Foreplayer

by Kate Meader

  Her mouth formed an O. “You covered for me?”

  He shrugged. “I figured we’d get around to talking about it eventually. Thought maybe I’d give you a hard time in training first, but frankly, you’re kicking my ass out here, so now I’d prefer we aired it out.”

  “Air it out?”

  “Yep. I’d like to know what was going through your mind when you did that. I get that I pissed you off, but it seems pretty elaborate as far as payback goes.”

  She dipped her gaze to the floor. “I wanted to see if I was overreacting. I wanted people to tell me if I was in any way justified. So I told the story from your perspective to see if you’d come out of it well.”

  He closed the gap between them and touched a finger under her chin. It tingled, sending a shock through his hand, all the way up his arm. Her eyes were soft, pleading, and he added that look to his spank bank along with the laughing and furious ones.

  This is okay, he insisted to himself. This light touch, this thrilling closeness. No harm done because he would never, ever cross the line here.

  “You weren’t overreacting,” he whispered. “I screwed up. I apologized to Tara because I manipulated the situation to my advantage and now I’m apologizing to you—again—because I shouldn’t have dragged you into the middle of my drama.”

  “I shouldn’t have made a joke of it. I took it too far.”

  He dropped his finger before he was tempted to move it along her jaw and extended his touch to something more illicit. “Don’t get soft on me now, Mia.”

  She laughed, and he enjoyed that sound so damn much. What a lift it gave to his heart.

  “Is there more going on here that being mad at me for this thing I did?”

  “You might have been representing for your jerk cohort.” Her accompanying shrug was casual but didn’t fool him for a second.

  “Ah, I see.”

  “Oh, what do you see?”

  “That you’re a man hater.”

  She pushed him back, hands flat on his chest. “I am not!” At his laugh, she realized that he was teasing. Her lips quirked. “I haven’t had the best luck with guys,” she said quietly.

  There was a story there. “If you ever need to talk about it, know that I’m available for mental health tune-ups as well as physical ones.”

  “I’ll keep it in mind.”

  He wouldn’t push yet, but he found himself looking forward to a future where she trusted him enough to confide in him. How strange.

  “As for this online posting thing, I probably deserved it. Not even probably. I definitely deserved it. And my peers have spoken: I am indeed the dick. But one thing, Mia.”

  “What?

  “Skater Bro? Is that what you think of me?”

  She was clearly trying not to smile. “I thought it was a cool nickname.”

  “You thought it was absurd. And it cut me to the quick.” He stood back, putting needed space between them. “Come on, you owe me breakfast.”

  Mia thought about Cal all the way home.

  His reaction to her prank had surprised the hell out of her. He should have torn her a new one, ratted her out to Vadim, and then made her life a living nightmare.

  But he did none of those things.

  Instead, he’d acted as if he deserved to be called out. Which he did. Of course he did. She might have gone a little too far but he definitely needed to be hauled over the coals for what he’d done. She hadn’t expected him to be so—what was the word?—magnanimous about it.

  Substitute mature, generous, and much more self-aware than she would have given him credit for. He had genuinely seemed interested in why she played the prank at all, and she had come this close to spilling about how he was a stand-in for the revenge she couldn’t inflict in real life.

  Absolutely pathetic. She didn’t want to be so consumed by distrust and bitterness. This was why she was trying to move on with her plans, both professional and personal.

  She wanted to trust again. Key to that goal was choosing the right person to trust, and the law of averages dictated that commitment-phobic pro (or otherwise) athletes with women throwing themselves in their path were not a good bet. She wanted someone who didn’t play games, who had already sewn their wild oats and was ready to settle.

  Down, she amended. Settle down.

  Tommy wouldn’t be settling for her, would he? She should have called him to set up a business lunch by now but something was holding her back. The gnawing notion that she wasn’t quite ready for prime time.

  She pulled up outside her brother’s house, hauled her gear out, and headed inside. Opening her mouth to call out, she halted on hearing voices. One of them was Vadim, the other … oh, Tommy was here! No car, so maybe he was on his way to the airport. He flew around the country a lot.

  She must look a fright. She checked the hallway mirror, not that it would make a difference. She may as well have gotten dressed in the dark for all the attractiveness she had on display now. Good Lord, was this what Foreman had to suffer over breakfast? Maybe she could squeak upstairs and do some quick facial miracle before she saw Tommy.

  One foot on the stair, she was about to head up when she was caught in the lure of his laugh. Such a nice sound, as warm and welcoming as a cup of hot cider on a fall day. Not quite the same deep, rumbly timbre as Foreman, but very attractive.

  Vadim said something that sounded like her name. She redirected and moved closer, straining to hear more clearly.

  “She’s young, Vadim,” Tommy was saying. “She needs time to find her way.”

  Mia smiled, loving that Tommy was defending her. Exactly the sort of thing she needed from a potential boyfriend.

  “Time? What for? I know all about wasted time when I was banished to Russia by Isobel’s father all those years ago. Those are years I can’t get back. Mia has already lost momentum, her chance to make an impression. I feel …” All too easily, she imagined her brother’s exasperated headshake.

  “What?”

  “She is not telling me something. I know my sister and I know when she is lying. Something drove her from professional hockey.”

  Mia closed her eyes and swiped at a dumb tear. She wished she could be up front with Vadim. She’d fobbed off those closest to her, using as her excuse that she didn’t want to play for teams where the female players weren’t paid close to a living wage. So she didn’t need the income, but expressing solidarity with the sisterhood was a good cover for the real story.

  She had been blackballed from women’s hockey at the professional level. That was what happened when you got on the wrong side of someone powerful in the upper echelons of the sport, all because you threatened to torpedo the dreams of their asshole son. But she was hopeful that a tryout for Team USA would end-run the brass. She would impress the U.S. Olympic Committee with her talent, drive, and skills to succeed on the team going for gold. A good performance there would put her back in the mix in the pros.

  Her dreams had been destroyed, but she would rebuild them, one pass of the puck at a time.

  She refocused on the conversation. They’d moved on, thank God, and now so should she—wash her sweaty face and greet her future.

  “So who are you dating now?”

  Mia perked up. Go, bro! She may as well be talking in his ear. This was exactly the type of intel she needed.

  “Is it the redhead with the …” Whatever the redhead had wasn’t verbalized, but Mia imagined fembot breasts being mimed by Vad. Insert eyeroll here.

  “No, she was a little too … green.”

  “A virgin?”

  “No, not that bad.” Not that bad? As a virgin? “But she didn’t even know how to …” Whatever the redhead didn’t know was drowned out by Gordie Howe’s yapping. The little monster had spotted her and was only too happy to see her.

  She waved at him to calm the hell down, but it was too late.

  “Mia, is that you?” Vadim called out.

  “Yeah, I just got in!”

  “Co
me say hi to Tommy.”

  Hell, no time to make herself presentable. She headed into the living room, her hormones whooshing in delight at the sight of Tommy in a gorgeous suit with a blue tie that matched his eyes.

  He smiled at her, looking genuinely pleased to see her. “Hi, Mia, how’s practice going?”

  “Great. I’m back in the groove, for sure.”

  “She’s working with Foreman,” Vadim said.

  “Oh, yeah?”

  Was it her imagination or did Tommy’s eye twitch at the mention of Cal? Vadim’s phone rang, which Tommy took as his cue to leave.

  “Walk me out, Mia?” Tommy waved at Vadim who wasn’t paying attention, his smile and murmur indicating the call was from Isobel.

  Walk me out, Mia? Yes, sir!

  Approaching the front door, he lowered his voice. “Vadim’s worried about you. Thinks you might be feeling a lack of confidence in your game.”

  It was true, in a sense. In many senses.

  “Is this about the pay in the women’s league? Because that’s not really a problem for you, is it?”

  No, it wasn’t, but she couldn’t explain that to Tommy. “This path makes the most sense for me right now.”

  “Sure, we’ve all got to do what’s best for our own goals. You’re a talented girl, Mia, and I worry about you squandering that talent to make a point.”

  Objecting to serfdom was making a point?

  “I’m happy to play for my country. Not so happy about earning five cents on the dollar of a male counterpart.”

  “I get it. Believe me, I do.” He paused at the door. “Still, you could be talking to franchises right now. I expected you’d give me a call to discuss your career goals.”

  “I—I know. I’ve been so busy with training and I don’t want you to feel you have to carve out time for me because of Vadim.”

  He squeezed her arm and stared with those gorgeous blue eyes. “I was serious. You have so much potential and I’d love to be part of watching you realize it.”

  Her heart lit up in her chest like E-freaking-T. So he was talking to her on a professional level, but this was an excellent start. Business lunches were sexy, right?

  Except for the inexperienced redhead problem. If this woman didn’t have the skills to satisfy Tommy, then how the hell would Mia make an impression? She would have to up her game.

  “Thanks. I’ll definitely take you up on that.”

  7

  This was crazy. Batshit nuts. Worthy of a visit to a mental health professional for an assessment.

  What in hell possessed her to think Cal Foreman would actually go for this?

  It was his fault, really. He’d been super cool about the prank, generous even.

  Which had her thinking that he might want to throw his generosity in another direction. It didn’t help that Tara had texted her after practice this morning.

  You asked Cal for seduction tips yet?

  Of course she hadn’t! Yet she’d be lying if she said Tara’s idea hadn’t been playing on a loop inside her head. She had tried pushing it away, deep into the recesses, but it kept popping up, largely because Foreman had defied her expectations.

  He was kind, strangely charming, and not nearly as egocentric as she’d assumed. He had taken ownership of his actions at the wedding and had even offered to be her sounding board. She needed the insight of a male mind and who else could she ask? She knew some of the Rebels players but none of them well enough to feel comfortable on such a sensitive topic. Besides, they’d probably go running to their captain and tell tales.

  Cal wouldn’t do that. He had pushed back against Vadim. No blind adoration there, which meant he might be more open to telling her the things she needed to know.

  The idea was starting to morph into an imperative. Find out what men want. Ask a guy—a generous lover, if Tara was to be believed and why would she lie—what would work to attract someone who would normally not dig you. After overhearing Tommy’s conversation with her brother, she knew that what she was selling was not going to cut it.

  Now here she was outside Cal’s apartment building, psyching herself up to ask for his help, not only on the ice but in the—well, they’d see how far he was willing to go.

  The doorman at the front desk of Foreman’s building peered through the glass, eyeing her suspiciously. She should text Cal first. Let him know she was loitering with sexy intent.

  Hey, you busy?

  No response. Maybe he wasn’t home, but he had said he had laundry to do.

  Cal Foreman did his own laundry. The man amazed with every new revelation. Or maybe her standards were exceptionally low.

  The dots started up. About to have lunch.

  You just had breakfast.

  And your point is …

  Well taken.

  I’m downstairs. Could I come up?

  A long pause. Then, Sure. Fourth floor.

  Riding up the elevator, she ran through possible pitches.

  Teach me the ways of your tribe.

  Tell me what guys like.

  Give me a freakin’ clue.

  None of it sounded reasonable. If anything, it sounded vastly unreasonable.

  She exited the elevator, looked left, then right, and spotted Cal standing at the entrance to his apartment, arms as thick as logs, hands on trim hips, legs planted in a ready-for-action stance.

  “You okay?” he barked out.

  “I’m fine. Why?”

  He gestured to her impatiently. “Because you’re here. Why the hell are you here?”

  She closed the gap and peeked around the open door into his apartment. “Are you not alone? Oh, God, have I interrupted one of your … sessions?”

  “My sessions?”

  “Yeah, sex sessions. Is that what’s happening?”

  “Sex sessions? What the hell are sex sessions? There’s no one here except you, ya weirdo.” He muttered something unintelligible, then asked, “Is Vadim okay?”

  “Of course he is. Are you going to invite me in?”

  He waved a hand toward the interior.

  She walked in, her gaze immediately drawn to the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the lake before taking a targeted wander over the space for more clues to Foreman’s personality. The living area was typically masculine, open-plan with a kitchen on the west side. It sported big pieces of leather furniture, big TV, big everything. No photos that she could see, but maybe people didn’t do that much when they moved around a lot. On the table was that Hamilton biography, the one they based the musical on. Perhaps this was the thick book Tara mentioned.

  “Do you have any water or soda?”

  “Mia, what’s going on?”

  “I need to ask you something but I’d like a drink first. Coke, if you have it.”

  With a stony glare, he headed to the kitchen and removed a bottle of water from the fridge. “I don’t drink the devil’s bubbles.”

  The devil’s bubbles. Cute. “You should use a water filter instead of these one-shot deals,” she said. “It’s terrible for the environment.” She unscrewed the cap because she was a hypocrite and her throat was bone dry.

  He took the water from her after she’d downed a quarter of it and put it to his lips.

  And drank.

  She watched, mesmerized. Her lips had been there, right there, and he was … treating her like one of the guys. This boded well for their upcoming buddy chat.

  “I need advice.”

  He passed the bottle back to her and headed out to the living room. “Okay. Come sit.” He patted the seat beside him. She could sit where his hand had touched and it would be like her … no. What was wrong with her?

  Surely she wasn’t attracted to Cal Foreman. While she could see the appeal—the man had a rough and ready sexual charisma and Tara had talked him up in the sex department—he was not her type at all. Not that she had a recognizable type but she knew it wasn’t this.

  She took a seat one cushion over and placed the bottle on a Quebe
c Royals coaster on the coffee table.

  “Is this about your tryout?” he asked.

  “No.”

  “Vadim?”

  “Why would it be about Vadim?”

  He squinted at her, obviously annoyed she was skirting the main event. “I assume he’s being his usual big dick brotherly self, so you’re here to learn how to handle him. Or vent about him.”

  “No. I mean, yes, he’s being his usual big dick brotherly self but that’s not why I’m here.” Ah hell, here goes. “I like someone, and I need advice about it.”

  He inhaled a deep, give-me-strength breath. “Mia, I’m flattered but—”

  “For the love of Gretzky, not you, Foreman.”

  His brow darkened. “Is it someone on the Rebels roster? Because Vadim won’t like that.”

  “God, no. Hockey players, ugh!”

  “Present company excepted.”

  She shook her head vehemently. “Present company most definitely not excepted. You and your ilk are so not what I’m interested in.”

  He grinned and leaned back as if … oh, God … he was presenting all the action below the waist area. He actually liked her diss of his species. Probably saw it as a challenge.

  “What’s so funny?”

  “I love how you act like being with a jock is so beneath you. You’re a jock, Mia. You’re one of us.” He waved casually between them.

  “Okay, but that’s only because I like sports and I’m excellent at my chosen one. However, I don’t have that jock brain cell that you all share and pass like a puck to each other on the ice.”

  “I suspect I’m not smart enough to completely understand that, but did you just call me dumb?”

  “If the skate fits.”

  That made him laugh. It was a nice, warm, wrap-her-up-in-a-sweater laugh and she almost felt bad for calling him stupid because he wasn’t stupid. Not at all. Apparently he read books as big as toasters. But like his hockey brethren, he did have a one-track mind which is what she needed to groove into right this minute.

  “So, how can I and the jock brain cell I’m currently renting from the cell pool be of service, Mia?”