Foreplayer

by Kate Meader

  Sure. “So what about you? Who’ve you got your eye on tonight?”

  “Oh, I dunno. So many hockey stars, so little time. Do you think Cal will mind I’m here?” Something lurched in Mia’s chest because that didn’t answer the question, or perhaps it did. Tara had Foreman in her sights again. Fabulous.

  “Hard to say. He might think you’re stalking him, but screw him. You’re my plus one, so to hell with him if he’s bothered. And if we both strike out, we’ll get drunk and dance the night away, okay?”

  Mia held out her hand, palm down.

  “What are you doing?”

  She shook her palm. “Cover my hand with yours.” Tara did, tentatively, while Mia shouted, “Women on the prowl, assemble!”

  “Go, team!”

  Mia grinned. “We’ll work on it.”

  Ten minutes later, they had champagne flutes in hand and were perusing the crowd when Isobel approached them.

  “Mia, you look gorgeous! You left the house so early I didn’t get a chance to see you.”

  “Thanks. I wanted to get ready with Tara—do you know Tara?”

  “I don’t think—oh, right.” Isobel shook her hand and looked at Mia, awareness creeping up on her. “I didn’t know you guys were friends.”

  Tara squealed. “Oh, there’s my favorite Swede! I’ll be back in a second.” She ran off to molest Erik Jorgenson, the Rebels goalie.

  Wide-eyed, Isobel watched her then turned back to Mia. “What’s the story there?”

  “The story?”

  “That’s Foreman’s ex. When did you guys become pals?”

  “We ran into each other at Starbucks. We’ve been hanging out.”

  Isobel squeezed her arm. “I’m sorry I haven’t been around as much as I promised I would be. I’m a terrible sister.”

  “It’s okay. And it’ll be worth it when the franchise is awarded.” She wrinkled her nose. “I’m assuming it’s pretty much a done deal?”

  “Almost. They make the decision in a few days and I’m quietly confident. Oh, and Selena’s here tonight so if you run into her, talk about what an amazing coach and skating consultant I am.”

  Selena was here? Oh, hell. Mia would need eyes in the back of her head to avoid her.

  Isobel was still talking. “It’s weird because even though I co-own the Rebels, it’s always been more Harper’s baby. This one will be all mine. Harper’s name’s on it, sure, but with Vadim investing and me running the show, it’s going to feel more like ours, a Chase-Petrov enterprise. All of us.” Her eyes seemed to plead with her, and Mia considered what Cal had said. How she should be honest with them.

  “I do want to be in the pros. You know that. I just want to get there on my own terms.”

  Her sister-in-law studied her. “Like I said, you’ll have to try out like anyone else, and we only want the best. Vadim and I won’t risk our reputations, bringing on substandard skaters. We need to be sure you want it.”

  “I do,” she whispered. “I know it looks like I didn’t for a while but I had my reasons. One day, we’ll sit down and I’ll tell you all about it. Just know that this is where I’m meant to be.”

  She was getting what she wanted, yet it all felt out of joint. Why did she feel so confused?

  “Ladies.”

  Well, well, well. Reason 1657 for her current bewilderment had appeared and had the nerve to look ten times better than every guy here. She’d seen Cal in his game day suits before, but damn, how did he manage to fill this one so well? It was just boring black fabric. It shouldn’t have shaped his bull-like shoulders or highlighted the width of his chest so perfectly. Where was Dante looking like David Gandy when she needed him?

  Recalling her annoyance, she uttered her flattest greeting. “Foreman.”

  “Mia. Isobel.” He kept his eyes on Mia. “Why you all dressed up?”

  “Shut it.” She could feel her cheeks flushing. “Aren’t you going to tell Isobel she looks nice as well?”

  His smile was wry. “Sure. Isobel, you look great.”

  Her sister-in-law chuckled. “What woman doesn’t love a compliment delivered with such generosity? Foreman, will we see you on the auction block?”

  “Is that your way of saying I’m already on there?”

  She patted his arm. “Yes, it is. It’s for charity. My charity, so don’t screw it up. Enjoy the rest of your evening, kiddos.” She shot a meaningful glance at Mia and went on her merry way.

  “I feel like a piece of meat,” Cal grumbled.

  “It’s for the children, Foreman.”

  “Right. So …” He leaned in. “Are we still friends?”

  “I don’t know,” she whispered, feeling a catch in her throat. “Are we?”

  “Mia.”

  She nodded, unable to speak. Thankfully he picked up the conversation slack.

  “I don’t want anyone to take advantage of you. I want to protect you. But, you’re right, this is your battle.”

  “I am? It is?” She suspected her mouth was gaping. “You’re not going to tell me to burn it all down and make them pay?”

  “Nope.”

  “But, why?”

  He chuckled and the vibration set off a corresponding thrill in her body. “Because you are a grown-ass woman who can make her own calls. You’ve had time to adjust. I’d just heard and Christ, it makes me so fucking angry to think of you going through that alone, Mia. No one should have to suffer what you did. I want to hit something and if that Fabien kid ever makes it to NHL, his career will be very short.”

  He couldn’t have said anything sexier. She needed him to be on her side for this, even if she had screwed up. Pressing a hand to his chest, she absorbed the thump of his heart. Cal Foreman, her hero.

  “Thank you. But we both know he won’t make it to the majors.”

  He placed a hand over hers, trapping it against his chest. A light squeeze told her he got that she was trying to minimize again, and that she needn’t do that around him. With Cal, she could be honest.

  “If, hypothetically, I was to ask for your opinion and you wanted to give it, what would you say?”

  “Hypothetically?” He held her gaze, unflinching, and spoke without hesitation. “You need to tell your family what happened, Mia. You need to tell them what’s in your heart.”

  Perhaps he was right, but she couldn’t risk the fallout.

  “Thanks for your honesty. I’ll file it away.”

  “Speaking of honesty … it’s the hardest thing to tap into, especially with yourself. Your instinct was self-preservation, and I understand what that’s about. I’ve been there, not wanting to make a fuss, for whatever reason. With my parents, with …” He shrugged those broad shoulders, the ones that seemed more than capable of carrying all her burdens.

  “Bethany?”

  “Yep. Sometimes it’s easier to bury it and move on. Only …”

  She moved closer, watching his mouth shape these precious words. “Only what?”

  “Only, sometimes that stuff you bury is under a thin layer of sand and that wound you tried to cauterize is at risk of tearing wide open. Especially when you meet someone who makes you want to unpack it.”

  Did he mean her? Was she the someone who made Cal Foreman want to slice open the pain and bleed it out?

  She squeezed his hand back. “I like that I can be honest with you. Your friendship means so much to me, Cal. I don’t want to lose that. I need that.”

  He didn’t speak for a moment, just held her gaze steadily. “I can’t imagine you not being in my life, Mia Wallace. If the way to keep you close is to be your friend, then I would love that. I need that, too.”

  This had the strange, sad hallmark of an ending. As much as she cared about Cal, his commitment issues were a wall she couldn’t climb over. If she could have him in her corner as a friend, surely it would be better than nothing.

  “You look beautiful tonight, friend,” he whispered, and then he smiled and she wanted to cry.

  Perhaps sensin
g the shift, he released her hand and moved to another topic—ostensibly tonight’s most important topic. “Is your mystery guy here?”

  “No, I don’t see him yet.” With the bubble popped and both of them back in sharp reality, she realized that she needed to give him a heads up about Tara. “I probably should tell you something.”

  He inclined his head until their foreheads almost touched. “Is it that you’re going to bid on me? Think of the children.”

  “Like you’ll have a problem getting bids. Half this crowd will be all over you and your single self. And speaking of your single self …”

  “Uh huh.” His gaze dipped to her lips, filled with a heat that seared her panties to fragments.

  “Tara’s here.”

  “Who?”

  “Tara Becker. She’s—well, she’s my guest.”

  His brows slammed together. “You brought Tara? To this thing?”

  “Yes, we’ve been getting friendly and—”

  “Wait a second. You and Tara are friends? Since when?”

  “A few months? I don’t know that many people in Chicago apart from family and she’s been giving me advice—girlfriend advice—about my problem. Because you can’t do everything. Anyway, she’s here.” And I think she wants another shot with you.

  “Mia.” Her name on his lips didn’t sound so heartfelt now.

  She plowed on. “Hear me out. She’s really sweet and funny, though sometimes she doesn’t realize she’s being funny.”

  His jaw bunched. “I know what she is. I’ve spent time with her. I already dated her.”

  “Maybe you didn’t give her a chance.”

  This was crazy, but she was a friend to them both, and it was better she separated that out. If some part of her despised the idea of them together, then that was the envious, mean-spirited version of her that hated when her friends went on to play pro hockey while poor little Mia was left behind.

  He stared at her in disbelief and she couldn’t blame him. “Mia, what the fuck is going on here?”

  “Hey, stranger!” With perfect timing, Tara appeared and threw her arms around Cal’s neck. “It’s so good to see you!”

  “Yeah, you, too.” He shot a look at Mia, one that might, in some circles, be called “withering.” He set Tara back a few inches, and that’s when Mia saw it: the switch from real Cal to fake Cal. The Cal for the masses.

  He chucked Tara’s chin. “You look nice.”

  “Nice?” Tara preened, thrusting her chest out. “I look spectacular!”

  Cal laughed. “Okay, you look spectacular. I hear you’ve made some new friends.”

  She looked over her shoulder. “Oh, Erik? He’s a sweetheart but the man is obsessed with food. Who would have thought there were so many ways to prepare herring?”

  “Jorgenson? No, I’m talking about this one here.” He thumbed at Mia, but didn’t look at her.

  He was absolutely pissed. This was the Cal she knew and loved, and for some reason, that made Mia happy. So no one liked to be the focus of a friend’s wrath, but Cal’s annoyance with her felt real. Like the aggravation between two people who knew and respected each other. Another notch on the friendship post.

  This was how it should be. She would survive this.

  “Oh, there he is!” Tara grabbed Mia’s arm. “He’s here, Mia. He’s here!”

  All three of them turned to the ballroom’s entrance. Tommy Gordon had swaggered in and even more shocking, he was—

  “Solo,” Tara gripped Mia’s hand hard enough to make dents. “No date. This is perfect.”

  Was it? Mia should be overjoyed to see him riding stag but now she wasn’t sure. If he’d brought someone, she’d have an excuse to bail because she wouldn’t be comfortable muscling in. He shook hands with a couple of people, checked his phone, waved at someone, then headed toward the bar.

  Turning back, she met Cal’s gaze. Still angry, but this was different. No longer amused. No longer her friend underneath it all.

  “Tommy Gordon.” The words were flat and lifeless on his tongue.

  “Yep, now you know. I didn’t want to tell you because I knew you’d try to talk me out of it. Say he’s too slick or not for me.”

  “That’s ridiculous,” Tara said. “He would be lucky to have you. Wouldn’t he, Cal?”

  Cal hadn’t said a word. Actually, he’d said two words: Tommy and Gordon, and neither sounded all that appealing to him.

  After what seemed like an age he decided to expand on that thesis. “That’s the guy you like? The one you’ve wanted all this time?” Cal’s eyes burned into her with a ferocity that made Mia very, very nervous. This seemed above and beyond mere disapproval.

  “I knew you wouldn’t like it,” she said faintly.

  “So you said.” The words dripped acid, so unlike him.

  “Cal, I don’t know what’s—”

  “You should have told me it was Gordon.”

  “Why? Because you’re such a great reactor to bad news?”

  He leaned in close, and wow, he smelled incredible. Not even aftershave, which she wasn’t a fan of because Vadim wore it by the bucket load for some sponsorship deal. This was pure Cal.

  “He’s a sports agent, Mia. All those guys are skeevy lawyer-types and one step above slime.”

  “This is why I didn’t tell you. You’re such a know-it-all—”

  “Which you’ve been taking advantage of for weeks.”

  She put a hand on his chest and pushed. No go. “So you don’t like him. Big deal. You don’t have to like him. You won’t be dating him.”

  “And neither will you.”

  She could feel her eyes go wide. Baffled, she shot a glance at Tara who was watching the two of them closely, only missing the popcorn.

  “This is none of your business. Quit with the busybody interfering, and let me get on with my plan.” Unless he could give her a really good reason not to do this, she was going in.

  A voice in her head said: If you felt that way, you wouldn’t be pursuing Tommy at all. But Tommy, as yet, was an unknown quantity. He had boyfriend potential. With Cal, there was nothing there but the friendship zone, which he’d made clear was their relationship’s destination.

  “He’s not right for you.”

  “Why? Because he’s handsome and smart and sophisticated?”

  “Jesus, who decided handsome and smart and sophisticated was the fucking standard? Maybe you should try looking beyond the image. You hardly know him.”

  “I know him well enough. He’s been nothing but kind to me and—”

  “Bet he has. MO of a slimeball player. You’re too blinded by what happened with your ex to see it.” He shook his head, then shook it again, as if he couldn’t quite believe her choice here.

  Her. Choice.

  While Mia’s blood threatened to boil clear through her skin, Cal turned to Tara. “You actually think this is a good idea?”

  Tara’s response was surprisingly diplomatic. “He’s got a lot to recommend him.”

  Cal scoffed. “I thought you’d have more common sense. Guy’s a jerk.”

  Okay, that was it. “You’re the only jerk I see here,” Mia said.

  “How the hell am I a jerk?”

  “Because yet again you’re doing that puppeteer act you love so much. Pull the strings to force the situation to your liking. You did it with Tara at the wedding and now you’re trying to manipulate me because you don’t think I could land a guy like that.”

  “Believe me, his standards aren’t that high.”

  Her mouth fell open. Cal Foreman might be a lot of things but cruel had never been one of them until now.

  He must have realized he’d stepped in it. “Mia, I didn’t mean—”

  “Oh, I got the meaning all right. What happened to there being no leagues, only compatibility? You said I was perfect and beautiful and any guy would be lucky to have me, but I’m guessing that was just another line from the Cal Foreman playbook.”

  She turned on
her heel and walked away.

  25

  What. A. Penis.

  Cal Foreman was the biggest—stop thinking about his penis, let’s go with—jerk she’d ever encountered. She’d known in her heart of hearts he wouldn’t take the TG news well. She hadn’t told him her target’s identity because telling him would jinx it. Would make it too real.

  Telling him meant she didn’t have a Plan B. She would have to go through with it.

  And go through with it she would!

  “You okay?” Tara caught up with her. “What was all that about?”

  “Cal Foreman makes me so mad sometimes. He acts like he’s so laid-back and unaffected about stuff but he isn’t really. It’s all an act.”

  “Hmm.”

  Mia eyed Tara. “What’s that for?”

  “Oh, nothing. Only I hadn’t seen your dynamic with Cal before and that was interesting.”

  Mia shook her head. “There’s no dynamic. There’s just Foreman being an idiot.”

  “Well, never mind him. Look who’s on his own by the bar! Now’s your chance.”

  Sure enough, Tommy stood off to the side, haloed by some spotlight above the bar, looking like a runway model. For once he wasn’t surrounded by hangers-on or clients.

  Tara held her back, not that Mia was all that eager to go. That should have told her everything she needed to know but it seemed she couldn’t trust her instincts at all anymore.

  “First, I need a favor,” Tara said.

  “Oh?”

  “I want to bid on Cal in the auction, but one, I don’t have the cash, and two, he’ll think I’m stalking him.”

  This night had gone from shitty to peak shitty. “It’s not the money because I have it and I’ll be making a donation anyway.”

  “So you’ll do it. For me?”

  “I can’t bid on him. That’s—no. He’ll think I like him.” Like like him.

  Tara giggled. “But you don’t, do you? When you win, you tell him that he’s a gift. For me! Wait until you see his face, like that “Am I the Dick” post. Don’t you think that’s a better use for your trust fund than just handing it over without getting a thing in return?”

  Mia would rather not have to do anything more transactional with Cal Foreman. Their business—and other—relationship was at an end. He’d helped her as much as he could and now it was time to fly.