Foreplayer

by Kate Meader

  Easy for him to say.

  No one ever told him he couldn’t have what he wanted. No one said he couldn’t play the sport he loved. And no one ever turned him down for a ride on the Cal joystick. This was Cal Foreman, man about town, and sure he was currently doing the celibate thing, but he didn’t even use that as an excuse. Didn’t even tell her he’d rather not go further because of his need for self-care.

  No, Cal Foreman had used the kiss as a form of pep talk, a way to lift her spirits before her big weekend.

  Sure.

  “Screw you, Foreman,” she muttered.

  “What’s that, girl?”

  Mia looked up at Cassie O’Brien, also on Team Blue and a good friend back in college, now a defenseman for the Buffalo Betties.

  “Some guy.”

  “Oh, yeah? Care to share over a beer? We need to catch up.”

  “Kind of want to be fresh for tomorrow.” At Cassie’s fallen expression, she amended. “I’d love to get something to eat, if you’re up for that.”

  Cassie brightened. “Hell yeah. There’s a burger place a few blocks away. And I can tell you all about this chick who’s been giving me the runaround.”

  Ten minutes later they were seated at Rusty’s Burgers and BBQ, Cassie with her usual Rolling Rock, Mia sticking to Coke. Once their food orders were in, Cassie raised her gaze and regarded Mia with a wry concern.

  “You never write, you never call.”

  Oh, God. Mia loaded up her usual, practiced string of excuses. “I’m sorry, I know I’m the worst. I’ve been so busy with the girls’ team I was coaching and hey, I know you’ve been busy as well.”

  Cass was too shrewd to fall for that. “I left messages for you. Even invited you to the games.” She took a sharp inhale. “Shit, Mia, what happened to you? Was it something I said?”

  Tears stung behind Mia’s eyelids. “No, not at all! I didn’t make any of the teams I tried out for and it knocked me on my ass for a while. Seeing everyone moving on, getting what they wanted was tough to witness. I know that makes me a total bitch, but—”

  “It doesn’t. Morrissey had it right. We hate it when our friends become successful.”

  “I don’t hate it, not at all. But it did hurt and I was … jealous. Should’ve been me and all that.” She shot titanium into her spine, anxious not to litigate the last two years or come across as a party pooper. All this time, she had thought only of how what happened affected her, not the pain she might have inflicted on others, especially when she ghosted the people who had meant so much to her. But now wasn’t the time to second-guess the calls she’d made. She would put her best skate forward and make amends.

  “I’ve missed you, Cass. Big time.”

  Her friend beamed back at her. “Yeah, you did. Man, we always had that simpatico on the front line. I’m seeing gold in our future. You and me.”

  “Don’t jinx it!” But that seed of hope had started to shoot green, leafy sprouts and Mia was already allowing herself to dream. She raised her glass to her friend. “To the future.”

  The next night, half the camp were in the common area lounge watching the Chicago Rebels playing their opening game away at the New York Spartans.

  Cassie passed Mia a ginger ale. “Here, pretend it’s beer and that you’re drinking with the rest of us.”

  Mia knocked back a mouthful too quickly and spluttered to get her breath back.

  “Potent stuff,” she said with a laugh.

  “That it is. So your brother must be bummed he’s not playing. Any idea when he’ll be back?”

  “I dunno. Rehab’s going slower than he expected. I’m surprised he doesn’t retire.”

  “Loves it too much.”

  Mia searched for a glimpse of Cal, knowing he was on tonight’s dressed list. He had texted this morning, asking how camp was going, and she had ignored him. Again. So she was being childish. But she knew if she spoke with him, something would change between them, maybe more than what already had. Either they would dance awkwardly around the kiss or he would explain it in a way she wouldn’t enjoy. Whatever the outcome, she would feel like crap and it would affect her play.

  It was only the second day, but she already knew she was at or above the level of most of these women. She would have made a fine pro hockey player, and having that opportunity snatched from her burned through her like a blowtorch incinerating her internal organs. She’d missed out on so much, but this was her shot. She couldn’t afford a distraction like Cal. No asshole hockey player was going to get in her way this time.

  “Ah, here’s Foreman,” Cassie said. “Love the way he plays.”

  Love the way he tastes and feels.

  No, she didn’t. He tasted of excuses and pity kisses and dumb pep talks.

  “You know him?” Cassie asked, reaching for the potato chips they shouldn’t be eating. “He used to play with your brother in Montreal, yeah?”

  “Years ago, but I didn’t know Vad then. I know Cal some now. He’s okay.”

  “More than okay. I’d totally hit that. Love that rough Southie energy.”

  Cassie was all-embracing in her sexual tastes. “You’d hit my puppy if he was wearing hockey shorts. Guy’s another Red Sox Nationalist, exactly the energy you need.” But she knew there was more to Foreman than the tough front he presented. Her heart had cracked open for him when he talked about his former fiancée’s betrayal.

  She wondered why Vadim didn’t know about it. Or did he and he didn’t want to share the details with Mia? But that wasn’t the impression her brother gave and she was sure Cal had said he hadn’t told anyone.

  He had kept those details to himself. Why?

  Mia slid a look at Cassie. They were friends, but Mia hadn’t shared every detail of what happened with Drew Fabien in college. Her friend knew it ended badly because of those photos getting out—not Selena Fabien’s involvement or that it had such a lasting impact on her professional trajectory.

  Was there a chance Mia had more in common with Cal Foreman than she thought?

  She returned her attention to the screen. Cal was moving down the right line with that loose-limbed skating motion she envied. Waiting, waiting, wait—there it was, the puck on his blade and fire under his skates. No more loose, now all-in intensity, his mission the blue zone. A pass back to Levi Hunt at center, a tap back as they got closer and bing-bada-bing, into the net!

  “That’s how it’s done!” Mia laughed and turned to Cassie. “I like how he plays as well.”

  Even when she was mad as all hell at him.

  Mia skated to the bench, accepting the gloved high fives of her teammates as they finished up the final scrimmage of the weekend.

  Cassie hugged her hard. “Wallace, you were a killer out there. Fucking killer!”

  Coach Lindholf grinned. “She was but tone down the language. We have kids in the audience.”

  “Right, coach.” Cassie winked at her. “Come on, they have an autograph thing and then we can go get trashed. If that’s okay, Coach.”

  “First round’s on me, O’Brien, after you’ve met your adoring public.”

  “Woot!”

  Cassie and Mia headed back to the locker room and changed into sweats but kept their jerseys on. Meeting with fans for autographs was part of the weekend and something that happened after the current pro games in the WHL. Mia loved the idea of mingling with youngsters who might be following in their footsteps. They headed out to the lobby area where the tables were set up and spent a good hour meeting fans, signing programs, and taking photos.

  Near the end of the allotted time, a big tanned hand put a program down. “Could you sign it for my niece?”

  That voice. Her heart. Mia looked up to see Cal Foreman grinning at her. He was here. Had he just arrived or—oh my God, he was here! He wore a thick, gray, marled sweater that pushed his sex quotient to about five hundred and seventy on a scale of one hundred.

  She aimed for an aloofness she didn’t naturally possess. “Your niece?”


  “Yeah, she’s big fan. Not much of a sports guy myself, so I thought I’d grab this for her. Get in her good books.”

  Mia rolled in her lips, which was better than rolling her eyes, she supposed. “Why isn’t she here?”

  “She lives in Canada. She can’t be seen to be supporting the enemy, y’know, but she’s a fan. Huge fan. Just put, ‘Keep on keepin’ on, Cal,’ or something like that. Whatever you think works.”

  Foreman, Foreman, you are killing me in your sexy fall sweater. “Your niece’s name is Cal? What’s that short for?”

  “Calliope. Named after one of the Greek muses. Something to do with eloquence and poetry.” He caught sight of Cassie with her mouth open and shot her a wink with extra cheese. “Hey, how’m I doin’?”

  Cassie turned to Mia, completely flabbergasted. “Know him some, huh?”

  “Unfortunately, yes.” Mia signed the program and handed it back to him.

  Cal took one look and burst out laughing. Such a deep, resonant sound that went right to her core. Stupid laugh. Stupid core.

  “You played well out there,” he said. “You, too.” He nodded at Cassie.

  Mia swallowed the lump in her throat. “You watched the scrimmage.”

  “Hell, yeah. It’s open to the public and I am your public.”

  She didn’t know why, but that sounded intimate. Maybe it was the look on his face, that special smile she felt was reserved especially for her, that twinkle in his eyes that seemed to be sending her a message. I’m here for you.

  “But wait, you have a game? Tomorrow! In Boston!” She jumped to her feet and pushed at his chest hard enough to have him take a step back. “How did you get here? Do they know you’ve gone?”

  “Yes, by car, and yes. Well, maybe on the last one. I mentioned it to a couple of the guys in case anyone was curious about my whereabouts. You know, if you bash me to death with a hockey stick and people are wondering why I didn’t show up before the puck drops tomorrow.”

  He drove from Boston the day before an important game to watch her tryout. Who did that? Well, Vadim would have if she’d made a fuss. Isobel, too, but she was so busy that Mia didn’t want to bother her.

  Cal knew. Sometimes it felt like he was the only person who knew what was going on in her head.

  Coach Lindhoff appeared and did a double-take on seeing Cal. “Foreman? Do my eyes deceive me?”

  “Nope, Coach. Good to see you.” They did some complicated manly handshake.

  Coach thumbed at Cal. “Best right winger I ever trained. Glad to see you’re back in the mix in Chicago.”

  “Yeah, it’s going well. Good game a couple of nights ago in New York.”

  “I saw. One goal, one assist. Not bad for your first time out with a new crew. What brings you to our neck of the woods?”

  Cal smiled. “I’m here to see how my young Padawan is doing.”

  Cassie nudged her and muttered, “You never said you were training with Cal Foreman.”

  “I figured it’d get out eventually. He has such a big mouth.”

  He smiled that big mouth in a big grin that would have made her knees melt if she wasn’t sitting down.

  “We’re headed out to get pizza and beers,” Coach said. “You in?”

  Cal slid a look at Mia, obviously asking her permission. As if she’d say no. As if she’d deny him anything.

  The truth of that shocked her.

  “Sure, stop by and spend your millions on a couple of rounds, Foreman.”

  Cal laughed, deep and graveled and God, he was killing her with lust—and possibly something more.

  “All right, I’m in.”

  15

  When Mia didn’t answer any of his texts all weekend, Cal knew action was needed. As soon as the team landed in Boston, he enquired about car rentals, dropped his overnight bag in the trunk, and drove up to Maine. He’d screwed up and he needed to fix it. Now Mia seemed to have forgiven him—or at the very least she wasn’t making a fuss in front of company.

  Outside the university buildings, the air was crisp, with that bite in the air he loved about a New England fall. He’d missed this part of the country while spending the last few years in Canada and before that in Nashville. Both of those places were fine, the epitome of nice, which should have suited Cal who liked to go along to get along. But Boston and its environs had an earthy, in-your-face quality that he hadn’t realized was absent from his life until now.

  Kind of like Mia.

  They headed to a pizza place across the street, but before they went in, he pulled her aside. “Need a word.”

  “Sure. What’s up?”

  Cal waited for everyone to go inside then led her by the elbow a few feet from the door.

  “You still mad at me?”

  Her cheeks flushed and those dark blue eyes took on a curious shade. Oh yeah. Still on the outs. “Of course not. I’ve been busy. Haven’t had time to think about you at all.”

  “Mia.” A single word, like sugar on his tongue. That one word, combined with his right hand, had kept his fantasies active for the last month.

  She bit her lip. “So I was annoyed at you. Because of the kiss and how you—I don’t know—dismissed it like it meant nothing.”

  Her voice quivered and his heart shook alongside it. He’d hurt her and if he could go back and not kiss her, he … would do it all over again. Deeper. Wetter. Hotter. He would savor that kiss for the rest of his living days.

  “You know I don’t think that.”

  “How do I know? You said you kissed me for luck. Doesn’t sound all that significant.”

  “Yet here I am.”

  Her eyes snapped to his. “Why?”

  “Mia.”

  “Stop doing that. Stop saying my name like it means something. You’re not the first guy to try that.”

  “Did you mean it?”

  “What?”

  He held up the program, scrawled with “Fuck you, Calvin :)” across the front.

  “Of course I did.” She smiled, shook her head, and let him back in to her good graces. He wasn’t going to talk about the kiss because it would mean he had to hurt her again.

  He couldn’t tell her he regretted it because he didn’t.

  He couldn’t tell her it meant everything because it did.

  There was no middle ground here, so he said the one thing he could be honest about.

  “Consider me fucked.”

  Her smile faded. The wrong and right thing to say. He was screwed and completely at her mercy.

  “Let’s do this.” She headed into the bar.

  Inside he was introduced to a crew of women who lived and breathed hockey, and could back it up. It was nice to hang with fellow lovers of his sport, who weren’t looking for anything else. He made sure he was sitting with Mia, his arm at the back of the booth, his forearm tingling every time she moved her head and her pony tail brushed his skin. Torment and tease at once.

  The evening went on with pizza, beers, and songs on the jukebox. Cal caught up with Lindy, who had been his coach in college at Vermont, and they regaled the crowd with a few risqué stories from ancient times. Some of the girls got up to dance, including Mia, and it was such a pleasure to watch her goofing off with her friends, even though they were really her rivals. Sometimes he forgot how young she was, eight years his junior, and in many ways younger than that. As if he needed another reason as to why he should not be ogling Mia Fucking Wallace.

  Coach turned in early, and Cal found himself alone with a smiling Cassie O’Brien. Her eyes were a touch unfocused after several beers, but nothing too alarming. She played defense with the Buffalo Betties and had acquitted herself well on the ice today.

  “You played a barnstormer the other night in New York, Foreman.”

  “You saw that?”

  “We all saw it! Hard to say who likes your form better, me or Wallace.” She leaned in and patted her chest. “Spoiler. It’s me.”

  So Mia had liked what she saw. The
notion of her watching him play, maybe cheering him on even when she was pissed at him, sent a tug of lust right to his balls.

  “You went to college with Mia, yeah?”

  “I did. Seems like eons ago, but this takes me back.”

  “What was she like back then?”

  “Oh, the same. Always the life of the party. At least until—well, she’s good people.”

  Abruptly he realized he might have an inside track here about the ex. He wanted to know what happened with a ferocity he hadn’t thought possible. He leaned close and lowered his voice to a conspiratorial level. “She filled me in on her ex. About what an asshole he was.”

  “Really?”

  If Mia truly wanted him to know, she’d have told him. But this was a hurdle they needed to climb to move to the next level. What that next level entailed he wasn’t sure.

  You want to be worthy of her.

  You want to prove that not all hockey players are like that.

  “It’s left her with a bad taste in her mouth,” he ventured. “About guys. Hockey players.”

  “Are you surprised? He fucked her over royally with those photos.”

  Every muscle in Cal’s body turned to concrete. “What photos?”

  Cassie blinked. “The—wait, you said you knew.”

  He placed a hand on her arm. “I know it was bad but she wouldn’t give me the details.”

  “I don’t know—”

  “Cassie, please.”

  She shot a look at Mia, who was still dancing away. “They were dating. She sent him some risqué selfies, he shared with his friends, she was humiliated.”

  Anger flared, burned, incinerated. No wonder she was so hurt. A whole bunch of guys laughing at her, analyzing every part of her. He knew those guys. At one time, he might have been one of those guys.

  “I don’t get how this affected her career.”

  “I don’t know that it did except … she reported him. I told her to do it, not to let him get away with it, but the school didn’t take her side. They said she should have known better—”

  He growled.

  “Down there, big fella. I know she wasn’t at fault but that’s how the school looked at it. She made a mistake, sent the pics, and he said it was an accident that they got out. But we all knew it wasn’t. No guy does that by accident. She hasn’t said it, but it threw her. She lost her way after college. She barely talks to me, to anyone from those days, anymore.” She grasped his arm. “Don’t tell Mia I told you.”