Fighting against Gravity: A Standalone Enemies-to-Lovers Sports Romance (An Ice Tigers Hockey Romance Book 3)

by Isabella Cassazza

  The cane slips. I crash to the floor with all the nonexistent grace of a bag of flour. Shit. The cane slides outside the shower stall, and my tailbone feels like it’s split in two halves. I clench and unclench my fists, fighting the pain that runs like liquid fire through my body. Holy fuck.

  I close my eyes and roll to my side, giving my tailbone a much-needed break. It still hurts, but it’s bearable this way. I open my eyes and zoom in on the cane. I’ll have to crawl to reach that thing. Why again is my shower stall that long?

  Crawling with a stiff knee is an exhausting endeavor in itself, but doing so with a tailbone on fire is close to impossible. Fuck.

  “Michael?” Ellie’s voice sounds from outside my room. “Are you okay?”

  Fuck, me crashing to the floor must have been quite the spectacle—noise-wise. I’m glad she didn’t witness the embarrassing event.

  “Not really,” I yell through the door.

  “Do you need help?” She’s speaking with her mom voice.

  Do I? Do I want her to see me naked? I’m not a prude, and I look damn good even without working out on a regular basis. Might as well give the single mom an eyeful.

  “Yes. I’m in the shower.”

  The door to the bathroom opens. Through the steam, she appears like a goddess out of a misty countryside. A goddess with crutches in a granny nightgown. Where the hell did she find that ugly thing? Which company still produces them? They should be sued for nonexistent taste.

  On second thought, I like how her nipples press against the white material. Other than that, I can’t see her body, except for her naked feet. Unpainted toenails. Not sure when I’ve seen that before, if ever.

  Her eyes widen, and her mouth falls open when her gaze falls on me.

  “Like what you see?” I roll to my back—wincing inwardly from the pain in my tailbone—and give her a full view of my goods while I lay one hand on my thinner leg. She doesn’t need to see the difference.

  Her eyes widen more, and she swallows. Twice. The pain’s worth it. I’ll have to make a note in my calendar later; Ellie speechless, I don’t think that happens often.

  “You know, you could have a taste. I haven’t had sex in a while. Ready when you are.” And, fuck, I am. My dick certainly is, judging from the way it slaps against my belly.

  “Forget it.” She leans against the wall for support and reaches with one hand for the towel. Then she throws it on my junk.

  “Hey, be careful.” I glare at her.

  “You’ll survive.” As always, she stares right back into my eyes.

  “My dick needs loving, not torture.” I hold her gaze, throw aside the towel, and demonstrate the perfect way to caress my goods.

  She rolls her eyes and looks away. “You’re a cocky bastard.”

  I laugh and wink. “I might be. But my cock can make your dreams come true.”

  She snorts and looks back at me again. “Are you serious? Do you practice that nonsense in front of the mirror?”

  I wink again. “I don’t need to practice. I’m a natural. And don’t women want to hear that kind of thing?” I stroke my balls for her entertainment.

  She blinks, then shakes her head, and fine lines appear on her forehead. A lot of fine lines.

  “How old are you?” She must be at least thirty. Is she thirty-five yet? I’ve always wanted to find out what sex is like with an older woman. Though I have a feeling I’m the more experienced one when it comes to sexual adventure.

  She crosses her arms over her chest. “None of your business. And just for your education, it’s rude to ask a woman that question.”

  “Go away with that feminist bullshit.” I prop myself up on my elbows while my dick continues to sway back and forth.

  She looks up at the ceiling for a second before her gaze wanders back to me. “It’s rude. Not feminist bullshit. I won’t ask you that question either.”

  “You can Google me.”

  She blinks twice. “Why would I do that?”

  I sigh. “Because…. Never mind. Help me up, will you?” She’s not the right one for us, buddy. I’ll take care of you later. Tomorrow we’ll go out and find someone to fuck.

  She sighs Sergei’s overdramatic sigh. I need to fire that guy right away and ask for that female chef instead. Someone who doesn’t flirt with my guest. “How am I supposed to help you? I can’t balance without the crutches myself.”

  I stare at the damn things. Yeah, it was a stupid thing to ask. “Kick the cane over, will you?”

  She shakes her head, mumbling something under her breath, but pushes the cane in my direction.

  I reach up with one hand and test the shower door handle for stability before I push myself off the floor. Even though I use the cane and the handle for support, my tailbone screams in agony. So do the door’s hinges, but they hold. I make a mental note to never again put my weight on them again. The last thing I need is to have the door fall on top of me.

  I should be used to having my body battered and bruised all the time after being checked into the board for the better part of my life, but back then adrenaline covered most of the pain. I was pushing myself to fulfill my dream; pain was an indicator of how hard I worked. The more, the better. I only cared about winning the Cup. Without a goal in mind, the pain feels ten times worse. Unnecessary. Unwanted.

  I need some distraction. Now. Not tomorrow. And the perfect diversion is right in front of me, she might just need a little more persuasion.

  “Here.” Ellie hands me the second towel from the heater. Then she picks up her crutches and presents me with her back.

  “Why look away? I’m not shy.” I frown. Why isn’t this going the way it is supposed to? Shouldn’t she throw herself at me? I’m still eye candy, even with the cane.

  She shakes her head again but still averts her gaze.

  “You don’t need to pretend to be shy. I like my women bold.” I lower my voice for the last sentence.

  She gasps and hobble-spins around. Here we go. That’s it, babe. “I’m not sleeping with you.”

  “There won’t be much sleeping.” I wink and grin at her.

  She closes her eyes, then looks at the ceiling.

  “I will make you scream so loud you’ll forget your own name, babe,” I say with my deepest voice.

  Her gaze flies to me. Here we go. I wink again and stroke my dick twice. Come on, she’s a single mom, how much action can she get? And my junk is one of my best assets, apart from my chest and arm muscles. I’m the real deal.

  She fucking laughs. Loud and clear. Then she throws her head back while that dark laugh mocks me. “Did…” She doubles over the crutches in laughter. “Did you read that bullshit in a book or is that all you?” She coughs after the laughing stops.

  My nostrils flare. She should be begging me on her knees to fuck her. “What’s your problem? Do you need to spring clean before you can open up your pussy again? I saw you staring at my chest today. I know you’re interested. And just for your information, a five should feel lucky if a perfect ten shows some interest in her.”

  Her eyes widen. Then she opens her mouth, but no words leave her lips. Instead, she hobbles out of the bathroom.

  Chapter 12

  Ellie

  I make my way as fast as possible back to my room. The audacity. I…. Who does he think he is?

  Men and their blown-up egos. I should have learned my lesson. Haven’t I been burned enough times?

  I’m too trusting for this world. I can’t help it. What does it say of me that I’d rather believe in the good in people than in their worst? I’m doomed to be hurt over and over again.

  I pause in the hallway and desperately gulp air into my lungs. I’m breathing heavily from both anger and exhaustion. My arms still aren’t used to holding most of my body weight. They’re tired and sore.

  Push through the pain, that’s what the trainers on my workout DVDs always say. Now I know what they meant. In order to build up stamina, you have to push through what you be
lieve are your limits. All I needed was not having a choice to learn this lesson.

  I need to walk. I cannot lie on the couch all day. Johnny needs me, especially after he refuses any help from Michael. Who am I to blame him? After our last, and hopefully final, encounter I don’t want to deal with the idiot anymore either. It can’t be helped. I’ll call Nessy first thing in the morning and take him up on his offer.

  My bottom lip trembles, but I pull it between my teeth to stop the tremors. I won’t cry. I won’t. The asshole isn’t worth it.

  Positive thinking, Ellie. Positive thinking. I might have definition in my arms after this seemingly endless six weeks after all… and not be a five anymore.

  The audacity. As if I needed a reminder that I’m not gorgeous. I never was one of the doll-like girls with perfect makeup and hair. My curls flew in all directions from the earliest I can remember. Neither is my face flawless and symmetric. But I have nice eyes. I do. They’re my best feature.

  And I have values. I’d never treat a person like he just treated me. Never. Not over my dead body.

  My hands shake while I clutch the crutches until my knuckles are white. I want to punch the smug smile off his face. Do you need to spring clean down there?

  I hate to admit it, but Michael’s right. The last time I had sex was before Johnny’s birth. I’m taking care of myself, but it isn’t the same. His words couldn’t have hurt more. I know that I’m not a perfect ten. I never will be. But to hear this… this macho asshole say I should be lucky if he showed some interest in me with his signature cocky grin on his lips….

  Those are the same exact words Steven used when he told me about his new girlfriend and left our home an hour later. I should be lucky he stayed with me for so long. Until a better option presented itself….

  I should be lucky. Fuck my life if I ever let a man destroy my self-esteem again.

  I drop my head. I was in a good place before this idiot made me throw up on him. He should be lucky I’m not suing him for….

  I swallow when the first tear leaves my eyes. An angry tear. A sad tear. A tear that I shouldn’t have to shed anymore. A tear I don’t want to cry.

  I look at my bedroom door. If I go back inside in my agitated state, I’ll only wake Johnny.

  “Ellie?”

  My head flies around. Michael limps around the corner while he says my name a second time.

  “Go away.” I grab the crutches so tight I’m afraid they’ll burst into pieces any second.

  “I shouldn’t….” He clears his throat. “I shouldn’t have said that.”

  “Said what?” I snap.

  “You know… that… you… ‘should be glad I showed an interest in you.’”

  Icy-blue eyes bore into mine. Icy-blue eyes that have done more than enough damage. I won’t meet him down on his level, but I sure can tell him what I think of him.

  I square my shoulders, lift my head, and give him what I hope is a murderous glare. “Now you listen to me.” I take a deep breath. “You… you overly cocky, macho asshole. I might not be—what did you call yourself—a ‘perfect ten.’ Just so you know, I don’t want to be one. My worth is not determined by my looks, but by my values and how I treat others. And just for your information, you aren’t ‘a perfect ten’ either. There are better looking men around. Men who actually have a heart in their chest.” I pause for a second before I end my little speech. “And who said you could keep up with me in bed?”

  If I had a hand free, I’d poke him in that overly muscled chest of his to show him where normal people have a heart. “I’m going to bed now. Don’t you dare come near me again.”

  I spin around and leave him standing there, openmouthed. What an amazing feeling. Not.

  I win. But it’s a bitter one.

  Two hours later, I’m still tossing and turning, as slowly as possible to keep from waking my son. Johnny snores beside me, but I’m wide awake. Michael’s words have turned me back into the insecure woman I never wanted to be again.

  The one that needed a man’s approval. The one that was starving for the little attention she got from men. The one that concentrated on her flaws more than on her positive features. No one is perfect. No one should be. Perfection is boring.

  Before I got pregnant with Johnny, I starved myself and lost a considerable amount of weight. I looked… better. I felt good. The problem was I didn’t do it for myself, I did it to keep a man. But even then I wasn’t good enough for Steven. I would never have been good enough for him. Not because of who I am and how I looked. But because of his shallowness and nonexistent values. I know that now. Still, it left me insecure and vulnerable, and I haven’t let anyone come near me since he left.

  In hindsight, him leaving me was the best thing that could have happened to me. I learned to depend only on myself and not on others, and I made the shop a success. Sure, I’m still paying off the debt for the renovation, but eventually I’ll be free. Until then, I consider my dire finances a daily reminder to never rely on anyone else.

  Pathetic how I thought I was over being the insecure girl. One single confrontation with an immature jock, and I think I’m not enough.

  I roll to the side of the bed and reach for the crutches, listening for any sounds in the house. Everything’s quiet. The idiot is probably sound asleep in his bed.

  I open the door and peek my head through it, just to make sure he isn’t lingering in the hallway. The last thing I need is more insults from the cocky bastard.

  No sight of Michael. Unlike me, the asshole most likely didn’t think twice about what he said to me. Words are powerful weapons. They should be used with care. You never know what’s going on in someone’s life at the moment. You don’t know about their past and what kind of unwanted memories your words are going to bring to the surface again.

  Michael doesn’t know about my fucked-up relationship with Steven. But regardless, he shouldn’t insult any woman. No matter her looks. His words were meant to hurt me. And they did.

  I sigh. I won’t change the wannabe womanizer. Let others fall for him and get burned. I won’t. I don’t need a man. And if I wanted one, I wouldn’t waste my time on Michael King.

  I walk into the living area, dim the light and drop down on the couch. My arms are screaming again. Think again of the gorgeous definition you’ll have after six weeks, Ellie. Hopefully. I shake them to loosen the muscles and prop up my leg.

  Once I’m settled, I reach for the remote control and switch on the TV, turning the volume down as low as possible. The last thing I want to do is wake Johnny or, even worse, the bastard.

  I flip through the channels until I find the opening scene of my favorite movie. Audrey Hepburn steps out of a yellow cab and has breakfast at Tiffany’s, accompanied by the beautiful sound of Moon River.

  I sink back in the cushions and get lost. Hand me a pint of ice cream and I’d have the perfect night—something that isn’t available in Mr. I-don’t-eat-carbs’ household. God forbid he loses his “godlike” physique.

  I giggle, while I imagine Michael fighting off pesky little carbs wanting to dock on his ripped body.

  I put my hand over my mouth to stifle more giggles. I’ll never starve myself again. Given the choice between a perfect physique and eating chocolate ice cream, I’ll take the chocolate ice cream with a bow.

  I bring my attention back to the screen where Audrey has just finished her coffee. Even when I was a student, I preferred to spend my nights in front of the TV or with a fantastic book, rather than go out and spend my night in an overcrowded club with drunk people.

  I might be old-fashioned, but why adhere to social rules or what is considered fun when I don’t enjoy it at all? I’m not antisocial. I like going out for drinks with Daphne. But what’s the point of going to clubs where you can’t hear your own words?

  A hand lands on my shoulder and I jump in my seat. Michael’s big body looms over me while he stares at me with these crazy intense eyes of his. How did he enter the room without me
noticing? His cane and its evil scratching noises are hard to miss.

  “Please take your hand off me.” I stiffen at his touch and hold myself rigid.

  He doesn’t do as told. Instead, he keeps staring at me.

  “Did you want to say something?” My voice is clipped. Can I not even watch my movie in peace? Technically, it’s his house, but still, little boys should be asleep at this time of the night.

  Michael doesn’t flinch, but his mouth opens. “I’m… I’m sorry.”

  He looks smug rather than sorry, which infuriates me even more. I might commit murder for real in the next six weeks.

  I fake-cough and shrug his hand off my shoulder. “Can you say that again? I didn’t quite understand.”

  The corners of his mouth twitch, but he remains silent. Instead, he walks around the couch and drops down beside me.

  “You’re invading my space.” I lean in the opposite direction and glare at him.

  “It’s my couch.” He crosses his arms over his wide chest. Ugh, why do I even notice his impressive pecs? Why does he have to wear a shirt that’s at least one size too small? Is that a new thing to drive single moms without any kind of sex life crazy?

  I close my eyes and sit up straighter. Sorry, Audrey, we’ll need to reschedule. There’s a presence in this room that sours the experience.

  “Stay.” His hand lands on my shoulder again before I can stand up. It’s warm and big and I might have a thing for male hands. Unfortunately, his are a prime specimen, with long fingers and perfect nails. Does he have a manicure? That’s…. Nope, his hands aren’t for me anymore. I prefer the male, I’m-used-to-hard-work look to his polished ones.

  I put my weight on one arm, suck in my stomach, and brush his hand away with my other hand. “I’m tired.”

  “I’m truly sorry.” He doesn’t look at me but at the screen. Audrey’s a beautiful woman after all.