by Stacey Lynn
I’m pulled into Lizzie’s arms as she shouts, “He did it! He did it! Go Jude!” She’s jumping up and down, pulling me with her and swinging me every which way, I don’t realize or am aware of the chaos on the ice, until someone taps my shoulder and I pull back. Another girl, long brown hair draped to her waist and the top of her head covered in a stocking hat with two C’s, our logo in red and black, is scowling at me.
“Um. I think he wants you,” she says and points toward the glass wall.
I turn slowly. Time stops.
On the other side of the glass is Jude, his hockey stick against the glass like he was just banging on it and a smile on his face.
And in his hand? The hockey puck. He raises his brows and makes a throwing motion with his hands.
What is he doing?
I hold my hands in the air and he tosses the puck easily into the air, right into my palms.
“Do you know him?” the girl asks.
“Um. Kind of. We’re friends.”
Her gaze scans my body and her scowl deepens. “Yeah. That makes sense.”
She turns and claps her hands together, shouting his name, but he doesn’t look at her. He just points his thumb at himself and then points at me, before his team surrounds him, slaps him on his helmet and they skate off to reset for the next and probably last face-off. No way can Minnesota pull off a win with so little time on the clock, not with how well Chicago is playing.
I squeeze the puck in my hands, debating.
Do I give Jude more of me, or do I take that girl’s scowl and words as a sign? She’s right. It makes sense for us to be friends. It doesn’t make sense for us to be anything else.
And yet I can’t help it. He’s consistently proven he’s not some dumb jock or a player just because everyone—men and women—know him and want him.
He seems to want me.
Maybe it’s not so dumb to give him a chance? After all, in a few months, we’re going our own separate ways, anyway.
What can it possibly hurt besides my heart to enjoy him for as long as possible?
Chapter Seven
Since the guys don’t have any more games until after Christmas and with finals being done, I’m certain that the party tonight will be absolutely insane. Chicago’s hockey team beat one of the best in the country, and rumor has it that two of Jude’s brothers were at the game and are coming to hang out with him afterward.
That’s good, though. It probably means we won’t spend too much time alone together.
After watching him play, feeling that weight in my stomach as I watched him do what it’s clear he absolutely loves to do, I might tackle him to the floor and slam my mouth to his as soon as I see him.
I need a chaperone. His pro-hockey-playing brothers are perfect for it.
My arm is looped through Lizzie’s as she opens the front door and pushes us in. And push we have to do. The house is absolutely packed with bodies, the same kind of barely clad female bodies, most wearing hardly anything. Some wearing sweatshirts with the Chicago college logo. At least I’m not totally out of place, but for the first time since I can remember, I’m nervous.
Over a guy. Heaven help me.
This shouldn’t even be happening and yet I’m smoothing down my school sweatshirt and tapping down the hoodie at my back to ensure my hair lays nicely and isn’t poofing out all over the place. The music is crazy loud and Lizzie has to pinch my arm to get my attention.
“Garrett’s probably in the kitchen! Keg!” She points toward the same direction we headed the other week. I nod, acknowledging I hear her and follow her. On the way, she drops my arm and clasps my hand so we don’t get separated and we step into the kitchen. It’s so similar to the last time I was here. Bodies everywhere. Men. Women.
Garrett, like he was last time, is behind the keg, dishing out red plastic cups and taking money.
There’s one noticeable difference, and I hate instantly that I notice it. Or the tightening in my stomach as I see Jude across the room, a head above everyone else.
There are two girls, boobs out to there and pressed to Jude’s chest. They’re laughing at whatever he says. He has his arms around them, his hands propped at their waists. He’s talking to a few guys, and it only takes a split second to realize Lizzie was right. His brothers are here. They all look so similar with the same shaggy, dark, almost black hair. One has a tooth missing when he smiles, but it doesn’t detract at all from their builds or the curves of their chests, their size, or their rugged features.
And holy crap. Jude Taylor came straight from a hottest hockey player of America catalog, cut and pasted and made to look like his siblings.
He doesn’t notice me at all while I follow Lizzie to Garrett, ducking my head. It shouldn’t bother me that he has his hands on other girls. He can do whatever he wants, right? He also doesn’t know I’m coming, which I think is what hurts the most.
With all the attention he’s showered me with over the last couple of weeks, the interest he’s shown despite me pushing him away… he doesn’t seem all that bothered by the attention he receives when I’m not around. Am I just a game to him? Or is his interest real?
Why go to the effort of finding me in the crowd tonight, tossing me his game-winning goal puck if any girl who presses her body against him later is okay with him?
It makes no sense, but it does make my brain hurt as Lizzie pushes us through the kitchen to where Garrett stands.
“Lizzie! My crazy girl!” Garrett drapes his arm over Lizzie as we get close and kisses the top of her head. “You see our game tonight? We kicked ass!” he shouts over the noise, louder than necessary.
“We saw! You did great, too.” She pats his chest and easily slides two cups from the bottom of the stack he’s holding. The look he gives her when he realizes what she’s doing is hot enough to melt panties straight from a body. Perhaps that’s why all those panties have hung outside in the past. They get soaking wet as soon as their wearer is the focus of a hockey player’s smolder.
We fill our cups and while Garrett and Lizzie flirt and bat their eyes, conversation filled with innuendo of what will happen later, I scan the kitchen and living room, unable to help myself.
Jude is still wrapped in conversation with his brothers and the girls draped across them, one of them now looks like they’re standing on her toes, her lips at his ear, and that look on his face? It’s the exact same panty-melting look Garrett gave Lizzie.
Except Jude still hasn’t seen me. So it’s all for someone else. And that’s when I realize I’m done.
With his flirting and his attention.
I don’t need to make a fool of myself for someone who’s all but admitted he’s leaving anyway. Being surrounded by a hockey player who will jump at any girl’s flagrant attention isn’t something I’m interested in.
I drain my cup and turn to Lizzie.
“I’m out of here,” I say and drop my cup in the already overflowing garbage can near the keg. “Have a good night. Will I see you later?”
“You’re leaving? Already?” She does a quick scan of the room like I’ve done and her face falls. Lips twisting into a grimace. “Oh. Okay.”
I don’t check what she’s witnessed, but it’s written all over her face that her hopes for the two of us to snag some hockey guys and double-date and be besties for life have been crushed. She knows what I will and will not tolerate.
Am I being harsh? Possibly. He’s made me no promises, just hints that he wants me. I haven’t exactly been receptive, but this is exactly why.
When I find a man who I’ll give my heart to it will be to someone I can fully trust with it, one who will take care of it and not have me be one of his many women.
I’ve seen enough of that in my life. I’m worth more.
“Bye.” I kiss her cheek and wave to Garrett. Then I push and weave my way through the house with the goal of reaching the front door without having to veer near where Jude is.
I’m blasted with the frigid co
ld air and a whip of bone-chilling wind, free from the crush of bodies and headache-inducing music when a hand wraps around my arm.
“Hey. You’re leaving? I didn’t even know you were here.”
It’s Jude.
He sounds confused.
It takes all I have in me to turn and look at him. First, I make sure to school the disappointment bubbling inside of me.
Why would he even make the effort to get that puck to me if I don’t mean anything to him?
It’s a weight in the pocket of my coat, and I wish I never would have gone to the game.
For a brief moment at the hockey game, I’d believed we might actually be able to have something while we’re here. But this stupid jealousy isn’t worth it. It appears I’ve already started handing him pieces of my heart and I’d very much like to leave with the rest intact. How much more would I give him if I became involved with him any more than I already have?
“Yeah.” I tug my coat tighter and fumble with the zipper. “I decided I didn’t want to be here.”
“Why not? Come back in, I want you to meet my brothers.”
“I saw them already. And you.” I can’t hide the flash of pain across my face, and Jude is smart enough to see it. To understand.
“Katie. They’re just friends. I’ve known them practically my whole life. They go to Purdue and when they heard Jason and Joey were going to be here they drove up.”
“It’s Kate,” I snap, harsher than normal. “And I could see. You were awfully friendly.”
He takes a minute. Then two. His head tilts to the side and his thick brows furrow. It’s a bummer he looks so sexy when he thinks. “Are you jealous?”
Am I? Possibly. But that’s not the prevalent emotion. “No. Disappointed.”
In myself for thinking he was someone different and for finally wanting to take a chance.
I step back as his eyes widen and I’m down the steps. “‘Night Jude. Good game earlier.”
At the last second, he calls my name again, but I already have the puck in my hands. I toss it into the air, high enough he has to jump for it, which gives me more time to turn and skedaddle.
He calls my name again, and it’s with such force, I stop and glance back.
“I’m not the guy you think I am, you know. But you want to believe the worst in me, go for it. I’ll prove you wrong.”
“Find a new challenge, Jude Taylor. I’m not a game for you to win.”
Chapter Eight
Top Forty pop music hums through the speakers of the physical therapy room in the athletic building. I’m currently singing along, stocking shelves and double-checking inventory. The weeks after Christmas and before school session resumes in January are a busy time of year for the winter athletes.
Football season might be almost over, but basketball and hockey are just hitting their strides with months to go. It’s only two days after Christmas, a holiday I spent alone with a phone call to my mother who had spotty reception due to her travels along the Oregon Coast. Lizzie is with her family in Oak Park and while I usually take her up on the invitation to stay with her for a few days, this year I chose the quiet and solitude of my apartment and a PostMates delivered ham sandwich for my holiday meal.
The football players will arrive in a few hours to begin their final practices before taking off to a bowl game on January first. Basketball and hockey players, wrestlers and gymnasts and swimmers will do the same in preparation for their seasons to resume. Workouts for everyone over break are intense, some teams having two-a-day practices along with additional strength training. Which means for the physical therapy students who work and intern in the training facility, it’s a busy couple weeks of helping ice and heat muscles, preparing ice baths, and rehabbing the minor pulled muscles and strains from the athletes who partied too hard during their break and returned dehydrated and unprepared for the work ahead of them.
In between stacking gauze and bandages and counting supplies, I’ve had the added task of kicking Jude from my memory banks. It’s been an endeavor I’m failing at, and I still haven’t been able to forget his parting words to me.
I’m not the guy you think I am, and I’m going to prove it to you.
That’s all I need. Jude Taylor doubling down on convincing me he’s worth the risk is a feat I don’t think I’ll survive. I still hate myself for being so rude to him. I could have ignored the girls hanging all over him. I could have asked what was going on. I should have given him the benefit of the doubt. I don’t think all guys are jerks, and the memory he shared with me of his sister-in-law solidifies that I believe he’s a decent man.
No, I firmly believe Jude Taylor is a good guy.
He’s also risky, and I’m not a gambler. Unfortunately, every time I try to kick him out of my mind, my heart pulls him back in, squeezing painfully at the thought of not getting more time with him.
What can be the harm? We’ll both be headed in opposite directions in a few months. It’s possible I can protect my heart from him at the same time we enjoy the time we have. I’m strong enough for that. It’s the internal debate I’m having when I shove a box around a metal door to restock ankle and wrist braces when my foot trips over a rolled bandage that’s fallen out. The door smacks me in my face and I drop to the floor, one hand pressed to my forehead.
I groan at the mess I’ve made and the piercing pain in my head.
“Freaking hell,” I mutter and squeeze my eyes closed. Blue dots speckle behind my closed eyes and I open them again at a voice I recognize.
“I’m wondering now if Max was why you slipped and fell or if you’re naturally clumsy.”
It’s Jude, and his warm voice flows through the room like rolling waves, warm and comforting. I hate that I like it so much. Like him so much despite the risk to my emotional health.
“That was all Max,” I groan and stand slowly. I reach one arm out to grab the metal door so I don’t bang into it again and open my eyes. “And I could easily blame this mishap on you, but I don’t want to overinflate your ego.”
He’s standing at the doorway, hands on his hips, a bemused expression on his beautiful face. “This is my fault?”
“Yeah. I was thinking of you.”
“Pretty impossible to forget, aren’t I?”
If only he knew the true extent of his words.
“I owe you an apology, for being so rude the last time I saw you.”
He shrugs and steps into the room. He’s wearing black athletic pants. They hang low on his hips and on top he has a gray fitted long sleeve shirt with Chicago College’s double C logo. It’s difficult to lift my gaze to his face. When I finally manage the feat of putting an end to my visual molestation, he’s smirking at me.
“Forgiven. Although I am bummed you couldn’t meet them. Tracy and Mila are crazy. Something tells me Lizzie would have loved them. But for the record, I have never, and never will be, the kind of guy who plays around with women. It’s not my thing.”
Since we’re confessing, I go next. “I don’t handle unexpected surprises very well. I’m a bit neurotic, actually, with my need to have a stable life.”
I’ve surprised him again, and his beautiful blue eyes widen. He says nothing for a moment but rolls his lips together. “Maybe you’d like to tell me why that is over dinner tonight?”
He’s shooting his shot, and not the least bit hesitant. I admire his confidence in all the things he does. Coupled with my thoughts that maybe we can do this, become friends… or more… until the end of the year, I do something completely out of character for me.
“Sure, Jude. I’d like that.”
His grin is victorious, as intense as it was when he tossed that puck over the glass straight to me.
“When will you be done here?” He gestures at the mess I’ve made.
I’m off work at four, but I’ll need a shower and I don’t really want to go to dinner with him in my school required polo shirt with matching logo over the left side of my chest and my gray yoga pant
s.
“I can be ready at six.”
“I’ll pick you up.”
I’m about to offer to meet him somewhere, but I figure he’ll want to make sure I don’t take an Uber alone, and then he’ll want to ensure I get home safely. “I’ll be ready.”
“Good.” He steps back and presses a hand to the doorframe before he does a quick scan of the room I’m in and outside. “You probably won’t let me kiss you right now, will you?”
“Not a chance, Taylor.”
“Later?”
“Depends on how good dinner is.” I wink, and the move surprises me. I’ve gone from blowing him off to flirting in one single visit from him. If he’s surprised by my sudden change of heart, he doesn’t show it.
Perhaps I’ve proved my own statement wrong.
I might be a game he can win.
And for the first time in weeks, I’m not scared of losing.
Chapter Nine
“What’s your family like?” I dip a piece of bread into the fancy olive oil and balsamic vinegar swirl on the plate between us. To my surprise, Jude picked me up in an Uber and brought me to an Italian restaurant in the heart of Wrigleyville, far away from campus. I expected a near-campus pizza place or bar and grill, but like so often, I’ve underestimated Jude.
We’ve already ordered and I’m sipping a light Chianti while Jude sticks to water, and I’m carb-loading for no reason except that bread is the best creation since humans.
“My family?” He eyes me in that way of his that’s part questioning, part humorous, and tears off a chunk of bread from the basket.
“Yeah. Did your brothers have fun watching you play? And did you see them over Christmas?” In truth, I have more questions than I’ve dared to ask him yet, but between this afternoon and getting ready, I’ve decided to take a chance. I’ll drop my walls for him far enough so I don’t end up hurt come spring.
