Blindsided: A Moo U Hockey Romance

by Victoria Denault

  His eyes dart up to me and then back down as he places one hand on mine on the railing and he guides himself into me with his other hand. Just the tip, then a little more, then a little less, then a little more… I hook my ankles behind him and as he starts to slide a little bit deeper again, I use my legs to keep the momentum and pull him closer and closer until he’s all the way in. He buries his face in my neck biting down on my shoulder as he grunts and my head tips back and I bite my bottom lip to keep my own moan from escaping.

  Tate’s hips start to move immediately, and because this day isn’t insane enough, my body is overwhelmed with the urge to topple into orgasm. How is that even possible? I whimper and tilt my pelvis into the thrusts, trying to fight my orgasm and chase it at the same time. His hand grips my ass and his other one moves to cup my chin, tilting my face to his. “You feel…this feels…”

  “No talking. Just fucking,” I beg. “Hard.”

  His hips drive harder and he grabs my chin again to guide my mouth to his. I feel Tate everywhere—inside and outside—and it’s too much and not enough. Everything feels like it’s happening too fast but in slow motion. My limbs are all numb because every nerve ending in my body has shut off except for one: the one Tate’s bumping and grinding against at a deliciously relentless pace.

  I gasp into our endless kiss as my body tightens and shudders and my climax rips through me with abandon. As my body goes limp Tate’s gets more rigid and he pushes harder and faster for a few more strong, hard thrusts and then a groan rumbles up and out of him and I slap a hand over his mouth this time as he finds his own release.

  For a few disorienting moments we stay there, body-to-body, hearts hammering against each other, breathless. His lips are the only thing moving, still gliding over my neck, my jaw, my ear and then my mouth. He’s gentle now. Slow and soft and it feels divine. I drop one arm across his back and slip my fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck. It’s soft and damp from exertion, and he must like me playing with it because he nuzzles my neck. But then he whispers. “I have to pull out.”

  And he does, stepping back so I let my legs drop to the floor. I feel like a newborn baby goat taking its first steps—wobbly and uncertain. So much for marching out of here like nothing happened.

  I, as quickly and gracefully as possible, get dressed. Tate does too and before he can say anything, I’m leaving. He’s right behind me as I make my way out of the barn. “This was a mistake.”

  “No it wasn’t,” Tate replies. “It was either this or we kill each other. At least now neither of us will end up in jail like Clyde and George.”

  I stop. Turn and look at him. His skin is pink and he’s still breathing unevenly like he still hasn’t caught his breath. Good to know I have company in that department. “But it’s one and done.”

  “Couldn’t agree more. One and done,” Tate repeats with a nod, but then our eyes lock and a smile starts to tug the corners of the lips that feel so good on my skin, and I feel a blush start to crawl up my cheeks and I can’t help but smile too, and suddenly we’re grinning like total lunatics…until the screen door slams.

  “What is she doing on my property?” George Adler’s voice booms like a cannon going off.

  Shit.

  “Finishing up some market business,” I respond trying to sound calm and professional and not like someone who just let his grandson pound her into blissful oblivion in his barn. “Relax. I’m leaving.”

  I can hear George stomping down the porch steps but I don’t bother to turn around. I keep walking but George keeps following. “You and you wretched family aren’t allowed to set foot on my property for any reason.”

  “Gramps, stop!” Tate barks. “You’re being rude.”

  “I’m being rude? Her family has a history of making our life hell,” George replies, yelling at the top of his lungs. “They killed our cow.”

  “What? Gramps, Milkshake was an escape artist with a death wish,” Tate replies. “She used to get off the property at least twice a week. And she wasn’t hit by one of the Todds.”

  “No, but it was the fence that borders their property that she got through the day she died. The one Clyde keeps trying to tear down,” George says. “And why are you defending them?”

  “I’m definitely not defending them,” Tate says, but he sounds…guilty.

  “What the heck is everyone screaming about?” Comes a new, annoyed voice.

  “Nothing, Dad. Don’t worry about it,” Tate says.

  “Why is Maggie Todd here? What’s going on?”

  Finally I turn to face them. Vince Adler is standing on the porch with his arms crossed and an annoyed scowl on his face. George is walking toward me pointing at me with a stubby fat finger. Tate is following along behind him.

  “Do not touch me, old man,” I warn when George gets close enough that his hand is a foot from my face.

  “I have a right to stand my ground and protect my property,” George announces. “You’re trespassing, so consider yourself lucky I don’t get out my shotgun.”

  “Gramps, we don’t have a stand your ground law in Vermont, and if you pull out your shotgun, I’m calling the cops on you,” Tate barks.

  “Stop defending her,” George demands.

  “I’m leaving!” I holler, loudly. Everyone stares at me. I make a point of looking each of them in the eye defiantly but calmly. Until my eyes land on Tate and I feel my girl parts shimmy as my brain fills with images from moments ago in the barn. Before I can blush, I force myself to look away from him and push the memories out of my head. “I just had to settle something with your grandson. It’s settled. I promise it will never happen again.”

  “Never ever again,” Tate repeats and George turns and levels him with a stare, his old wrinkled face twisted in bewilderment.

  “Bye!” I say and march away as fast as I can without actually running.

  By the time I get to my car and haul myself inside, my skin is crimson, but it’s not because I was berated and chased off by George. It’s because I just saw Tate naked. And he saw me naked. And our parts merged…

  I had sex with Tate Adler and I liked it. A lot. More than I have ever liked sex before.

  Oh my God, this is a nightmare.

  10

  Tate

  “What the heck are you doing?” Lex asks me as he stumbles down the back stairs and into the kitchen, in workout gear, sleep likely still blurring his eyes. “It’s like, the crack of dawn.”

  “I’ve got to do some work at the farm before class,” I lie. In truth I took an early morning cleaning session Vickie offered me. The gig is an hour away, so I have to get up early. “And my room is so damn stuffy with this summer weather that won’t end. I couldn’t sleep much.”

  He looks almost guilty at that. He’s the rookie and you would think that means he has to take the smallest room in the hockey house, but we decided to play a shootout game after the first practice to decide who gets stuck in the third floor room with sloped ceilings, one tiny window, and that was barely big enough for a double mattress and a desk. I lost.

  He glances at the mop, bucket, feather duster and other cleaning supplies at my feet while I finish the last of my coffee. “You don’t have cleaning supplies at the farm?”

  “We’re out so I picked these up last night,” I say. “To bring by today.”

  “Oh. Okay.” Lex shrugs. “I’m off for a run.”

  “Don’t overdo it, rookie. We have practice tonight and if you’re lagging, Coach will notice,” I warn him.

  He nods. “Same goes for you. I heard you walking around the house half the night. These creaky floorboards hide nothing..”

  “A lot on my mind.” I shrug and put my empty coffee mug in the sink.

  “You won that weird bet against those sisters. Shouldn’t you be worry-free?” Lex questions.

  I just had mind-melting sex with one of those sisters, also known as my blackmailer, so the idea of being worry-free is hysterical. I start laughing
. Great. Now he’s looking at me like I’m looney tunes.

  “It’s complicated,” I say when I regain my composure. I pick up my cleaning supplies and head out the door. “See ya at practice.”

  I toss everything in the back of the truck and start on my way. I really do not want to work today—especially this job—but I can’t afford to turn down work. After what happened at Maggie’s I wanted to quit, but the fact is we are now officially two months behind on the mortgage payments on the farm. The dunk tank stunt helped though. I make a mental note to remind Jace to drive that cash down to the bank today. I don’t have time between working, classes, and practice.

  I think of Maggie the entire drive to the gig, just like I thought about her nonstop since our post-market sex two days ago, which is why I haven’t been sleeping much. I lay awake at night and think of her. The way she felt, the way she sounded, the way she looked when she came—because I made her come. Hard. And she returned the favor. And now the mental juxtaposition of how great it all felt and how wrong it actually was has my head spinning. It doesn’t help that I can’t say a damn word to anyone about it. I just can’t. My teammates won’t get it. My brother will lose his mind and possibly tell the family and the only other person I would normally confide in I don’t talk to anymore.

  Hank Knight had been a long-time employee of our farm. He was about five years older than me and started working for us when he was fourteen. I thought he was the coolest kid ever and looked up to him like an older brother. He dropped out of high school in his senior year and started full-time with us. And when I went away to boarding school for hockey, I actually kept in touch more with him than anyone else at the farm. But then a few months ago, after the fire in the barn, we didn’t have enough money to keep paying him, no matter what I did with accounting. We let him go. I have been avoiding him ever since. I heard he works at the Biscuit now, so I avoided it all summer. He wasn’t there after the exhibition game earlier this week, but since we go there after all the other home games during the season, I know I’m bound to run into him. Still, it’s obvious I’ve been avoiding him, so I can’t exactly call him up and ask his advice.

  But damn, I know Hank would be able to give me some solid advice. Maybe he’d know the exact words I need to hear to make me stop thinking about her and the sex. Because the more I think about it, the more I find myself searching for a way to let it happen again. And it can’t happen again.

  I pull off the highway and focus on listening to the soothing voice on Google Maps as it directs me to the house I’m cleaning. I get there five minutes early and sigh as I’m grabbing my stuff. I upgraded my costume to a Zorro-type mask from the bandana I used to use because of how easily Maggie yanked it off my face. Can’t have that happen again. I always cover my face because my mug is on the university website more than a few times on the athletics page, and it makes the paper sometimes. Last year the university had a billboard with the team on it. I can’t risk being recognized.

  I make my way to the door and ring the bell, bracing myself for whatever comes next. I’ve been lucky—really lucky—with my assignments because the women have been flirty and fun and sometimes even embarrassed but never aggressive or inappropriate. Mike Danvers, my former teammate who told me about Manly Maids, said he had a few who stuck their hands in his underwear. He let a few of them too. I was not going to turn this into something like that. It wasn’t that some of these women weren’t hot—they were. But cleaning half-naked for money and sex for money were two different things. I wanted to keep it legit. Mike was a senior on the team last year and wasn’t on a scholarship so he did the Manly Maid gigs to pay his way through school. He’d done it all four years of school and graduated last year debt-free.

  The door opens, and I almost fall over. The woman who is standing there is probably about seventy. Her long, white hair is pulled back in a bun. She’s in a pair of pink polyester slacks and a white blouse with pink peonies all over it and a pink cardigan. She is also wearing pink slippers. “Uh. Hi ma’am I’m… I…”

  She smiles brightly. “Oh good! I was hoping you’d be a brunette. When do you take off your shirt?”

  “You…ordered a maid?” I ask because I thought for sure I had the wrong address.

  “Not just any maid, a manly maid,” she says still smiling like she is the gentle old gran in a cookie ad or something. “And boy, did they deliver.”

  Her blue eyed gaze slowly rolls up and down my body. “Won’t you come in. You’ll remove some of those clothes though, right?”

  “Yes ma’am,” I say. She moves to the side and I step in. I put down my supplies to pull my shirt over my head. She sighs and then claps when I drop my pants too. Oh God, this is going to be an interesting one, I think, and then I hear another set of footsteps.

  “Nana! Who is at the door?”

  A pretty woman, who looks like a thirty-year-old version of the flirty, dirty grandma, walks into the front hall and screams like I’m a cat burglar. Granny turns around. “Calm down, Patty. Has it been that long since you’ve seen a half-naked man that you’re scared of him?”

  “Who are you and why are you naked with my nana?” Patty says as she steps forward, grabs Nana by the shoulders and moves Nana behind her.

  “I was hired to clean. I’m a Manly Maid,” I explain.

  “I hired him,” Nana announces proudly. “You haven’t been on a date since the divorce. You won’t even join one of those app thingies to talk to men. You just sit here and take care of me. I need you to have a life while you’re young.”

  Patty still looks horrified. She turns her nana by the shoulders to face her. “So you hired me a man?”

  “Just to clean,” Nana explains. “It’s legit I swear. My friend Barb told me about it at canasta last week because her granddaughter hired one. They keep their skivvies on, and you aren’t supposed to touch them. But I figured this way you don’t have to clean today and maybe seeing some hot young thing will get your motor started again.”

  “Oh my God.” Patty looks at me and covers her face with her hands. “My motor is fine, Nana. Sir, you don’t have to do this. I am so sorry.”

  I am amused by this whole situation so I just grin and shrug. “I’ve been paid up front so let me just clean. If you don’t want to watch, you don’t have to. Go out for coffee or read a book. But at least let me save you scrubbing toilets.”

  “That would be nice,” Patty replies and the pink color of her cheeks reminds me of Maggie.

  “Well I’m gonna stay and watch,” Nana announces and I chuckle.

  “That’s fine too,” I reply and pick up my mop and bucket. “Let me know where you want me to start,” I ask and Nana claps and Patty covers her face again.

  Two and a half hours later I’m parking in front of the hockey house again. It turned into one of the funnest and easiest gigs I’ve had in a long time. Unlike Maggie and her roommates, Patty and Nana kept an immaculate house, so the work part was easy. Nana followed me from room to room fanning herself and making small talk. She was a hoot. Patty hid in the kitchen drinking pot after pot of tea and trying not to die of embarrassment. They were great but traffic was heavier than I anticipated coming back, and I missed my first class of the day. I’m kicking myself as I walk to campus now.

  It was Intermediate Accounting for Small Business, and I barely made it through Intro to Accounting last year. Math is not my thing. I can’t be skipping classes. And also…Maggie is in this class. I can’t decide if not seeing her is worse or better than seeing her. I mean, it’s probably for the best because running into her for the first time in a crowded classroom might make it even more awkward. Or maybe it would have made it less? I don’t know.

  I decide to hit up the Green Bean for a coffee and something to eat before heading to my next class. I pull open the door and almost trip over my own feet. Maggie is in line. She’s staring at her phone and doesn’t see me. Her hair is down and kind of wavy today. Just like it was when I yanked the elastic out i
n the barn and buried my fingers in it while I was sliding into her…

  I panic. I don’t know why, but I suddenly think seeing her here like this in public is a really bad idea. I turn and almost crash into a dude leaving holding two coffees. My shoe makes a terrible squeaking sound as I come to an abrupt stop.

  “Watch it!” The guy barks at me, and it’s loud. Too damn loud. Out of the corner of my eye I see her turn toward him.

  And, like her gaze is a magnet pulling me toward it, I turn to look at her as she looks at me. Our eyes lock. She looks really pretty today in a really loose, white cotton dress and dark high top sneakers. The dress is short and her long, pale legs—the ones that wrapped so perfectly around my waist—are on full display.

  “Dude, are you coming or going?” the guy says, irritated.

  “He’s probably going,” I hear Maggie say. “He’s already come.”

  I stare at her trying not to let my jaw hit the floor. She’s smiling—smugly—and then she turns around, eyes on her phone again like she didn’t just hurl the mother of all double entrendres right at me. I step out of the way and even hold the door for Mr. Bitchy Pants before walking over to stand directly beside her.

  “There’s a line,” she mutters, her eyes still glued to her phone.

  “Yeah, but I’m buying you a coffee,” I say and glance at her screen, which she quickly angles away from me so I can’t see what she’s looking at. “Checking out my hockey profile on the Athletics page?”

  “Ha. No,” she says humorlessly. Her eyes shift up and join mine for just the slightest second. They’re a really cool kaleidoscope of hues. Starbursts of amber and light brown with a mossy greenish-gray ring around the outer edge. I’ve never really studied them until now. “Stop staring. Also I don’t need your free drinks.”