by Kate Meader
“I—I have some cramps,” she said quietly. “You know, time of the month. I probably should leave.”
“Why?”
“TP won’t cut it.”
He blinked. “That’s all?”
“Easy for you to say, human without a womb.”
“You’re leaving because I don’t have a ready-made supply of feminine hygiene products?”
“That, and I’m not going to be much fun in my current state.”
He snorted. “If I was in this for fun, I’d have asked for a refund weeks ago.”
“Hey!” But she chuckled softly all the same.
“What I’m trying to say is that I like you well enough to spend time with you in all your many moods, Wallace.”
That pleased her, and Christ, he loved to please her. “I won’t be entertaining you,” she said defiantly. “I’ll just be a lump on the sofa.”
“Love me a lump on the sofa.”
She laughed again. “You’re too nice, Callum.”
He liked when she said his full name like that. “Listen, it’s not your job to entertain me, Mia. Your job is just to be you, and I happen to like how you do that. A plus.” He’d clearly surprised her—and himself—so he rushed on. “How would you usually forge through these end times?”
“Eat ice cream or cookies or potato chips. None of which I have on hand because you live a monk-like, salt and sugar-free existence.”
“Good thing all these things you require can be obtained at the CVS then.”
“But I also need tampons and while I know you’re friendly with all your ex-girlfriends that seems to be going a bit far.”
Not digging that jibe about the exes, but he supposed he deserved it. He had been very clear on the topic.
“Tell me what you need.”
“You’d do that?”
“If it keeps you on my sofa.” And in my life.
“But we won’t be—well—I’m not feeling super sexy.” Her cheeks fired up, and damn, it was adorable.
Maybe he’d called this wrong. Maybe cuddling up with Cal Foreman on the sofa was the last thing she wanted.
“If you’d be more comfortable at home, I get it.”
“That’s just the place I’m staying. Sure Iz and Vad are great, but it’s not really home.” A bark sounded and she looked over at the dog, curled up on one end of the sofa. “I think Gordie Howe has made the call for me. Let me tell you what I need.”
Cal held up the box of tampons and examined the label. Jesus, who knew this was such a complicated business? There were fifty zillion choices: super, super-plus, multi-pack, plastic applicator, cardboard applicator, no applicator (which meant … he wasn’t sure what that meant), scented, unscented, sport, organic, radiant (?).
He tried to find the ones that matched Mia’s specs. Unscented, regular absorbency, with the biodegradable applicator. Plastic wasn’t biodegradable, but cardboard was, right?
He took a photo of a likely contender and sent it to her. This one?
“Need help, Foreskin?”
Ah, the musical tones of a voice he hated belonging to a guy he loathed. Reid Durand was loitering in the personal care aisle of CV-fucking-S. Cal muttered a swear under his breath.
Durand came closer, holding a basket with a couple of toothbrushes, migraine medicine, and a shit load of energy bars. Just then, Mia’s message came through, still labeled Lady M in his contacts.
That says scented. Can you get a non-smelly one please?
Followed by a gif of someone begging and a bunch of emojis with unicorns. Whatever that meant.
“Lady M—ah, I remember. The one who needed your blow job advice.” Durand picked up a box of tampons, studied the label, then put it back on the shelf. “Petrov still outside the trust circle?”
“Keep your guesswork to yourself, asshole.” He should have picked the tampons first because the tubs of ice cream were sweating. Even more damning were the couple of tins of dog food, that special organic kind he’d spied in Vadim’s kitchen cupboard. Mia hadn’t asked but this might encourage her to stick around for more than an afternoon.
Durand was making no sign of fucking the fuck off, so Cal growled, “Usually hang out in this section, do you?”
“Sure. Good place to pick up women. I just tell them I’m shopping for my menstruating niece.”
“Well, it’s been a pleasure.” Cal scanned the shelves, looking for the same one he had but in an unscented variety.
“Second shelf from the bottom,” Durand said. “Your eyesight is getting worse with age.”
Cal gritted his teeth and picked the box from the shelf.
“You’re welcome,” Durant said sarcastically. “Say hi to Mia for me.”
“Maybe you should just shut the hell up and mind your own business.” Denying it was pointless. Besides, he didn’t want to deny it. If it was to get back to Vadim, would that be such a bad thing?
Yes, it would. If Vadim was to know, he needed to hear it directly from Cal himself. This pissant slinging rumors would only make Vadim furious—or madder than he would already be.
Durand tilted his head. “Could I give you a word of advice?”
“Nope.”
“You like her. I assume she likes you, though God knows why. You are both adults. Get over yourself.”
He walked away, leaving Cal feeling as dumb as he probably looked.
22
Mia awoke to a buzzing sound and the smell of bacon. Unless Gordie Howe had suddenly developed opposable thumbs and a heretofore unknown skill set, she was left with one assumption: Cal Foreman was cooking breakfast.
The last couple of days had been really lovely, just hanging with Cal, eating sandwiches, watching movies, sharing stories. Friends stuff with kissing—and more—which she was trying not to overthink.
Another buzz interrupted her very pleasant thoughts. It was Isobel.
Where are you? Vad and I are worried.
The fifth message from Iz, on top of at least eight messages from her brother. She’d already texted to say she was staying with a friend, but as she didn’t know many people in Chicago, they had to wonder.
The phone rang with Isobel’s smiling face showing on the screen. Mia answered.
“Hey!” Too cheerful.
“You’re alive.”
“Of course I’m alive. I sent a text.”
Isobel hummed. “One text? You think that’s going to be enough for your brother? He’s wearing a groove in the hardwood, which admittedly is good exercise for him, but then I have to listen to the Russian swearing.”
“I’m sorry.” Isobel shouldn’t be getting the earful Mia deserved from Vadim. “I’m perfectly safe.”
“With?”
“A friend.” She scrambled for a name. “Tara? You don’t know her. She’s someone I met recently.”
“Oh, okay.” Isobel sounded surprised as well she might, considering Mia hadn’t mentioned Tara before. “I know we haven’t been hanging out as much as I promised. I’ve been really neglectful of you and our friendship, and I can understand that you have to go your own way. Just know that I’m here for you. For anything.”
Mia smiled. “I know you are. The WHL franchise is taking up a lot of your time. It’s really important and I’m fully supportive.”
“I hope so, Mia, because there’s a good chance you can get a spot on the team.” At Mia’s demurral, Iz spoke up. “No, hold on. This wouldn’t be nepotism or special treatment. You have to prove yourself like anyone else, maybe even more so because of who you are. If you’d rather try out for another team, I’d understand. But I’d love to have you here in Chicago with us. We love when you’re around. You make our family complete.”
Mia swiped away a tear. “I love being here as well. I miss Mom, but Chicago feels more like home these days.” That might have something to do with six feet and change of Boston Southie currently cooking up a storm, and not just in the kitchen.
“I’m glad you feel that way. So let’s think
about the best way to apply your talents on the ice here in Chicago, okay? And I’m glad you’re making more friends here. I think this is going to be a great year for you, Mia.”
The door opened and Gordie Howe came skittering through on his little legs, followed by Cal.
“Wakey, wakey, gorgeous girl. Time for coffee or something more—” He clamped his mouth shut and grimaced when he saw she was on the phone. As he mouthed “sorry,” any hope Mia harbored that he had not been heard by Iz vanished into the ether.
“Who’s that?”
“The … TV?”
“You. Liar. I know that voice. That’s Callum Patrick Foreman!”
She peered up at Cal, who apparently had the middle name Patrick, and let him know with a look that they’d been busted. He put the coffee down on the nightstand and loomed over her.
“Iz, it’s not what you think.”
“Oh, what do I think?”
“We’re just—” She searched for the words, conscious that she had an in-person audience that might be interested in how she labeled their current relationship. “We’re really good friends.”
Cal’s lips curved into a grin. He liked that. He liked that she’d led with the defining thing between them. Their friendship was the one thing she hoped would last in a post-fling world.
“How good?” Iz asked. “Because it’s okay. You’re a grown woman and you can sleep with whoever you like, even if it is a friend and teammate of your brother’s.”
“It’s complicated. I know Vadim wouldn’t like it but—I’m not sure he has to know.” She caught Cal’s expression, the smile no longer there, now replaced with something more practiced.
He sat on the bed and gestured for the phone.
She crimped her brow in query, and he nodded, so she handed over the phone.
“Hey, Isobel. How’s it going?”
He listened for a moment. “Right. So this is our private business, and while I don’t want to put you in the position of having to not share something with Vadim, I’m asking that you honor Mia’s wishes on this.”
He sounded so clear and forthright, not the easy-going cajole she would have expected. During the pause while Isobel responded, Mia watched his face, its focus intense because the words were important. Such a nice face. A face with character. How had she ever assumed otherwise?
“Thanks, I appreciate that. I’ll see you in a couple of hours for practice. Here’s Mia.”
He passed her the phone, then leaned in and kissed her forehead. The sweetness of it made her heart melt.
“Come on, Gordie. Let’s give Mama some space and you some food.” Without another glance back, he led her doggo out and closed the door.
“Hi, it’s Mia again.”
“Well, that’s just gotten more complicated,” Isobel said.
“Okay, I know it’s awkward to have to keep something from your husband.”
“Sure, but that’s not what I’m talking about. By complicated, I mean that guy is crazy about you.”
Her heart skipped several beats. “You got that from two sentences?”
“I could write a manual on how these guys think. Cal seemed very concerned about your specific wishes. I know he’s a nice guy but that’s a level of evolved male I wasn’t expecting. He likes you.”
“Of course he likes me—”
“As in like likes you. So is he any good?”
“Not going to talk about this.” She giggled, feeling unaccountably happy. Cal Foreman like liked her. “And it so happens my wishes that Vadim not know align with Cal’s wishes that Vadim not know. It might sound considerate but he has skin in the game as well.”
“Sure, that’s all there is to it.” Said with a healthy dose of skepticism.
“I’ve got to go. Cal made breakfast.”
“Oh, for the days when I had someone to cook for me.”
“You’ll have it again, probably when I come back. I’ll check in with you later. Just tell Vadim—well, whatever you think is right. I know Cal asked you not to say anything but I don’t want to come between you two.”
Her sister-in-law chuckled. “You won’t. It’s no one’s business but yours and Cal’s. I won’t be spilling but Mia … if it’s serious, Vad will have to know eventually. So is it?”
She thought of Tommy Gordon, the man she was supposed to be in love with. The man she’d barely given a moment’s consideration to in weeks, not since Cal had shown up in Biddeford.
This was what happened when the first guy you slept with was nice. She was latching onto him with her hormones and heart, and pushing her brain—the one part of her that knew this was a bad idea—to the background. That little voice telling her hockey players were off-limits was not nearly as loud as it used to be.
Cal had told her that the Rebels were a bad model on which to build her theory. They weren’t the usual bunch of assholes—or at least they didn’t stay that way. He’d also made it clear he wasn’t a good bet and every now and then she needed to count the ways:
He was her brother’s friend.
He was a commitment-phobe of the highest order; witness his discarding of Tara, his dissing of the happy-ever-after, and his barely-disguised animosity about her plan.
He was a hockey player! How many times had she told herself this was her line in the sand?
“It’s not serious,” she said to Isobel. “Just some harmless fun.”
Cal had shown up in Maine as her mentor, her friend, and because he was sensitive enough to recognize that she needed someone on her side. That didn’t make them soul mates. It just made them mates, as in the British sense of friends.
And if she knew anything, it was that Cal Foreman was good at making—and staying—friends.
Cal went in early to the Rebels practice facility so he could have his shoulder assessed. He found Vadim stretched out on a table, with one of the team PTs flexing his knee.
“Foreman,” Vadim said with no inflection. Shit.
“Russian.”
Much to Cal’s relief Vadim snorted. They were okay—for now.
While the team PT asked him to rotate his shoulder, Cal waited for Vadim to say something. Now that Isobel knew, it felt like a bomb counting down to the inevitable. Maybe he should just come clean.
“How’s the shoulder?” Vadim asked as he pulled himself into a sitting position.
“Good. Stronger every day.”
They both headed to the gym for warm-ups. Vadim seemed out of sorts, but Cal knew it wasn’t about him because his friend was unable to hide his emotions.
“What’s up?”
His friend leaned against the wall outside the gym. “I’m worried about Mia.”
“What about her?”
“She stayed out overnight. With some girlfriend I don’t know.”
“She’s an adult. She can do that.”
Vadim scowled. “She has led a very sheltered life. My mother protected her so her father never knew about her.” He waved a hand. “Yes, all in the past but the result is the same. She was sick as a teen, very focused on her training at college, and then … I don’t know what happened to her the last two years. When she said she wanted to come to Chicago and get serious about her hockey, I expected she would.”
“She has, Vad. She just made Team USA.”
“And now she is keeping secrets again. She has no friends in Chicago!”
“She’s been here a couple of months. Sure she has friends.”
“I do not know who this Tara is. If she is a friend how come she has not visited?”
Tara? Why would Mia use the name of his last girlfriend as her cover?
“She doesn’t know everything about your life. Maybe give her the courtesy of treating her like a grown-up.”
“You do not understand. You do not have sisters.”
“No, I don’t. But I know Mia a little.”
“I think there is a man.” Vadim turned to him, stopped in his tracks. “Has she said anything to you?”
“We’re not training together anymore.” Not an answer, but hell, he hated lying more than anything.
“But you are friends, are you not? I saw how you were when she got her place on the team. Has she confided in you?”
“If she had, it would be between me and her.”
Vadim’s expression darkened even more, if that were possible. He was worried about his sister—Cal understood that—but she was a grown woman with a good head on her shoulders. She knew her own mind, was driven and focused. Cal would have given anything to be able to tell his friend that he had nothing to worry about. Mia was in no danger of getting hurt. If anything … shit.
Shit, shit, shit.
Mia had managed to keep her heart completely fortified and no doubt, would continue to do so. Cal wished he could say the same.
He should tell him now.
I’m not sure how this happened, Vad, but I think I’m in love with your sister.
He had come into practice today, thinking he had to keep a secret hidden from his friend only to discover a fundamental truth about himself.
But it wouldn’t change reality: Mia wanted someone else and Cal was not in the running.
“Come on, Russian, let’s see who can do more steps on the treadmill.”
23
Mia had texted Cal at practice to say she was going to take a nap at his place, and he’d run every yellow light from the practice facility to his apartment to get home and join her. He slipped under the covers and wrapped himself around a soft, sleeping woman.
She was wearing—holy shit, his Red Sox shirt. He buried his nose in her neck and inhaled her warm, sleepy scent.
“Hey,” she murmured as she turned into his embrace.
“Hey. Welcome to the dark side.”
“What? Oh, right.” Her mouth kicked up in a wicked smile. Oh, how he loved that smile. “It’s all I could find.”
“Sure it was.” He took her mouth, made it his. “I’ve missed your taste.”
She kissed him back, her hand cupping his jaw, her thumb coasting along his cheekbone. “Cal,” she whispered, and his name on her lips had never sounded so perfect. “How was practice?”
