Foreplayer

by Kate Meader

  “I was in the neighborhood and I—I really just wanted to piss you off. I figured if I’m annoyed about something, someone else should join me. Stealing your sandwich was a bonus.”

  He laughed and swiped at a stray tear, tempted to taste it, tempted beyond reason to do more than taste a little salt water. To taste her. He’d never wanted to kiss anyone so badly.

  And knowing that—knowing it was something he really, truly, absolutely wanted—was enough of a reason not to do it. Because if he wanted something this badly, when every brain signal was telling him, hell no, then he should listen and not do it.

  Mia needed friend Cal, not horndog Cal.

  “Is this about the guy you like?”

  “No. That’s the one thing I’m absolutely sure of. The one area I know I can control so that every other area in my life will start to align. Or at least, that’s the plan.”

  Disappointment had never felt so painful. “Well, whatever it is, you can tell me. Any time.”

  “I—I can’t talk about it, but please know that I’m really grateful to you for being kind to me. You didn’t have to be after what I did with the dick post.” She bit her lip. “Guys still giving you shit about it?”

  Kershaw had made that joke about not scaring away women at weddings. Harmless, of course. Sure there was the Tara incident, but Cal had history here with Bethany, so it had struck a little close to home. “They don’t mean anything by it.”

  “You’re a really good guy, Cal. When I’m ready to spill my guts, you’ll be the first to hear it.”

  A really good guy. That was him all right. The good guy who wanted to bone his best bud’s sister, a woman who sees him as nothing but a stepping stone to her main goal—both of them. Get the job. Get the man.

  Cal Foreman wasn’t anyone’s goal. Maybe Tara’s, but that wasn’t even real. The woman barely knew his name, for Christ’s sake.

  “Probably for the best if you keep the deep chat to yourself. Half the time I zone out when chicks talk.” He smiled, and was grateful when she thumped him. Not so grateful when she pulled out of his arms.

  “Loser.”

  “Just playing my part.”

  “Yeah. Your part.” She eyed him closely, so much so that he felt a burn in his chest. “I know what you’re all about, Cal Foreman. You don’t fool me.”

  He shifted in his seat, seeking a change of topic. “I was going to watch the women’s gold medal final from the last Olympics. See if I could get some tips for you.”

  “You were?”

  “Sure. A lot of those girls are up for tryouts this time around. Some of them are a lock because they’re already playing.”

  “Yeah, I’m behind the eight ball. Selena made sure I was aware.”

  Maybe that was why he didn’t like her. That shade she threw Mia about the game getting really fast while she was gone had rankled.

  Mia had the talent, the drive, the determination. He didn’t understand her motives but he figured she had a good reason for playing it this way. What the female players were paid was pretty insulting, so that was probably it. But why did he think there was more to the story?

  He grabbed the DVD he’d asked a friend of his at NBC to burn and put it into the Playstation. “You got time for this?”

  “Definitely. I’m going to wash my face first. Back in a second.”

  He made sure not to watch her departing the room, keeping his eyes on the TV and the reflection there. Turning to the dog, he found the little bundle regarding Cal with all sorts of judgment. Animals always knew.

  “Not a fucking word from you.”

  12

  Mia placed a coffee cup in front of her brother. “Your majesty.”

  “You amuse me, sestra.”

  She laughed and took a seat at the table on the patio. The first of October, and it was surprisingly still warm outside, but there were already falling leaves crunching below their feet. Gordie Howe ran at a pile and landed in them.

  “Silly little dog with big shits,” Vadim said affectionately.

  “How’s your knee today?”

  “A little sore. I had hoped it would heal more quickly.”

  Startled at this admission of weakness, Mia wondered if Vadim was beginning to reckon with cold, hard reality. Her brother certainly didn’t need the money and she sometimes thought he’d be better off retiring and focusing on a family life. But then he and Isobel never talked about having kids. Totally their decision, of course, but maybe there was something going on there.

  “Have you thought about the R word?”

  He scowled. No one wanted to be forced into retirement.

  “Sorry, but it must have entered your brain.”

  “I enjoy being captain. I enjoy the brotherhood. And I wish I could be playing in our first game.”

  She understood his anguish at being unable to play. The new season started the day after tomorrow with the Rebels on the road to New York, then Boston.

  “You’ll get on the ice soon. If anyone can do it, you can. No knee can defy the great Vadim Petrov for long.”

  He shook his head at her saucy tone. “I’d especially hoped to play this season with Cal here. We were quite the team once in Montreal.” He sipped his coffee. “How is your training going with him?”

  “Good. Don’t know that he’s getting much out of it but he’s really helping me. Now that the countdown to the new season has started, he really shouldn’t be taking the extra time.”

  Her brother waved a hand. “If I was in better shape, I would be taking charge of your regimen myself. I’m sure he’s getting a good workout as well …” He paused. “As long as he has not been inappropriate with you.”

  “Inappropriate? Foreman? Oh, please.” If only.

  She had not thought that. But lately she found herself dwelling on Cal’s considerable attractions. When she took time for her own pleasure, it was Cal’s face she saw. Cal’s abs she imagined licking and shaping with her tongue. Cal’s forearms she imagined flexing as he pumped into her.

  Spending so much time with a guy invariably put him front-and-center in your mind. That was all. Tara’s encouragement to “hit it and quit it” as part of her training for the real thing—Tommy—was not helping, either.

  Her brother continued. “It would not be unheard of. Cal has been with many women, and he is clearly not ready to be a one-woman man. You saw what happened at that wedding. Do not be fooled by his easy smile.”

  They had been training together for six weeks, yet her brother was choosing to warn her off now?

  “Vad, I am not interested in Foreman. I’m not interested in anyone.” Liar, but about which thing?

  That stalled her brain with a screech. Tommy was the mission. But that didn’t mean she couldn’t poke around a little about Cal. There were moments when his cheerful, Southie Boston veneer slipped and in its place, was something edgier and a little sad.

  “He can’t be that incapable of making a commitment. He was engaged once and I heard she broke up with him.”

  “Yes, she did. I was standing up for him and he came into the church and said it was off.”

  Her mouth dropped open. “You mean they broke up just before the ceremony was about to start? Why didn’t I know about this?”

  “You were in college and you have never known Cal all that well. He told me that it would not be happening, that she had decided they were not a good fit after all.”

  She decided? Sounded like a page out of the Cal Foreman playbook. What had he done to make this woman think she’d be better off without him? “You don’t know any more than that? Was he cheating on her? Did she find out?”

  Vadim’s stare was stony. “Cal may be many things but he is not dishonorable. He would never do that to someone he cares about. He has not given me the details but I know it is not his fault.”

  She repressed an eye roll. The hockey brotherhood was alive and well, defending each other to the last drop of sperm.

  “Yet you’re still telli
ng me to watch out for inappropriate behavior. With this man of great honor.”

  “What is inappropriate in one situation isn’t always the same in another. Cal is a good man and friend but you are also reasonably pretty and probably have other attractions.”

  “Shut up.”

  He grinned, then turned serious again. “I know from personal experience that the coaching/player relationship can bring people into a dangerous intimacy. Which is all well and good when you have been in love with someone for years as was the case with my Bella and I. As much as I like Cal I do not approve of any unprofessional connection between the two of you. So has he been inappropriate toward you?”

  “He’s been a total gentleman.” More’s the pity. “Not that it’s any of your business.”

  “While you are here, everything is my business. And while you are elsewhere because you are my sister and I love you.”

  “God, you’re obnoxious.”

  “Yes, I am God in this situation. I missed out on the first fifteen years of your life and so I must make up for that.”

  “You really don’t. You’ve made up for it a million times over.” He had literally saved her life with his bone marrow.

  “I am your closest male relative, so you will allow me to take care of this. Of you.” Spoken like allow didn’t enter into it.

  Mia pushed open Cal’s front door. “Hello?”

  He called out. “I’m getting dressed. Meet you in the kitchen.”

  Maybe she shouldn’t have called out at all. Maybe she should have walked in on a half-dressed Foreman with an oops, my bad.

  She shook her head. This was not why she was here. Tomorrow was day one of her tryout weekend and she’d come over to get a last-minute pep talk and strategy briefing. Cal was headed for his first away game in New York, then on to Boston, so he’d be too busy to check in over the next four days of Mia’s practice, games, and scrimmages in Biddeford.

  He walked into the kitchen, running a hand through damp hair.

  “Hey, Wallace, you ready?”

  “As I’ll ever be.” In truth, her stomach felt like a squadron of butterflies were in attack formation. “What about you? It’s been a while since you were on competitive ice. And away ice has to be weird for a start to the season.”

  “No weirder than usual, especially when you’ve been traded. Not like I know the home ice well.” He placed two big hands on the counter. Had she noticed how big they were before? “We could order in or I could cook.”

  “You cook?”

  “Sure. I make a mean mac and cheese.”

  She grabbed his arm. “We can’t be eating that while we’re training.”

  He grabbed her arm back, equally dramatically. “We can because I’m gonna recommend you head to the gym for a quick run tonight before you go to sleep.”

  “You’re evil.”

  “Watch your mouth. I have mac and cheese.”

  She laughed and sat at the kitchen island, making herself at home. She liked Foreman’s kitchen, all stainless steel appliances and cooking gadgets for the home chef. She also liked watching Foreman as he set the water pot to boil, readied the pasta shells, and took a couple of hunks of cheese from the fridge. She just liked …

  She needed to stop thinking about what she liked. That attitude had never done her any favors.

  “If I knew we were cheating on our diets, I’d have brought soda.”

  “Fifteen minutes extra on the treadmill. I’ll allow it.” He jerked a chin at the fridge and returned to grating cheese.

  She opened the door and her heart leaped at what she saw: a six pack of Coke. Knowing Foreman didn’t drink soda himself, she felt a warm glow in her chest. Silly, perhaps, but there was a thoughtfulness to this man that often took her breath away.

  She raised her gaze to the top shelf. “You got a filter system.”

  “Yeah, you were jabberin’ on about my carbon footprint when I dared to offer you a bottle of water so I figured I may as well do it to shut you up.”

  “I can’t believe you actually listened to something I said and acted on it.”

  The look he delivered burned a hole in her skull. “I listen to everything you say, Mia.”

  Oh. There was that warmth again, flooding her chest and making her body flush. Eager to cover how much his words affected her, she busied herself pouring water into a glass for him.

  She passed it off. “Here you go.”

  “Cheers,” he said and clinked her glass of Coke. “To successful missions.”

  “Speaking of that …”

  His expression sharpened. “What? Has something happened with this guy?”

  “What? No, I was thinking about you.”

  “What about me?”

  “About how you’re not dating right now.”

  His smile was wry. He reached down into the cupboard and her eyes were drawn to his ass in jeans. His perfectly biteable, wanna-cup-those-cheeks ass in jeans.

  He put a grater on the counter. “You’ve noticed.”

  “Of course! You usually date. A lot.”

  He raised an eyebrow. “And?”

  “You haven’t been dating. At all. So I wondered if you needed help with that?”

  “From you?” He burst out laughing.

  “I can help! I know people. Women who might be interested in whatever it is you have to offer.”

  “Which would be?”

  She hadn’t expected to be put on the spot. How would she describe Foreman’s best qualities? Those kind eyes, the crooked grin, that dry sense of humor. He had plenty going for him beyond the usual. “Oh, the abs. The bank account. The pro athlete thing.”

  She had meant it to sound playful, a cover for the hullaballoo of emotions she was suddenly feeling. He bought soda. He got a water filter. His ass was a work of art.

  She thought about him day and night, and it was bordering on obsession.

  He regarded her with a gravity that surprised her. Shit. Those were all the criticisms she’d leveled at him in that viral post. They made him sound shallow.

  She made him sound shallow, when he wasn’t at all.

  She opened her mouth to amend, but he got there first. “Where is this coming from?”

  “Just trying to help. Am I holding you back?”

  “Why would you be holding me back?”

  “Maybe the early morning practices are playing havoc with your banging routine.”

  “My banging routine.” He chuckled, and she was pleased to have made up for her unfortunate digs a moment ago. “Let’s just say I’m taking it easy for a while. A little self-care.”

  “Celibacy?”

  He added salt to the boiling water, then half a box of shells.

  “I’m not putting a time limit on it but yeah, celibacy. After Tara, I realized I tend to jump into dalliances, for want of a better word, a little too quickly. Kind of like my parents.”

  “How so?”

  “Well, they divorced when I was ten and they’ve both remarried several times since. Mom’s on her third marriage and Dad’s on his fourth.”

  Wow. “That’s a lot of love for the institution of marriage.”

  He smiled ruefully. “Yeah. They’re drama hogs, love to fight, love getting me in the middle of it, and I hate that. Hated it then, hate it now. I don’t enjoy being around that kind of negativity where everything is framed as an opportunity to one-up each other. But the flip side of that is, in avoiding conflict—”

  “You risk letting people walk all over you.” This was familiar ground to her.

  He nodded, relief in his eyes that she understood. “Sometimes you don’t stand up when you should. I haven’t been as deliberate about my dating choices, instead letting circumstances pull me into the flow. I want to be a bit more purposeful about it, so I’m not screwing around with anyone until I get my game settled.”

  “But there’s nothing wrong with your game!” Okay, a little loud on the protest there. Anyone would think she didn’t want him to
be indulging in this self-care, celibacy period where sex was off the table.

  “We’ll see if Coach puts me on the ice the day after tomorrow. But in the meantime, I’m not dating.”

  “So I won’t try to set you up with anyone.”

  He smiled. “Did you have someone in mind?”

  She thought of Tara who would jump at the chance to be with Foreman again. She hadn’t said so outright, but Mia knew it in her bones. “No. I was just going to be on the lookout. And if anyone seemed suitable, I’d mention it.” Would she, though? Or was she glad to hear Foreman had sworn off sex for a while? At least Mia wouldn’t have to see him with anyone else.

  “No need. Like I said, I’m taking some time to take care of me.” He added a grin to let her know how cheesy that sounded and there went her pulse again. Up, up, and away into the stratosphere. This was what happened when you spent too much time with someone. Proximity was the worst.

  She would resist the Foreman vibes. She wasn’t that stupid.

  The conversation moved to Rebels game strategy—Mia had opinions and Cal suffered them patiently. He opened the cupboard and took out a couple of bowls, into which he poured creamy cheese-soaked pasta shells. Abruptly he turned to face her.

  “All that stuff about finding me a date—that seemed out of left field. Why are you suddenly interested in my sex life?”

  She decided to come clean. “Vad told me what happened on your wedding day.”

  “What did he say?” His voice sounded strained.

  “That you came into the church and said it was off. That you and um—”

  “Bethany.”

  “Right, Bethany. You and she weren’t a good fit. That she’d figured it out and that was why you weren’t getting married.”

  High color tagged his cheekbones. “That’s about it.”

  “The day of your wedding seems kind of late to figure that out.”

  His eyes went cold. “Not when you find your bride-to-be getting railed by someone in the apartment you shared.”

  13

  Mia gasped and covered her mouth, and Cal almost felt sorry for breaking it so roughly. She looked so scandalized. “On your wedding day?”