Foreplayer

by Kate Meader

But hockey player plus drama (combined with nice smile, velvet brown eyes, excellent butt, and droolworthy forearms) equaled nope.

  “Okay, so how do I get myself in play with this guy? I’m aiming to make my move during the Hockey for Everyone fundraiser in November. That’s less than two months and I need to have primed the pump before then, so he’s ready for my killer blow.”

  Cal briefly shuttered his eyes. “Pump. Blow. You need to think about how you describe your tactics, Wallace.”

  She giggled and then leaned in provocatively with a breathy gush of, “Do I?”

  “I’m convinced. I’ll meet you in the restroom for a quickie.”

  “Yes!” She pumped the air with her fist, drawing his low-graveled chuckle. Something about his humor was doing things to her. Warm, blooming in all the wrong places things. So Foreman was funny, but lots of guys could make her laugh. That didn’t mean she should be attracted to them on a deeper level.

  She’d made that mistake before.

  “Hey, what gives?” Foreman regarded her with concern.

  “Oh, nothing.”

  “Mia, that frown does not correspond to nothing.” He helped himself to a piece of bacon off her plate. When he was finished chewing, he added, “Now, I know something is seriously wrong because you didn’t say a word about me stealing your bacon.”

  “Just someone walking over my grave. A bad memory.”

  “This asshole college hockey player who did you wrong?”

  Good job on keeping it close to her chest.

  “You get this little crimp between your eyes, right here.” He touched the spot above the bridge of her nose. “That means you’re overthinking something or you’re upset. You want to tell me what happened or am I going to have to drag it out of you?”

  9

  Cal was sick and tired of the hockey asshole jibe.

  He got it. Hockey players were, by and large, assholes. But plenty of professions had their share of pricks. Lawyers, bakers, hockey stick makers—you name it, jerks and assholes abound. Which meant that Mia’s problem stemmed from a deeply personal experience and he was determined to learn what had gone down.

  “Who says something happened?”

  Today, that usually adorable divot between her eyes was a furrow he could drive her truckload of denials through. He wanted to reach out and smooth it over, then maybe run his thumb down over her cheek, her jaw, her lower lip, which was a little pout-fest now that he’d called her on her bad mouthing of his profession.

  “I say. And that scowl on your face says. Maybe I should call Vadim. He probably knows.”

  “Vadim knows nothing.”

  “So there’s something to know?”

  The server stopped by and offered more coffee. Good timing as it gave Mia a moment to compose herself and Cal a moment to gauge her internal struggle.

  “I had a bad experience with an ex in college, that’s all. No big deal.”

  “Yes, big deal, because you’re twenty-four years old and two years past graduation, Mia. And whatever happened has colored your perception to the point that you’re willing to tar an entire fucking league as well as the AHL, junior leagues, NCAA, and I’m guessing pee-wee contingents. Are those little guys all assholes-in-training as well?”

  She rolled her eyes. “Why is everything a drama with you?”

  “You bring out my Broadway. So spill. Who is he and how would you like me to kill him?”

  She smiled ruefully. “It was a while back, so it’s stupid to still be hung up on it. I was dating someone and he was a dick.”

  Must have been a supreme dick because Mia didn’t seem like the grudge-holder type. Revenge posts to online opinion forums notwithstanding. “Cheated on you?”

  “No. Or not that I know of.” She squirmed in her seat. “So maybe I’m pulling a Lizzy in P&P and pronouncing judgment on guys before I get a chance to know them, but I haven’t really seen much else to sway me.”

  “A what in the P and what?”

  “Lizzy in Pride and Prej. She’s uber-judgmental of Darcy because he doesn’t make a good first impression but then she gets to know him and sees his big house and she’s all in. And he pays for her sister’s wedding.”

  Cal squinted. “His big house. Does that mean what I think it does?”

  “Now you mention it, the guy does have big house energy, which he wields expertly. Really impresses the ladies.” She laughed, color suffusing her cheeks.

  There was something about this girl … no, there was nothing about her. He was merely reacting to the challenge she was laying at his feet about asshole hockey players. So what if she was right.

  The rules stated that he must defend his asshole brethren. He did not write the rules.

  “There are tons of pro hockey players who are stand-up guys and committed to their partners. Jesus, half the Rebels are loved up to the max with babies gurgling and vomiting all over the place.”

  “They are now, but not always. Vadim was a total manwhore before he got back with Isobel. I’ve seen all those club hook-up TMZ photos on the Internet.”

  “I wouldn’t use your brother as an example. Kind of an outlier and also weird to be checking out his whoremongering past.” He started a count on his left hand. “You’ve got Remy who apparently was itching to retire so he could get married and start a family, Bren giving up the demon drink to prove his devotion to his kids and Violet, Hunt pining after his best friend’s widow, Kershaw stepping up to fatherhood the minute he knocked up his girl, Bond finding true love after losing his wife and kids so tragically. Don’t get me started on Dante and Cade—Alamo came out to be with Moretti and they just had a kid! And you think hockey players don’t have it in them to know when they’ve got a good thing, grab it, and hold on for dear life? If you use the Rebels as your control group, your hypothesis is completely whacked.”

  She stared at him, open-mouthed. He had sounded mighty riled up there.

  “So the Rebels don’t fit the hypothesis now,” she said begrudgingly. “But you can bet it took most of them years to get to this level of relationship stability. Meanwhile a girl has to suffer through these poor man babies’ “growth pains” while they find themselves with every willing vagina or tell all their friends every damn secret.”

  Every damn secret? What was that about?

  Before he could ask, she rushed on. “We only have to look at you to see that this maturing period happens to leave lady rubble in its wake. Are you forgetting the stunt you pulled at Jordan and Levi’s wedding? You manipulated a woman into dumping you so you’d come out of it smelling like the bouquet.”

  “Yeah, well, weddings aren’t my favorite things. When someone forces my hand like that, it rubs me the wrong way. So I didn’t handle it the best but I’ve said sorry to Tara and we’re pals again.”

  She studied him above her coffee cup. “You were engaged before. Years ago. Vadim said something.”

  Now it was his turn to squirm. “It didn’t work out.”

  “Got cold feet?”

  “Something like that.”

  She reached over and held his hand. “Stop fobbing me off with your cool hand Lukery. What happened?”

  “She changed her mind. Bride’s prerogative, right?”

  “I’m sorry. That must have sucked.”

  “It was—a thing. And now it’s not a thing.” He squeezed her hand, partly to let her know she needn’t feel sorry for him, but mostly because he liked how it felt to touch her skin. It wasn’t only the physical sensation of her hand in his, but the emotional comfort he drew from it.

  He thought back to something she had said, about how he left “lady rubble” behind in the aftermath of every relationship. He was notoriously careful not to leave a bad taste. With Bethany, he’d had no choice but to play it that way and he had protected her more than most guys would have done. Any woman he had dated since always knew the score.

  “On the whole, I happen to get along very well with the women I’ve dated. No lady rubble.�
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  “That’s what you think. Someone always gets hurt, even if you’d prefer to pretend otherwise.”

  He eyed her. “No such thing as a mutual breakup in your world?”

  “It’s an oxymoron. While there’s no harm aiming for no-strings and avowing honesty, someone always catches feelings. And if they tell you different, they’re lying.”

  At some innate level, he knew the truth of this, which is why he always bailed first. Being self-aware enough to understand that didn’t make him feel as good about it as it should have. Probably because it exposed a fundamental difference between them: Mia was an all-in kind of girl. No casual relationships for her. When she crossed that line, it was because she was ready for something real.

  While he’d had enough of real to last a lifetime.

  Here with her, he felt a spark of recognition, a moment of rightness. He wanted to trust it, but letting that seed grow into something would cause all sorts of problems.

  With the diner’s entrance in his sightline, someone familiar appeared at the door. For a second, his subconscious said Vadim but then he realized it was only someone as tall as him: Reid Durand, the new guy. Durand was Canadian, and while Cal didn’t know him well, he had a lot of experience with Canadians from his days in Montreal. Only Durand was unlike any Canadian Cal had ever met. Notorious for trash-talking everyone, teammates and opponents alike, he also happened to play right wing. Same as Cal, but younger. Maybe hungrier.

  Durand arced a gaze over the diner, passing right by Cal without lingering. He took a seat at the counter and picked up a menu.

  Reminded of his need to focus on this year’s professional goals, Cal let go of Mia’s hand and returned to the meat of the conversation. “You’re probably right. Hockey players are dicks, so if you have a strategy to emerge from a sea of dicks and snag yourself a non-dickish prince, then who am I to disagree?”

  Cal walked into the Empty Net bar and looked around. Vadim saluted him from a table in the corner, so Cal made the universal signal of need a drink, only to get a headshake and a finger point at the table.

  Coming closer, Cal recognized the labels on the two bottles before Vadim: La Fin du Monde, a Canadian ale. Cal’s favorite beer from back in his Montreal days, this was a bit too esoteric for a sports bar north of Chicago.

  “How did this get here?”

  “This establishment is very cosmopolitan,” Vadim said. “They have all sorts of beer options.”

  At Cal’s smirk, he added, “And I asked them to put a case behind the bar for you. To officially start your season off right.” He clinked Cal’s beer bottle with his own. “Welcome to the Rebels, my friend.”

  Training camp started tomorrow, and Cal was itching to prove himself. Meeting with Vadim the night before was a tradition that extended back to their time together in Canada.

  “Thanks, Vad. I’ve missed this.” It was hard to keep a friendship going long-distance, and Cal had wondered if too much time had passed to be able to pick up the reins of their earlier closeness. Vadim’s life had changed so much since they knew each other all those years ago.

  “How’s the knee?”

  “Still sore. But I managed to walk in here without limping.” He looked around, then leaned in close. “Sometimes there are fans or press here, eager to gossip about a player’s injuries. I must give them a good show.”

  Cal laughed. He’d always appreciated Vadim’s unerring sense of melodrama and certainty that he was the focus everywhere he went. He cast a quick glance around and sure enough, a guy two tables over was pointing a phone in their direction. While Cal was a professional athlete, his ego didn’t assume for a moment that was for him.

  Vadim took a swig of his beer. “Speaking of injuries, how is your shoulder?”

  “Oh, fine.” He rolled his shoulder out, then spoke louder. “But sometimes, it’s not, y’know? Sometimes I think this whole season will be a wash.”

  His friend’s lips kicked up at the corners. “That should get a tweet or two.”

  Cal shifted his chair, so his mouth was clearly out of anyone’s sightline. “I want to win the Cup with you as my captain. We missed out that last year you were in Montreal.”

  It was weird not to be teaming up with Vadim, who wasn’t yet off IR. One of the reasons Cal had come on board with the Rebels was the chance to work with his old friend.

  But then again, maybe it was better if he wasn’t around Vadim all the time. Because of Mia.

  Not that they were doing anything wrong, only these last few weeks Cal found himself looking unreasonably forward to jousting with her on the ice then discussing strategy, both hockey and otherwise, at their post-practice breakfasts.

  Vadim nodded. “While I hope to be here for longer, this might be the last season to do it. Last chance for a lot of things. I am too old for the Olympics, they only want youngsters now.”

  “Damn youth. Wasted on the young.”

  “Which reminds me. How is Mia coming along?”

  How was she coming along? If they limited the conversation to her on-ice training, he’d have to say she was doing fine. If he extended it to the rest …

  “She’s going to have no problem getting a spot. In fact, she’s so damn good I don’t get why she’s not already on a pro team. Sure there aren’t as many rosters or spots, but she should be a lock.”

  Vadim studied him. “Has she told you about why she didn’t go into the pros?”

  “She said it was because of the pay issue. But …”

  “But?”

  “I don’t know if I believe her. It sounds like an excuse.” Maybe it was something to do with the guy who hurt her in college. “I think it’s more likely she had a bout of lost confidence. It happens.”

  “Not to me, it doesn’t.”

  Cal rolled his eyes. “It happens to everyone but you.” He waited a moment, as memories returned in fleeting glimpses. “I remember when you found out about her.”

  Unknown to Vadim, Mia had been living in Brooklyn with her mother when she was diagnosed with leukemia. Only then did her mother reveal that she had an older brother, a famous hockey player in the NHL—amazingly also Mia’s chosen sport because hockey was in their DNA. Vadim had tested positive for the bone marrow match, made the donation, and the rest was history.

  His friend smiled, then turned serious. “She is a strong and brilliant player, but she is also fragile, having grown up without a father and then suffered with such sickness. She was sheltered and hidden from the ugliness of the world. I want to protect her and ensure she fulfills all her potential.”

  “I think you’re underestimating her. To me, she comes off as incredibly driven.”

  “Yes, now. About the Olympics.”

  Among other things. “She’s very goal-oriented,” Cal said cautiously. “Look, I don’t know why she took a break from pro hockey but she seems to be on the right track now. Maybe nurture that, give her space to run with it, and the rest will fall into place.”

  Vadim sat back, playing with the neck of his beer bottle. “You seem to understand her.”

  “I don’t know about that. But one thing I’ve noticed is that she has a single-mindedness of purpose that’s truly admirable.” An unflinching sense of self, as well. Despite her lack of confidence regarding this guy she wanted—which had to be exaggerated—Mia seemed to know exactly who she was. He envied her assurance.

  Vadim threaded his arms over his chest. “I want what’s best for her. I want her to be happy.”

  So did Cal. He doubted that he would have any say in that, but he’d like to put her on the right path.

  “What do you do after practice?”

  None of the things Cal wished he could be doing with her, yet everything was still perfect. He loved hanging out with Mia at their post-practice breakfasts. For the last couple of weeks, he’d listened to her ideas for how to snag this idiot she had in her sights, and while he didn’t like it—or how it made him feel—it was worth it to spend time with her.r />
  Vadim didn’t need to know that.

  “We eat and debrief.”

  “That sounds … odd.”

  Cal shook his head. “It’s the most normal thing in the world.”

  10

  Cal pulled on his sweat pants and a tee. The first day of camp had gone well, and he felt good about his shoulder. Training his ass off with Mia these last few weeks had paid off and even though he was officially in the pre-season, he planned to continue their collaboration so she’d be ready for her Olympics tryout in a few weeks.

  “That extra time you’re putting in with Petrov’s sister shows on the ice, Foreman.”

  Cal met the gaze of the speaker, Reid Durand. “Shoulder’s feeling better and so am I.”

  “Bet you’re missing your buddy, though. You and Petrov used to be the dynamic duo a few years ago. Pity he won’t be back.”

  “Who says he won’t be back?” Vadim was desperate to return, desperate for one last run at the Cup. A player of his caliber should have several rings, and he knew it.

  “Knees don’t heal as well as shoulders. The Czar’s dreaming if he thinks he can get back to game form.”

  “Maybe worry about your own game, Durand.”

  Durand managed to make a smirk look like a scowl. This guy was as prickly as his rep.

  “That’s okay. Leaves an opening for the captain position.”

  Gunning for the captaincy while the incumbent was still on the team? This guy had some nerve.

  “You’re kind of new around here. And Petrov is going nowhere.”

  Boring into Cal with those almost-black, soulless eyes, Durand stood and grabbed a towel for the shower. “Your friend will be glad of your defense, Skater Bro.”

  What a fucking prick. Now that was the kind of player Mia needed to avoid.

  Irked, Cal pulled out his phone, scanned the screen, and promptly dropped it, sending it skittering across the locker room floor.

  Theo picked it up and because this was Kershaw, the nosiest dude in pro-sports, he looked at it.

  “Blowjob technique? What the—?”