Beauty and the Beefcake

by Pippa Grant

And bite me.

  And fuck me.

  And I don’t know if it’s a fuck me, I’m screwed, or a please fuck me until I can’t remember my own name.

  Probably both.

  The door bangs downstairs, and we leap apart.

  “Hey, dog breath,” my brother yells, “get your ass up. You too, Ares. Need you at the Arena.”

  I dive back into Gammy’s bedroom. Ares limps down the hall.

  “You’re both up?” Nick’s voice gets closer. “Fuck, ruining all my fun.”

  I trip over myself getting into a pair of pajama pants. “Some of us work normal human hours,” I call.

  Loki screeches.

  “Hey, monkey dude. Fist bump? You’re pretty cool, aren’t you?”

  “Why aren’t you sleeping?” I add. The team would’ve flown home from Arizona overnight, which means he’s probably coming straight from the airport.

  “Slept on the—what the fuck?” He steps into Gammy’s room and grabs me by the chin. “Who did this? Who fucking punched you? I’m gonna kill him. Berger!”

  I leap after him and tackle him, but because he’s impossible, he keeps walking.

  It’s a struggle—I’m yanking his ear too—but he keeps going.

  Ares opens his door in nothing but black boxer briefs and gives Nick—who’s six inches shorter—a try me look.

  “You were supposed to—oww! Fuck, Felicity, let go!”

  Yeah, there’s the pressure point.

  “Gammy’s ghost did it, you pain in the ass. I’m fine.”

  Nick looks between me and Ares, who’s testing the limits of stretchability in his boxer briefs.

  Ares doesn’t look any happier about the situation than his underwear does.

  “Gammy’s ghost gave you a black eye,” Nick repeats, his sarcasm bordering on insulting, but not quite there because he’s not a total idiot and he knows not to disrespect Gammy’s ghost in her own house.

  “Yep.”

  He eyes me.

  Looks back at Ares, who shivers.

  “What?” I say.

  Ares presses his lips together.

  But there’s something in his eyes.

  “You saw Gammy’s ghost?” I whisper.

  His eyes narrow. “Move.”

  “I’m not moving. I have one week left at the rehab clinic, and I go straight into a rotation at Copper Valley General. I don’t have time to move.”

  “Plus she loses stuff every time she moves,” Lucy offers, “and then she has to take more time to go shopping, and Maren will give her a big lecture about being kind to the environment.”

  “Yeah, and she left me behind last time,” Harold agrees.

  “Would you two kindly remember that it’s not even eight in the morning and let a goat sleep?” Tim chimes in.

  Nick clamps a hand over my mouth. “We’re selling this place. You’re moving in with me.”

  “Don’t make me pluck out your armpit hairs,” I reply, which he understands perfectly despite his hand covering my mouth.

  Ares’s mouth tilts in half a grin.

  “You have my permission to do that to him in the locker room next time he’s on the massage table,” I add.

  “Berger. Get dressed. We’ll talk about Felicity later. Need you to talk to the rookie. Kid’s having a problem.”

  He grunts and looks at me.

  “Me?” I say. “I’m not talking to your rookie.”

  “Felicity can’t talk to Jaeger,” Nick agrees. “First, he’ll try to get into her pants. Second, he won’t take her seriously because she’s a girl. And third—”

  Ares cuts him off with another grunt.

  “Yeah,” I agree, “sounds like the fucker does need his head put on straight.”

  Loki makes his cute little monkey sound that makes me almost forgive him for watching me sleep like a little perv.

  Not that I can talk.

  I nearly tried to dry hump Ares while Loki was sitting on him last night.

  “I have clinicals,” I tell my brother.

  Nick grins.

  I hate that grin.

  It’s his I’ll get you out of it because I’m Nick Fucking Murphy and I get whatever the fuck I want.

  “Loki, sic him,” I say.

  Loki pulls Gammy’s sugar bowl from behind his back and tosses it at Nick, who shrieks and dives to catch it before it breaks.

  “Dude,” he says to the monkey, “don’t piss off Gammy’s ghost.”

  Loki laughs.

  Ares shakes his head and shuts himself in the guest bedroom.

  And I’m left in the hallway with my brother and a monkey.

  “You’re not hitting on Berger, are you?” he growls.

  “Of course I am,” I answer. “Just to piss you off.”

  He scowls.

  I scowl back.

  Loki laughs again and dangles the Wayne Gretzky bobble head for both of us to see.

  “Oh, shit,” Nick mutters.

  “You’re the one who brought the monkey.”

  And because I have clinicals this morning, I turn and sashay like a boss down the hall and into Gammy’s room.

  Where I trip over my own two feet and fall.

  At least the bed catches me this time.

  Ares might be right.

  It’s probably time to move.

  22

  Ares

  Dressing room’s quiet.

  Most of the team’s still sleeping.

  But not the rookie.

  I come in on crutches. Not because I need the fucking things. Because I know they make me look weak.

  Kid needs to think I’m weak.

  Jaeger’s lacing his skates. Got some don’t fuck with me in his eyes, but he’s got something else he can’t hide.

  Fear.

  I straddle the bench. Foot’s not hurting as much today. Felicity knows it too.

  Know-it-all rubbed it in my face this morning before she left for her clinic. “Happier since you let it rest, isn’t it?” she said.

  Parting shot from the PTA.

  Loki threw a knitting needle at her.

  Murphy freaked about his Gammy not liking her knitting needles mistreated.

  Those two are nuts.

  So’s the rookie.

  Should be sleeping.

  Three rules to playing hockey.

  Mind. Food. Sleep. Muscles.

  “Can’t get that thing in a skate, old man,” he says to me with a jab at my ankle.

  I pull out my tablet and turn it around for him. Got the team’s video from last night. “Too much head,” I tell him.

  He glances at the screen and looks away.

  Doesn’t want to watch himself miss another shot.

  Nobody ever does.

  But you have to. How you learn.

  “You can’t be me.” I poke him. “Be better.”

  That gets his attention.

  “I am better than you,” he says.

  I smirk. Has a bigger ego, yeah. Better? “Not yet.”

  He’s good. Wouldn’t be pro if he wasn’t. But he’s in his head. Not in the game. See him thinking too hard.

  Just needs more experience.

  Guys think they make it first time they suit up for a pro team.

  For some, that’s all they want. They got here. They made it.

  Others, they want to be the next Chester Green. The next Gretzky. The next Gordie Howe. The next Lemieux.

  They’re different.

  This kid’s different.

  But not until he gets out of his own way.

  “Don’t think. Feel. Be you. Not me.” I pull myself up onto my crutches and leave. Doc’s waiting. Coach will be in soon.

  Murphy’s holding Loki on a leash in the hall. He saunters next to me while we head to the doc’s office. “Felicity keep you off that ankle?” he asks.

  I grunt.

  “She’s wicked smart, man. You should listen to her.”

  He’s a smart enough dude himself, except when it comes
to his sister. Then he’s a dumbass.

  “Mr. Berger. Good to see you using crutches today.” The doc’s waiting. Probably didn’t think I’d show.

  Didn’t want to.

  But it’ll make Felicity happy.

  “Felicity talked him into using them,” Murphy says.

  The doc and I both look at him. The doc, because what the fuck does Felicity have to do with me? And me, because I’m wondering if Murphy knows I kissed his sister.

  Probably not.

  But I don’t need that shit.

  More important, he doesn’t need that shit.

  “She’s getting her PTA,” Murphy adds.

  “Mm,” doc replies.

  Murphy’s eyes narrow. He knows as well as I do what that mm means. “She’s good at what she does.”

  “Mr. Berger. Have a seat. Let’s see how the ankle’s looking today.”

  I swing myself over to the exam table.

  The doc looks at Murphy.

  “Stays,” I say.

  Not like I’m getting a rectal. And that would serve Murphy right for wanting to watch anyway.

  “C’mon, doc. An interview. That’s all I’m asking. You know she’s smart. The guys love her—”

  I shake my head at him. Not doing her any favors bringing that up.

  He clears his throat. “I mean they’ll listen to her. And if they don’t listen to her, she has like five other voices they might listen to.”

  Doc must know her and her puppets, because that doesn’t get a weird look. Or a reaction at all. “Your sister’s very bright.”

  “See? Exactly.”

  “So why isn’t she in school for a full PT program?”

  For once, Murphy goes silent.

  But only for a minute.

  He’s as bad as his sister. Can’t shut up.

  “You give her a chance, you let her work for the Thrusters, she’ll go back and get her full PT degree. She’ll love it. You’ll love her. The team will love her. She just needed to grow up a little. She’ll be great.”

  He’s not wrong about everything.

  But he’s not right about everything either.

  I watch him while the doc pokes and prods and decides if he wants more X-rays. Loki keeps trying to get into the cotton balls and tongue depressors. Murphy doesn’t pay attention to the monkey, and instead scrubs his fingers through his hair. Growing a beard like half the team. Still scowling.

  Can’t fix this for her.

  Doc finishes with me and lets us go. More stay off it, Berger.

  I’m getting weak.

  Want to give in and listen.

  Doesn’t hurt so bad when I stay off it.

  But every day, I’m losing muscle. Losing strength. Losing speed.

  I want back on the fucking ice.

  Yesterday.

  Felicity’s right.

  It’s what I’m good at.

  “They let a monkey in, but they won’t talk about interviewing my sister,” Murphy grumbles while we make our way to the cafeteria. Dude needs sleep, but he can sleep anywhere. Probably pass out in his oatmeal. So long as he can breathe, he’ll be fine. “She tell you about her degrees?”

  I shake my head. Caught something about driving the Zamboni, and something else about the time she worked in accounting, something about being put in solitary confinement the two weeks she worked programming computers, but otherwise, I just know she’s smart.

  And she likes to talk.

  And she knows a fuck-ton about hockey.

  And when I’m touching her, I don’t want to let go.

  Ever.

  Dumb, right? She’d get bored with me in three days. Tops.

  “Not her fault she wasn’t old enough to handle being an adult,” Murphy grumbles. “We’re just lucky she turned out normal.”

  Felicity’s not normal.

  She’s better than normal.

  Except for when she’s tempting me.

  Looking at me like she sees me.

  She’s dangerous.

  “Plus, if she works here, she really can’t date any more puckheads,” Murphy adds.

  Because dating the douche-dick was better.

  Right.

  I’m scowling when we get to the cafeteria.

  And I scowl bigger when they won’t let us take Loki in.

  And it gets even worse when Murphy finally gets to the question I don’t want to talk about. “You didn’t have any problems with Felicity’s ex, did you?”

  I just look at him.

  The douche-dick’s still a problem.

  Everything’s still wrong.

  23

  Ares

  Teammates straggle in.

  Coach reviewing last night’s game.

  Need another win.

  Early in the season. We’ve been on fire. Top of our division.

  Need to stay there.

  I stay out of the way. Can’t help them win. Don’t want to get in the way. But Coach wants to talk, asked me to stay, so here I am.

  Keeping Loki from throwing pucks at Frey’s head.

  The prince is in a good mood. Better than he should be for the ass-whooping the Thrusters took last night. What happens to a man in love.

  Saw it with Z too.

  And Chase.

  World can’t get them down.

  They’re normal. They get love.

  Love’s not in the cards for me.

  Just hockey.

  Wonder what Felicity’s doing. If she’s safe. Getting asked out. Using her voices.

  How her face is feeling.

  Catch myself almost smiling when I remember her chewing Murphy out with all of her different voices. Even used the one she made up for Loki. Told him he was ugly. Needed more hair around his eyeballs.

  Meeting’s breaking up. I snap back to attention.

  Not like me to drift off during hockey talk.

  Fucking ankle.

  “Berger.” Coach joins me in the back of the room. Good guy. Plays fair. Pushes us. He eyes Loki but doesn’t argue. Probably thinks I need the friend. “How’s the ankle?”

  I nod. It’s good.

  “Doc says you can probably start rehab in a week.”

  “Monday.”

  “After next.”

  He’s fucking serious.

  He’s keeping me on the IR for another week.

  “I’m. Fine,” I grit out.

  “Ares.” He drops his hands between his knees and leans in. Guy’s a big dude. The normal kind of big, not my kind of big. Played for Minnesota for a lot of years. Knows about cold. “We need you healthy. Longer you fight it, the longer it takes.”

  Maybe for him.

  But I don’t get injured. I don’t get hurt. I push through. Bloody noses. Broken fingers. Stitches. Getting run over by a truck.

  They don’t stop me.

  The fuck if a sprained ankle’s gonna stop me.

  “You stay on track, you’ll be back in January,” Coach says.

  January? Fucking January?

  He’s talking, but none of what he’s saying is we want you on the ice next week.

  Fuck.

  You know who you are.

  That’s what Felicity said. I know who I am.

  Fuck, yeah, I know who I am.

  I’m the guy who scores on the ice. I’m the fucking best.

  Until the moment I’m not.

  Which is right fucking now.

  I’m on my crutches.

  Have to get out of this place.

  Have to get better.

  24

  Ares

  Need Felicity.

  She’s smart. Smartest girl I know.

  She can fix my foot.

  I trust her. Team doesn’t know me. Not yet. Doesn’t know what I can do.

  She’ll believe me.

  She listens. She gets me.

  I crash into the back door. Her car’s here. She should be here.

  “Felicity!” I bellow.

  She spins into the
kitchen, big green eyes wide, nose still bruised, black eye turning purple, golden red hair back in a ponytail, wearing her plain black polo shirt and work jeans. Loki takes off for the stairs without throwing anything or pooping in anyone’s shoes.

  “Fix me.” I point to the fucking boot. “Fix me.”

  She puts a hand in the doorway and looks down at my foot.

  My shoulders bunch. My arms bunch. Even my butt muscles bunch.

  If she tells me no—

  Fuck.

  “Come sit,” she says softly.

  I eyeball her. If she’s trying to calm me down without fixing me—

  “Do you want my help or not?”

  “Oh, oh! Take her help! She’s awesome and amazing and the best ever!” she adds as Lucy.

  “You’re so fucking biased, you irritating cat,” she replies as Harold.

  “Shut the fuck up, Assopotamus. This situation calls for positivity,” she chimes in as the goat.

  For the first time since I left the arena, I draw a full breath.

  She steps out of the doorway and gestures to the couch.

  Shards of hot glass splinter inside my shin as I limp into the room.

  I collapse on the couch, it squeaks, and I freeze. My lungs, my ass muscles, my arms—everything freezes.

  “Breathe.” Felicity settles on the edge of a cushion. “Gammy likes you. She won’t let her couch break.”

  She takes my hand in both of hers, watching me, and I feel like I’ve just been slammed into the boards by a thunderbolt.

  Not helping with the breathing.

  Nor does the soft stroke of her thumb over my wrist.

  “Better?” she asks.

  Her eyes remind me of the northern lights. Green and glowing, dancing. Beauty in the midst of darkness.

  A natural wonder.

  Time stills. The pain fades.

  She rubs her palm over the back of my hand, doesn’t blink, lets me watch the show shimmer in her eyes.

  I don’t want to look away.

  Don’t want to break the spell.

  She’s not afraid.

  Not sorry for me.

  Her touch is making my pulse race and my mouth dry and my cock rock hard.

  “What did they say?” she whispers. Like if she talks any louder, she’ll break the spell.

  “January.” I choke on the word, but she holds me captive with her gaze, doesn’t let me fall.

  Doesn’t let me break.

  “Ares—”