Gametime: A Moo U Hockey Romance

by Jami Davenport

  Think positive, I warned myself.

  Naomi and I’d had our fun. No blame on either side. I had to concentrate on other priorities in my life, such as graduating college and going pro or not. Of all the things holding me back, leaving Patrick behind was one of them. And perhaps leaving Naomi behind was another, even if I chose not to admit the truth.

  I didn’t have a study group, so I wandered to the hockey house. The guys were watching a game, which happened to be Seattle versus Vegas. My team versus my brother’s team. Someday we might be on that ice playing against each other instead of with each other. The sheer weight of that thought caused my shoulders to droop even lower.

  “Hey, Pax, have a seat,” Lex called to me. I dropped down onto the couch and propped my feet onto the scarred coffee table currently littered with textbooks, popcorn, and empty beer bottles.

  “Where’s Kaitlyn?”

  “Girls’ night out.”

  I wondered why Naomi wasn’t with her but didn’t ask. None of my business.

  I nodded to Jonah and Tate, lounging in the two beat-up recliners.

  “Beer?” Josh asked as he stood in front of the refrigerator.

  “Yeah.” A beer flew toward me, and I managed to snag it before it crashed against the opposite wall. I twisted off the top and took a swig.

  The door opened ten minutes later, and Patrick and Naomi entered. I’d half expected them to go back to our apartment and have loud, obnoxious sex the rest of the night. My mood lightened considerably seeing them here instead.

  “Can you two scoot over?” Naomi pointed to the space between Lex and me. Lex moved over, and Naomi squeezed between us. I shifted my ass to make more room, but even so, her thighs pressed against mine, reminding me of our night together. Then again, anything reminded me of our night together.

  “Patrick, get me a beer,” she ordered. Much to my surprise, Patrick obeyed. This was getting weirder.

  My brother came back with three beers and sat in the chair across from us. He kept two for himself and gave her one, then turned his attention to the game on TV. “Hey, that’s our two teams, bro,” he said, stating the obvious.

  “Duh.” I rolled my eyes, and he threw a fistful of popcorn at me. Normally, a move like that would start a food fight, but I wasn’t in the mood. I brushed the kernels off my shirt.

  “You missed one.” Naomi leaned over so close to me the intoxicating scent of her filled my nostrils. She plucked a kernel from its resting place at the collar of my shirt. Her fingers brushed my neck, and I breathed in sharply. She leaned back and smiled—a smile full of false innocence. I knew what lay beyond that smile. The girl was anything but innocent. She was wicked in the best possible way, and she’d been my drug.

  No more. Armed with some of Coach’s techniques, I wasn’t falling for it. I deserved better than my brother’s leftovers. When the time came, that special person would find her way to me. If I believed it, my subconscious would do its damnedest to make my beliefs come true. Coach Garf and his book said so.

  I looked at my phone, pretending to see something what wasn’t there. “Oh, crap. I have a project meeting tonight. Totally spaced it.” I stood quickly, nodded to my teammates and Naomi, and was gone before they had time to react. I’d performed my second disappearing act of the night.

  I glanced over my shoulder before exiting the house. Naomi threw back her head and laughed at something Patrick said, and he gave her one of his you’re the next notch on my bedpost grins as he drove the final nail in my Naomi coffin.

  For the next several months, hockey would be my end-all, be-all. Sports were a lot easier to figure out than the rest of my life. But all that being said, Naomi was still a friend, and I’d treated her like crap last weekend.

  I had to settle up with her.

  13

  Not so Easy

  Naomi

  Be careful what you wish for.

  I’d never understood that particular saying until now.

  For whatever reason, Patrick was definitely interested. Almost overnight, I’d moved to the top of his ask-out short list. After Paxton left the hockey house, I didn’t want to stay either, despite Patrick’s heavy flirting. I left, claiming I had to meet a friend at the library.

  The next day after practice, Patrick offered to buy me a drink at the Biscuit. While such an invitation wouldn’t be considered a date in most cases, with Patrick it was. Three weeks ago, I’d have died for the chance, but I asked for a rain check, and I really wasn’t sure why. Patrick seemed surprised but took my answer graciously and without any personal offense. I did appreciate his ability to let most things roll off his back and enjoy life. I wished I was more like that.

  While I had a mind for numbers, my personal life wasn’t nearly as ordered. I often wondered if my love of numbers and stats came from the chaos in the rest of my life. Currently, things were more tumultuous than usual because of my conflicting emotions when it came to those gorgeous twins.

  As I was heading back to the dorm, I got a text message. My heart rate spiked when I saw Paxton’s name on the screen.

  Paxton: Can we meet?

  Me: Sure, where? The library basement?

  What made me type that and send it? And what if he accepted the invitation? Instead, crickets.

  Me: Just kidding.

  Paxton: How about the coffee shop in the union building?

  Me: Just passing there now.

  Paxton: See you in a few.

  I got there first, ordered a decaf, and sat down in a seat next to the window where I’d be able to spot him. About five minutes later, he came in the door carrying a shopping bag.

  He smiled when he saw me and sat down. “Hey.”

  “Hey.” I grinned at him, genuinely glad to see him. “You got your hair cut.” It had been somewhat unruly and longer than usual.

  “Yeah, it was bugging me.” He ran his hand through his now short-cropped hair as if checking the length. Pax had never been much for his appearance. He didn’t need to be; he was gorgeous without putting any effort into it. I felt this insane urge to slide my fingers along his scalp and check things out for myself. I liked the longer hair on him, but this look was good, too.

  We grew silent, neither knowing what to say to the other. Paxton looked down, fidgeting with his phone, oddly nervous. I waited him out. He’d called this meeting, and I’d let him say what he’d come to say.

  Pax looked up and met my gaze. “I’m sorry. About a lot of things. I was an ass to you last Friday night, and I owe you an apology. I sorta lost it.”

  “Apology accepted.” I reached across the table and grabbed one of his hands. He wrapped his fingers around my hand. He stared into my eyes, and that one look sucked my breath away. So much was reflected in his eyes, longing, regret, uncertainty. I felt the same way.

  “I miss you,” he said in earnest.

  “I miss you, too.”

  “I have something for you.” He held the bag out to me.

  I took it and peeked inside, but the item was wrapped in tissue. I pulled it out and unwrapped it, holding it up. The green and white Moo U jersey was emblazoned with number fifteen. I didn’t know what to make of it. Fridays were jersey days, and most of campus wore the jersey of their favorite player. I’d always been jealous of the girlfriends who wore their guys’ jerseys. Was Pax trying to tell me something? I glanced up questioningly at him.

  “It’s to help you remember which twin is which.” He laughed, and I realized with relief and a tiny bit of disappointment, this jersey didn’t mean anything more than a peace offering in the way of our private joke.

  “I’ll wear it proudly,” I declared, and I meant it.

  He beamed at me. “So, we’re good?”

  “We’re good. We’ve always been good. Pax, you are very important to me, no matter what happens. Don’t forget that.”

  He squeezed my hand and ducked his head. I wondered if he was getting as choked up as I was. He meant so much more to me than I was able to a
rticulate. In fact, maybe more than I understood myself.

  “This physical thing between us is really fucking up our friendship,” he said, not meeting my gaze.

  “I don’t want to hurt you, but I’m so confused right now. I don’t know what’s what.”

  Disappointment flickered across his handsome face. I hadn’t given him the answer he was hoping for. He forced a smile. “I’m okay if you want to date Patrick. I may not like it, but I’m okay with it.”

  “I don’t know what I want, and that’s not fair to you.”

  “Then let’s stay friends.”

  “If we can.” I laughed, and he joined in.

  “It’ll be hard.”

  “I know, but you need to concentrate on hockey, and I need get my head on straight.”

  “Friends?” His blue eyes sparkled as he held my hand to his lips.

  “Friends. Always.”

  He kissed my knuckles and released my hand. “I have to get going. See ya.”

  “See you.” I watched him leave, as confused as ever. I needed honest advice from someone who wouldn’t sugarcoat their answers and would give it to me straight.

  I knew just the person.

  I found Kaitlyn in the laundry/equipment room off the locker room, cleaning another endless round of hockey jerseys. This place was the epitome of organization, everything perfectly aligned, folded, and arranged, almost frightening in its tidiness, at least to someone who was inherently messy.

  A pile of towels sat on the opposite counter. Kaitlyn efficiently and uniformly folded each one and placed it in a neat stack. She glanced up when I walked in. Typical of her, she didn’t greet me with a smile but something more akin to a scowl. I’d come to know her well enough not to be put off by her unwelcoming demeanor.

  “Hey, could I help you?” I offered, not sure how else to start this conversation.

  “I’ve seen your room. Can you fold like this?” She pointed at her precise stack of towels.

  “Uh, no, I can’t.”

  “Then you can’t help me, but you didn’t come here for that, did you?” She got right to the point, no polite small talk for her.

  I shook my head and slumped into a plastic chair. Kaitlyn regarded me with a smirk, which was oddly sympathetic. “Guy problems?”

  “Yeah, how did you know?”

  “I recognize that look. I’ve seen it in the mirror a time or two.” She continued to fold in a fascinatingly efficient manner as she talked.

  “Pax and I settled our differences.”

  “You looked like you’d settled them last Friday night.”

  “I mean we talked it out and agreed to stay friends.”

  “Why? When there seems to be so much more?”

  “I don’t know. I’m torn,” I admitted.

  “You’re torn?”

  “Uh, yeah. Patrick asked me out. I’ve waited so long for this moment, and now I don’t know. I asked for a rain check.”

  For someone who came across as selfish and mean, Kaitlyn was very perceptive. People didn’t give her enough credit. Probably because she had one hell of a resting bitch face. She wasn’t nearly as harsh as she portrayed. Usually, people like her were deeply insecure. I doubted she was an exception. The intimidating wall she put up kept people from getting too close.

  But enough psychoanalyzing her. I’d come here for no-nonsense advice.

  “I can’t stop thinking about Paxton. It’s insane. What if I’m using him as a surrogate for Patrick, because Patrick is such a player, and Paxton is the safe option?”

  “That would be a bitchy thing to do.” Kaitlyn raised one perfectly sculpted brow and regarded me pointedly. “If you don’t know what you want, spare the boy. Keep it as friends. He needs to play the best hockey of his life this year. Don’t mess with his head. He doesn’t need that.”

  “I know.” We’d had countless discussions about how badly he wanted a career in hockey.

  “Then he’ll need to show he’s close to ready, especially if he’s going pro after this year.”

  “Do you know something more?” Kaitlyn had connections via her father.

  She smirked and shrugged, not willing to divulge any further information. “Back to your twin problem. Seems simple to me. You’ve decided to limit myself to being friends with Pax. That’s settled. See where it goes with his brother or don’t. It’s your choice.”

  Leave it to Kaitlyn to break things down into their most basic components.

  I wasn’t convinced it’d be so easy.

  14

  Pushing Through

  Paxton

  I ached for Naomi.

  Ached to the point my joints hurt. Ached inside. Ached in my soul.

  I freaking loved her, and nothing she said or did seemed to dissuade my smitten heart.

  I’d even taken to writing poetry in class when I was bored. Now that’s desperate.

  Friends, just friends.

  This friend crap was killing me, but I had to respect her wishes. Deep down, some part of me knew it was for the best. She didn’t feel like I did. Maybe physically but not emotionally.

  I wouldn’t be good enough once again, especially not in love.

  For the next week, I consumed my thoughts with hockey as best I could, even though thoughts of a naked Naomi snuck in when I was least expecting them. I strove to compartmentalize my two obsessions and reduce Naomi thoughts to bedtime or during an incredibly boring lecture in my calculus class. Sometimes I succeeded; other times I failed.

  Last weekend had been one of ups and downs. My usually consistent play had been very inconsistent. I’d had a good game Friday night and a mediocre one on Saturday. More often than not, I slipped back into old habits and struggled with new ones. Coach Garf told me not to fret about it, just keep pushing through.

  Hanging out at the hockey house Saturday night had been torturous with Naomi there. She’d started popping up wherever I was. It was weird. She must’ve been trying to make my brother jealous or something. Or I was reading more into it, which was more likely.

  Now we were in Michigan for back-to-back games. Of course, Dad would make the nine-hour drive, and I dreaded his attendance. I hadn’t seen or spoken to the man since he’d reamed my ass for scoring rather than giving Patrick the opportunity.

  He’d go postal on me, and I readied myself. I’d changed the rules without his permission. Eclipsing Patrick’s stardom was not an option. My job was to feed the puck to Patrick. That was how he saw it.

  Not anymore, according to Coach and the Sockeyes. I fought to realize the potential they’d seen when they’d drafted me. I wouldn’t let them down, even if those closest to me were uncomfortable or angry or both.

  We were in first place in the league going into this weekend, and Coach Garf insisted I take more shots rather than passing the puck. Not that he wanted me to hog the puck but to take the good shots when I saw them and trust my instincts.

  Regardless, I was torn about my new role on the team and wished I was able to discuss my concerns with Patrick, but I held back for fear he wouldn’t understand, or worse, would unintentionally destroy the fragile confidence I’d struggled to build.

  Change wasn’t easy. Change was difficult and painful.

  I absently rubbed my fingers over the moonstone tucked under my jersey, but I didn’t feel any magical improvement in my self-confidence. Maybe crystals didn’t work like that. Maybe their effect was more subtle.

  Michigan played a very physical game Friday night, and we lost in a hard-fought battle. I played like shit, and everyone avoided me afterward, as if some of my bad juju would rub off on them.

  I pulled off my jersey and found Patrick studying me quizzically, his hair wet from showering and a towel slung over his shoulders.

  “What’s going on with you?” he asked, scratching his bearded chin.

  “Nothing. Why?”

  He narrowed his gaze and looked at me hard. I ignored him and toweled off. Because of that twin connection thing, he’d
see my inner struggle even if he didn’t understand its source. He didn’t push the issue, much to my surprise.

  With a shake of his head, Patrick wandered off to give some advice to a couple freshmen who’d cracked under the pressures of an intense game.

  I put my head in my hands and closed my eyes for a moment.

  “Pax.”

  I lifted my head. Coach Garf sat on the bench next to me and lowered his voice. “You’re working on a new style of play. You’re going to get worse before you get better.”

  “The whole team is mad at me for not passing the puck to Patrick.”

  “Just stick with the program. I’ll worry about the team.”

  “Maybe I should’ve passed to Patrick more.”

  “You did fine. Just what I’ve been expecting. We win as a team, and we lose as a team. Everyone bears the weight of this loss.” He stood and patted me on the shoulder pads. “Believe in yourself as much as I do.”

  “I’m trying.”

  “No, you will do this.”

  “I will do this.” I chuckled, unable to help myself.

  “Good boy.” He grinned and sauntered off to give a few words of encouragement to our goalie, who’d had a far worse night than the rookies or I had.

  I sat up straighter, stripped off my clothes, and took a long, hot shower, after which I dressed and boarded the bus for our hotel. I sat by myself on the bus. Even Tate and Lex left me alone, which I appreciated.

  Within five minutes, the bus pulled up to the hotel, and we unloaded. As usual, my gaze sought Naomi, but she’d disappeared. We had an hour before curfew, and several guys headed for the Chinese place across the street. I started to follow and froze.