Foreplayer

by Kate Meader

  An image of another shit-eating grin weaseled its way into her brain, making her queasy. Just what she needed. The news of a potential new hockey franchise in Chicago had cheered her for a moment until she remembered that she was blacklisted. Frozen out and the people who controlled her way back in were still in charge. This was why her Team USA aspirations were so crucial. If she couldn’t get in through the front door, she’d sneak in by the back window.

  Isobel had prepared a salad earlier (thanks, sis!) so Mia only needed to cut up an avocado and a couple of pre-cooked chicken breasts.

  “Put me to work, Mia,” Foreman said. She’d almost forgotten he was here.

  “Breast or avocado?”

  “Is avocado a new way to describe ass?”

  “What?”

  “I thought you were asking if I was a breast or an … avocado man?” At her blank expression, he made a face. “Guess not.”

  Her cheeks heated. “No wonder you can’t hold on to a girlfriend if that’s your best material.”

  Something flashed in those golden-brown eyes but was gone before she could decipher it. “Sorry, I shouldn’t talk like that to you,” he said.

  “Because I’m your buddy’s sister?” Such deference was not unusual.

  “Because it was a crude attempt at humor and not very respectful.”

  Okay, not expecting that from the Masshole. “Believe me, I’ve heard worse. I play hockey, remember?”

  “Yeah, I’ve seen you. You’re not bad.”

  “Har har.” They both knew she was better than not bad.

  He crossed his arms, which were thick and corded and hairy. She had never seen Tommy’s forearms but she imagined they wouldn’t be quite so in your face as Foreman’s. “I suppose a women’s locker room is even worse than a guys’.”

  “It would make you blush.”

  He grinned, and she grinned back, then stopped because she didn’t like having a connection with this guy, despite his gorgeous smile, cute butt, smooth neck nape, and unexpectedly attractive forearms. He’d behaved badly at Jordan and Levi’s wedding, and she hadn’t quite forgiven him.

  “Did you apologize to your girlfriend?”

  “No longer my girlfriend. In fact, never my girlfriend.”

  “So your evil plan worked.” She passed the avocado to him along with a knife from the block.

  “Hardly an evil plan. Not much of a plan at all.” He pitted the avocado with surprising skill, and she was annoyed she couldn’t step in to correct him. “Tara was getting a little too pushy about us moving to the next level. Better to let her down now.”

  “So you embarrass her in front of everyone?”

  “She made the fuss, not me.”

  “But you didn’t mind using me to get your way.” She may as well have plastered a “I wrote that post” sign on her forehead.

  He paused in slicing the avocado. “About that? I got caught up in the moment. It seemed easier to go with the flow.”

  Shit, he knows, he knows. Why had she thought posting to that online forum was a good idea? She was annoyed, but she’d been annoyed before. She’d never gotten her revenge on Drew, her college boyfriend, and she saw an opening. A chance to make fun of a dumb jock like Foreman, stand-in for hockey dicks everywhere. But now, in the harsh light of day, it didn’t seem so funny anymore.

  She should apologize.

  “I’m sorry.”

  Except those words were not in her voice and did not emerge from her mouth.

  Cal Foreman had expressed regret, in front of God and everything.

  “You’re sorry? For what?”

  “For dragging you into my drama. That wasn’t cool.”

  She squirmed, guilt sneaking up on her like she’d sat too long on the ice. “No, it wasn’t.”

  “I panicked. Which, I know sounds very unmanly but guys screw up under pressure. All the time.”

  Aw, hell, he was showing vulnerability and she was buying every word. Uncomfortable with this display of honesty, she muttered, “It’s okay. Not a big deal.”

  “So, we’re cool?”

  “Sure. Cool.” Though she felt hot and itchy and foolish. She really should fess up. And she would have except he distracted her with his next words.

  “Why you all dressed up?”

  She started slicing the chicken breast. “I. Am. Not. Dressed. Up.”

  “Hey, hold up there. You’re mangling it.”

  She looked down and sure enough, it was in ugly, choppy shreds. Foreman nudged her aside and took the knife from her. Their fingers brushed and like yesterday when he returned the bouquet to her, she felt an unexpected zing.

  “Let me do this. You grab the dressing for the salad.”

  Glad to step away from him and catch her breath, she opened the fridge and pulled out the ranch and … “Damn, no vinaigrette.”

  “Any balsamic and olive oil?”

  “Probably.”

  “Grab them for me and I’ll take care of it.”

  “You don’t have to—”

  “Mia, I got it.” In no time at all, he was moving efficiently around the kitchen, squeezing a lemon here, crushing a clove of garlic there.

  “Thought you didn’t know where anything is.” She leaned against the counter, enjoying the sight of a man going all out to make salad dressing.

  “I’m a quick learner. So you never answered the question.” At her raised eyebrow, he prompted, “You look pretty.”

  “What? That’s not what you said. You asked me why I was all dressed up.”

  “Which is another way a guy tells a girl she looks pretty.” He leaned over and good Lord … knocked on her forehead with his knuckles. “Take the compliment.”

  “It’s not a compliment! You basically said the same thing my brother did because he expects to see me in sweats all the time. How is that a compliment?”

  He opened a couple of drawers, and after a second she handed him the whisk. He nodded his thanks.

  “He’s a big brother, Mia. He doesn’t know how to give his sister a compliment because his first instinct is to think you’re annoying, in need of protection, or about to do something stupid. Asking why you’re dressed up is his way of being nice.”

  “What’s your excuse?”

  He chuckled, the sound oddly affecting. She’d never talked to Cal Foreman like this before. He was always so unaware of her, not that she cared. He was just another hockey player.

  Maybe she wouldn’t need to tell him about the post. He might never read it.

  “I wouldn’t want you to get a big head, Wallace. Not with all the kudos you get because of your mad skills.”

  She battled her smile. Lost the fight. Was she so hard up for compliments that a kind word from Cal Foreman was lighting her up like a new goal buzzer?

  “So you think I look nice?”

  “Said so, didn’t I? In my crazy, clueless, male way.” He winked at her and went back to mixing the dressing.

  Cal wouldn’t say he’d never noticed Mia before.

  She was pretty, but a man did not pay much attention to a kid.

  She was a brilliant hockey player. He’d gone to her Frozen Four final with Vadim and the rest of the Rebels crew, and he’d cheered her on as she scored the winning goal. He’d hugged her at the after party because he was a good guy and she was his friend’s baby sister and that was that.

  He’d never had to think so hard about how to act around a woman before. He’d never had to think about how to act around Mia because she was … Mia. Until yesterday at the wedding.

  Seeing her then was like coming across a harmless, not-hurting-anybody plant that had suddenly started flowering. She had looked sexy. Incredibly fucking sexy. They’d had that sparring session over the bouquet, not their usual dynamic at all. They didn’t have that kind of relationship, which was fine. Because, Vadim’s sister.

  In the kitchen, he wouldn’t say he’d been flirting with her … okay, he’d been flirting.

  Mia Wallace was all
grown up with grown-up curves and a grown-up smile and a wicked sense of humor he hadn’t seen coming.

  And he was 99% sure she was the author of that online post.

  The evidence was building to an open and shut case. She was the only person with motive—he’d thrown her under the bus after all—and he could tell she felt uncomfortable about something. She might even have been about to fess up, but he preferred she didn’t know he knew. Yet.

  Funnily enough, he wasn’t as angry about this prank as he should be. Probably because it aligned with his current mode of thinking—how he needed to make some life changes and start taking things more seriously. This year was crucial for him and he would not be distracted by a pretty smile, even if it was backed up by tungsten.

  On the patio ringed with flowers and shrubs, Cal looked out toward the lake, watching the white-frilled waves as they sucked at the rocks and felt a pang of jealousy for the life his friend had made here. So Vad was currently recovering from injury and probably annoyed at whispers about his imminent retirement, but he was happily married, financially comfortable, and the distinct center of his own self-important universe. It was good to be Vadim Petrov.

  Cal zoned back into the conversation, only to find his friend looking at him with a mischievous gleam in his eye. “Are you still upset about the dick post?”

  Mia dropped her fork and jumped up from the table. “Back in a sec.”

  “Mia, get me more water, please,” Vadim ordered.

  “Yes, your majesty.” She gave a funny little bow that made Cal smile.

  “I’m not upset,” Cal said, as he tried not to watch Mia’s ass, nicely draped by the thin cotton of her dress. Earlier, when she’d sat down, it had ridden up her thigh and revealed an expanse of mouth-watering skin, making him hyper-aware of her in a way he should not be. He swallowed and redirected his thoughts—only there was Mia again, the prankster. He needed to be careful about how he played this.

  He leaned down to give her dog, Gordie Howe, a head rub. The little divo preened at the attention.

  “Just trying to work out who it is.”

  “It must be Tara.”

  Mia returned with Vadim’s water and a new fork.

  Vadim said to his sister, “Did you hear about Cal’s judgment on the Internet?”

  “What’s that?” Her voice sounded squeaky, the sweet tones of full-blown guilt.

  Vadim took great joy in sketching the outlines of the prank while Cal watched Mia squirm. Oh, she was regretting every keystroke, of that he was sure. Maybe she’d been tipsy when she did it. He imagined her arriving home from the wedding, fuming about the events and how she’d come out of it. She would have lain in bed, maybe in a skimpy tee and panties—Jesus, Foreman—doomscrolling on Twitter or checking the Reddit app to laugh at someone else’s audacity when the light went on.

  Make Cal Foreman pay.

  A similar light went on in Cal’s brain, a wicked spot-lit idea that appealed the more he thought about it.

  “Tara denies she did it,” Cal said.

  “You accused your girlfriend?” Mia sounded aghast at this strike against an innocent. Should have thought about that before you unloaded online, sweetheart.

  “I had to know if she was badmouthing me all over the Web.”

  “I can’t believe she’d do that,” Mia said quietly.

  “Why? You met her once for three minutes.”

  Mia opened her mouth to defend a woman she barely knew but Vadim spoke first.

  “A woman scorned and all that. She may have felt you made her look foolish.”

  “I believe her when she says she didn’t do it. I can’t think of anyone else who’d care enough to go to the trouble, though, can you?” He addressed it generally to Vadim, but he was curious how Mia might handle at little poking. “What would you do, Mia?”

  “About?”

  “If some guy did that to you in public? Would you get your revenge in such an underhanded, cowardly way?”

  Her eyes flashed—blue suns, deeper than Vadim’s Arctic ice. He liked pushing her, watching her problem-solve as she seesawed from regret to scorn. “I’m sure you have tons of female enemies who don’t take kindly to your waltzing in and out of their lives.”

  Now she could do better than that.

  “Must be someone who really hates my guts. It was so specific. Even mentioned you—though your name was changed to protect the guilty. They called you Tia. Lacks imagination, clearly.”

  Her nose twitched. “Probably someone who wanted to do Tara a favor.”

  “Perhaps. Tara certainly didn’t like learning that I’d manipulated her into dumping me. But I apologized to her because I realize now it wasn’t the nicest thing to do. We’re friends again, so whoever stuck their nose in didn’t get the chaos they wanted.”

  That hit its target. “So you come out of this smelling like a rose?”

  “I always do.” He grinned at her with the most obnoxious, fuck-you, if-you-come-for-the-king grin in his arsenal. “Except the boys are already on it.”

  Vadim chuckled. “Did you think you could keep it a secret? Everyone will know before the day is out. Media, too.”

  “But it doesn’t have to be that way, does it?” Mia asked. “No one can be sure it was about you.”

  Cal finished chewing a bite of salad. This vinaigrette wasn’t half bad. “Don’t worry. I’ll survive a little ribbing.”

  “Yeah, guys always seem to come out of these situations intact.” A crimp had appeared between her eyes and something about the way she said that sent a shiver through him. He filed it away.

  Vadim addressed his sister. “Was Isobel with you on the ice this morning?”

  “She was but she had to cut it short.”

  “She will be busy with this franchise business for a while.”

  Cal perked up. “The women’s team in Chicago? Is that happening?”

  “Looks like it.” Vadim threw a glance at Mia. Something unspoken passed between them. “It might present any number of opportunities.”

  “Vad …” Mia looked uncomfortable again. She caught Cal’s eye, undeniable hurt in her gaze. Vadim didn’t understand why she wasn’t playing pro hockey. Cal had to admit it was weird, especially as she was shooting for the Olympics.

  “How’s the training going?”

  “Good,” she said, her tone gloomy.

  “But Isobel is busier than expected,” Vadim added. “Between the rookies coming in before camp and this franchise negotiation, she will not have as much free time as before.”

  “I’ll figure it out.”

  “Cal will help you,” Vadim pronounced.

  Mia looked horrified. “No, that’s not necessary.”

  Vadim pointed at Cal. “You need to get in shape so you do not embarrass me during training camp. Mia needs to prepare for her tryout. If Isobel isn’t as available as she was before, and I cannot be there, then you will help each other.”

  “Cal doesn’t want to be babysitting me.”

  Never a truer word, so he was glad she’d said it. He didn’t want to be doing anything with her. Let her stay in his fantasies.

  Vadim eyed her. “You are an excellent player. He could learn plenty from you.”

  Mia’s expression was a mixture of uneasy and proud. Color infused her cheeks, which Cal found crazily arousing.

  This was … a terrible idea?

  Before he could voice that, Vadim spoke up again. “Cal, I saw you eating all those desserts at the wedding.”

  “I’m in great shape,” Cal bit out. Because he was, notwithstanding extra servings of mini-tiramisus. “And I’ll be ready for training camp.”

  “Perhaps.” Vadim raised an eyebrow, a whole lot of doubt in that look. Shithead. “Perhaps you think Mia will be too fast for you.”

  “Vad, don’t be a tool!” She laughed, a light musical sound that skittered down Cal’s spine.

  “Yeah, that’s what I think. Mia’s too fast.” Not only on the ice. There was someth
ing sharp and perceptive about this woman. He’d enjoyed that conversation with her in the kitchen, maybe a little too much. Which meant he should be finding an excuse—any excuse—not to spend time with her, especially after the starring role she took in that aborted jerk-off sesh this morning.

  “You really think I’m too quick for you, Foreman?” Her smile shined a light into some dark, usually inaccessible place inside him.

  “Already told you I think you’re a great player.”

  There was that pride on her face again, only this time he’d put it there with the simplest of compliments. His veins flushed with pleasure, making him wonder what else he could do to produce a reaction from her. A lick of her lips, a sigh of contentment, a moan of ecstasy …

  He should be furious with her. Instead he’d been flirting with her in the kitchen and even now he couldn’t help placing her at the center of his fantasies. She was his friend’s sister, a woman completely off-limits, so out of bounds she was in the skybox and he was in the center circle.

  Recognizing this landed him on his ass, back to reality where common sense reigned. Nothing would happen because nothing could happen. He was a grown man, quite capable of resisting his worst impulses. In fact, after the little stunt she’d pulled, this might make the perfect payback. She wouldn’t even know it while he was working her to the point of collapse.

  “Mia, this is a good plan,” Vadim said.

  “Stop bullying her, Vad.” Cal turned to Mia. “I’m game if you are. But as soon as I start to pull ahead of you, I’m dumping your ass.” Treat her like one of the guys. That should keep it on the right level.

  “You’ll be tasting my shavings, Foreman,” she said with that sunshine grin. On the ice, she’d have a visor on. He wouldn’t have to look at that grin. He’d barely know she was female.

  “Then it is settled.” Vadim returned to his lunch, while Cal averted his gaze from Mia and prayed he hadn’t made the dumbest mistake of his life.