ferguson smacked the side of his head. “Oh, would you look at that!” Except he wasn’t looking anywhere but at the back of M’s head. “I totally forgot what time it is, and I need to be somewhere else.” He raced over the top of the couch, sidestepping M. Patting Blake’s chest, he jerked a nod. “I’m out. You can handle it from here, right?”

  Blake gaped at him.

  “Just say yes, bro.” Ferguson speed-walked to the elevator, where he spun and winked. “Consider this payback for my douchebaggery.”

  “Fergs, wait. I thought you had stuff you needed—”

  “No, I’m good.” He pointed at Blake as he waited for the elevator doors to open. “Watch out. She’s got mace.”

  “Pepper spray,” M hollered at him, though she seemed to be fighting a laugh.

  “But you love me. You know you do.” With that, he hopped on the elevator and was gone.

  Heart trying to bolt from his chest, Blake swung his gaze to M. “What was that all about?”

  Hoisting herself up, she sat on the arm of the couch and cinched her arms over her chest, blew a curl off her forehead, and shrugged. “I needed help with my couch, and he offered to help.”

  His eyebrows hitched. “So you just happened to be here, and Ferguson just happened to be helping you?” he replied dryly, corralling the effervescence in his veins. She was dressed in jeans, a soft gray sweater that matched her eyes, and hiking boots. Her cheeks were rosy, her full lips a deeper shade that invited kissing, and her dimple peeked out. She was fucking gorgeous, and his knees dipped a bit.

  “I’m sorry I, er, um... The guy who owns this place is on his way back, and I need to be out. The couch is the last piece I had to move, and um, Ferguson offered to help. Ah …”

  He gaped at her. “You mean, you’ve been in and out of here, and I didn’t know it?”

  “Um, yeah?�
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  “Why didn’t you knock?”

  She flinched. “I-I’m not sure. Nervous, I suppose. I was afraid you ’d slam the door in my face as soon as you saw it was me.”

  Oh wow! He scratched the back of his neck. “Is this a grand gesture?”

  She looked up at him through thick, sooty lashes. “A what?”

  “I have no fucking clue, except if this is something you set up, then it feels like it might be.”

  She blinked at him a few times. God, she was adorable. It struck him like a slapshot to the chest how much he’d missed her.

  His lips twitched as he battled the smile that wanted to split his face. “M, you don’t have a sneaky bone in your body, yet somehow you’re up to something.”

  She blew out another breath. “I was watching you on TV the other night, and you didn’t have the best game”—she winced—“and I thought, I don’t know, maybe I could help somehow, and … God, that sounds lame. The truth is I wanted to see you and I thought it would be easier on both of us if it was an accidental kind of meeting.”

  “Except this isn’t accidental, is it?”

  She shot him a sheepish smile. “Nothing about this is accidental. Fiona and I cooked it up, and Ferguson helped.”

  The breath fled from his lungs, and he swallowed to pull in more air. “So you went to all this trouble just to see me? Why didn’t you just pick up the phone?”

  She rolled her eyes. “I don’t know. I didn’t want to appear so deliberate, I guess. That way, if you wanted nothing to do with me, it would be less humiliating.” She shook her head, muttering, “As if this ridiculous setup would be less embarrassing. God, what was I thinking? I’m so bad at the conniving thing.” She dropped her head against the couch and peeked at him, one corner of her mouth curving upward, mischief sparkling in her pretty eyes. “Well, the guy is coming home, and I did need my couch out, so it’s not totally fake.”

  Blake ran his hand over his jaw. “Where are you moving it?”