BLAZE: Enemies to Lovers College Hockey Romance

by Eddie Cleveland

  “Yeah, that’s not in my five-year plan.” I crinkle my nose and put my fork back down.

  “I’ve already got a house out in Golden Greens.” He takes a huge amount of cake and stuffs it in his mouth.

  I’m familiar with the new suburban pocket. It just went up on the southside. The houses are all huge and almost touching each other. The yards are small but perfectly kept. Living in a place like that would give me constant anxiety.

  “Wow, do you like it?” I try to imagine what kind of guy buys a big house when he’s still in college. We are from very different worlds, Damon and I.

  “What’s not to like? It’s a four-bedroom, two-and-a-half bath with a double garage,” he explains like he’s a realtor. “I bet in five years that every room is full.” He sits a bit taller, like me not wanting kids in the near future is somehow an insult to him personally.

  “Sounds like you know what you want.” I try to be agreeable. I’m just counting this date down now. I get that he has some big plans, and I wish him luck, but I have no intention of following up on how any of this works out for him.

  “You haven’t had any of this yet.” Damon talks around another huge bite of cake.

  He stabs a piece off with his fork and makes a big scene of leaning over the table to bring it to my lips. I feel like a baby being fed a spoon of mush. Just like that little baby, I clamp my mouth shut and refuse to taste it.

  “Come on, it’s so good.” He just holds the fork there. Like a fucking psychopath.

  I push my chair back and look toward the bar. The red exit sign above the door is reassuring. My escape route is clear. A guy with shaggy hair and a beard walks in. He looks exactly like Blaze. The tires spin in the mud of my mind before they get some traction, and I realize he doesn’t look like Blaze… he is Blaze.

  Why is he here? Alone? Did he know I was here? I’m not really sure what’s going on. All I know is it gets me out of this cringey trying-to-feed-me-cake thing. “Excuse me.” I grab my purse and walk away from the table, ignoring whatever reaction Damon did or didn’t have.

  Every table in the restaurant is an island of intense, candle-lit discussions. I wade through them and move past the people crowding the bar. I don’t see any of their faces as I move past them. I have one singular focus.

  “Blaze.” I grab his arm.

  “Hey, oh.” The corners of his mouth dive down. “Player got a hold of you fast.” He takes a beer from the bartender and hands her a ten. She starts to get some change, but he puts up his hand. “Keep it, sweetheart.” I’m pretty sure the wink is just to piss me off more.

  “I’m on a date.” It’s impossible to not notice the bartender checking him out. Blaze is either used to it or not interested. Either way, he’s oblivious.

  “A date?” He scans over my head, back at the restaurant. “Oh, this should be interesting.” His eyes light up as they dart from table to table. Finally, they stop. “Is that the guy? The one that looks like he jerks off to The Wolf of Wallstreet.”

  He’s not wrong.

  “Damon is… fine.” I feel like I searched for the last word for too long.

  “Yeah? From here he looks like an ass-clown.”

  Again, not wrong.

  “Whatever. I’ll just go say goodnight, and then I’m getting you out of here.”

  “Date’s going that good, huh?” He sees right through my bullshit in three seconds, and he gave me a two-second head start.

  Blaze stretches his hands up in the air like he couldn’t be less stressed. He doesn’t see me as much of an authority figure. He barely even pays attention to me. “I’ve got a better idea. How about we both just pretend we never saw each other. You enjoy your ass-clown date, and I’ll stay over here at the bar.” There’s no hint of suggestion. It’s a demand. A demand to leave him alone.

  “Really? Do we need a repeat of Foxies all over again?” Finally, I get to be the smirky one for once.

  Blaze stares. He’s trying to call my bluff. He isn’t the least bit worried that I’m going to interrupt him. A tall, muscular hockey guy in his prime doesn’t find me intimidating. The world is just full of surprises.

  “What part are you gonna re-run, Prissy? The part where you threaten to call the coach, announce my age to the whole bar or slip on some baby oil reaching for a stripper pole? ‘Cause if it’s that last one, I have some wardrobe suggestions.” Blaze leans back in his low-back stool, watching me like a Blackjack dealer in Vegas.

  Heat rushes me from head to toe, and I have a hard time looking directly at him. It’s distracting. His wild beard. The tattoos across the backs of his hands. Even the way he slumps in his seat is somehow sexy.

  “The day I strip for you is the day I die,” I hiss. Back at my table, Damon doesn’t seem to mind that I’m gone. He’s completely absorbed by his phone.

  “Aww, c’mon. Don’t be shy. I’ll make you a deal. You strip for me, I strip for you, and we’ll see where it goes. My cock might make you choke a bit, but I promise you won’t die.” Blaze looks proud of himself, like that drink he’s taking is to celebrate his little remark.

  “What the hell is your problem…” I start, but he holds up his hand and steamrolls right over me—

  —"Listen, Prissy, you can go ahead and do your thing. You’ve got balls to bust, and I won’t stand in your way,” I interrupt her. “There’s a couple things you should know first. Like, if you’re gonna call up Coach Wilson at, what is it? Nine-thirty?” Blaze pulls his buttoned sleeve back and checks his watch. It seems too formal against the chaotic canvas of his tattoos.

  “I know for a fact that he’s in bed by nine, but feel free to wake him up about all this.” Blaze watches me closely. He’s toying with me.

  “Fine, I will,” I huff.

  Hasn’t this guy learned his lesson yet? He can keep pushing me, but I won’t break. I’m not letting him ruin this job for me.

  “Before you wake him up, or yell for the bouncer up on the bar, you should know I’m not going anywhere.”

  “Oh, is that a fact?”

  “It is.” He stays calm, even as my annoyance ratchets up my heartbeat and sends my blood pressure soaring.

  “I’ve got twenty-one reasons why I’m not going anywhere, and my age is every single one of them.” I’m not sure if it’s possible to smirk with your eyes only, but he seems awfully amused watching me process what he’s saying.

  “What? No, you’re not.” I roll my eyes. I expected better than this from him.

  Blaze must see the complete disbelief on my face because he pulls out his wallet and slides his ID out with his thumb. “Take a look.” He hands it over.

  “Aww, jeez.” I squint at the date, double checking that it hasn’t been altered somehow. Today really is his birthday. “Happy Birthday.” I say it like an apology. It’s as close to one as he’s going to get.

  “Yup.” He takes a drink of his beer. “What a milestone.” I’m not sure who he said that last bit to, but it wasn’t me. Blaze kind of stares off for a second.

  I remember my twenty-first birthday. My friends all hyped it up, and everyone came over to my dorm with drinks at three in the afternoon. We literally spent all afternoon doing our hair and make-up while getting plastered. I never made it to the club that night.

  Instead, I woke up the day after my birthday tucked into my bed, fully dressed. My hair was thoughtfully tied back in a scrunchy for me. There was a puke bucket on the floor beside my bed. Make-up that I never did get out of that pillowcase was streaked everywhere. I missed my own birthday. I passed out from the pre-drinking. I went to plenty of clubs in my day, but I always felt like I ripped myself off with that whole experience.

  Blaze might be obnoxious, and cocky, and selfish, and… where was I going with this? The point is, he still deserves a birthday. I’m not going to call his coach. I don’t think I could force him to go home even if I wanted to. I also can’t leave him unattended. If I do, he’ll end up in a viral sex video. Or in jail. Again.


  “Fine, you can stay here and celebrate your birthday.”

  “Good to see you come to your senses,” he answers.

  “Yep, you can join us. Over at my table.”

  “You want me to crash your date so you can babysit me on my birthday?” That smile has me second guessing everything. This plan, my date, my job. What else can I do? Letting Blaze run wild on his birthday isn’t an option. “And here I didn’t think you got me a gift.”

  8

  Harry Douche-Nozzle, the third

  Blaze

  “No, that’s definitely not what I want.” She laughs, but it falls flat when she also looks over at the guy. “I want to finish my date with Holiday Goose Babies then deal with whatever crisis you’re about to start, but life doesn’t play on my terms, I guess.”

  “Holiday Goose Babies? You’d tell me if you were in trouble, right? Blink once if this is a hostage situation.” Her hard glare answers my question. She pinches her lips together. It’s distracting.

  Everything about her is. It doesn’t help that she’s all dressed up tonight. The way those skinny jeans hug her ass, and that blouse has that little bow right under her tits, it’s like she’s a sexy present all wrapped up. It makes me want to rip it all off to see what’s underneath. Her dark brown hair is down around her shoulders. I don’t think I’ve ever seen it not in a bun. She looks different. Softer.

  “Like, he wants to stuff me like a holiday goose, but with babies.” She says it like this was a connection any moron could make.

  I glance back at the guy in his polo shirt. He looks like he’s like one of those kids who never has to work for anything. He’s probably a something-the-third. Like, Harry Douche-Nozzle, the third.

  “What’s with you and stuffing crazy shit together. You don’t stuff money in girl’s pussies. You don’t stuff babies in geese. It’s fucked up that you don’t know that.” There it is, that perfect look of exasperation when her cheeks are rosy, her mouth is open a bit, and she rolls her eyes at me. I’d bet anything that’s her O-face.

  “Just wait here and let me say goodnight to my date. I’ll be right back to deal with whatever cry for attention this is.” She raises an eyebrow.

  “I liked your first idea better.” Beer in hand, I pop off my bar stool and start walking to her table. Prissy is on my heels, trying not to rush up to me but also trying to stay within ear shot.

  “No. Wait. What are you doing?” she hisses behind me like a tire leaking air.

  Like I’m gonna sit here like a well-trained dog while she ties her night up into neat little bows? “Come on, Prissy. It’s my birthday.” I grab an empty chair from another table and tuck it up next to their two-seat situation. Harry Douche-Nozzle blinks up at me.

  There are questions in his eyes, but he doesn’t ask them because I jump right in. “I couldn’t believe I just ran into Prissy. I mean, Priscilla. I had to come over here and meet the guy who’s taking that bullet.” I hold out my hand, and he shakes it like he’s not sure why.

  “Hey.” He frowns, then his eyes rest on Prissy. “What’s going on?” I thought it was confusion, but I think it’s actually irritation tugging on his tone. “What bullet?” His eyes are back on mine, and any doubt I may have had is gone. He’s trying not to show it, but he’s pissed off.

  There are only a couple reasons he would be. If he thinks the date is going well, he’s delusional. He’s a different kind of delusional if he thinks he’s going to get laid. Trolling him feels like a solid response either way.

  “The one I dodged when we broke up.” I jut my thumb over to Prissy. At first she looked like she was trying to hide behind her hair. Now, she’s peering out at me. “We dated for a while.”

  Harry looks from her to me. “Really? Cool. How long were you two together?”

  “Dated is too strong of a word,” Prissy interrupts. Look who’s not hiding behind her hair-curtain anymore. She’s blinking at me in what I’m pretty sure is Morse Code for: Shut The Fuck Up.

  “Oh, I don’t know.” I ignore her attempts at eye communication and keep going. “For a while, right Prissy? We had some pretty wild dates.”

  All of us turn our attention to the waitress who walks over to our table, clearly confused by our new set-up. “Can I get you a plate or drink?” She tilts her head at me.

  “No, we’re good with the cake,” Prissy answers.

  “Not true.” I catch her attention before she walks away.

  “I’ll have a piece of cake and refills for everyone.” The waitress nods at me, and I ignore the Douche-Nozzle’s anger. I’ve got another bear to poke at the moment.

  “Remember your drunk and disorderly at the Bowl-King? That was on one of our dates.”

  “What are you doing?” Prissy’s voice is a faint whisper to me. I ignore it completely.

  “Did you get arrested?” He looks at her like a fancy car depreciating on the lot.

  Prissy stammers for words, likely in shock.

  “No, she didn’t get arrested,” I keep going. “Banned for life though. You know that sign they have: no shirt, no shoes, no service? That shirt part is because of her.” I jerk my head Prissy’s way, and she starts to get all huffed up, but the waitress comes back.

  “Two white wines, a beer, and here’s your cake.” She puts everything in the right places.

  “Thanks.” I dig into the cake. I regret not eating my cake before I left the house. Actually, attending that party is also on my list of regrets for tonight.

  “That one-hundred-percent was not me.” Prissy finally gets a chance to defend herself. “You must have that date mixed up with one of the other thousands you’ve been on.”

  “Come on, Prissy. You think I’d forget those tits? I remember it all clearly.” I don’t know what’s more delicious, the cake or antagonizing her between bites.

  She frowns. “Trust me, you don’t.”

  “So who are you that you’re going on thousands of dates? You look familiar.” The Douche speaks. “Should I know who you are?”

  He sits up straight, shoulders stiffening as he clearly looks me over. Not like I’m a human, though, more like he’s trying to figure out if I’m worth his time. He’s got a real country-club, Daddy-paid-for-my-life sorta vibe to him. Typical Douche-Nozzle for ya.

  “He’s on the Warrior’s hockey team.” Prissy tries to fill in the blank for him.

  “Do you follow hockey?”

  “Not at all.” He actually looks a bit repulsed that I asked.

  “Yeah, that’s probably not how you know me then, huh? There’s another way you might. Are you a guy who likes to frequent X-Videos?”

  There’s a weird silence that some people would crawl into and die. I love it. Prissy visibly cringes when she realizes what I’m getting at.

  “Maybe you prefer PornHub?”

  “Blaze.” Her cheeks are pure fire right now. That half-crazed look in her eyes is my fuel.

  “Or are you a Brazzers connoisseur?”

  “Are you asking me if I watch porn?” He leans forward, lowering his voice, like we just caught him with dirty magazines.

  “Blaze had a sex video.” Prissy clears her throat and drinks some wine. “It went viral. Not with me.” Her eyes open wide when she realizes how that might sound.

  “I am a Warrior!” I don’t fully yell it, but it’s loud enough that we get some looks.

  “I wasn’t in the video,” she over-clarifies.

  “Yeah, that must be it then.” He pulls out his wallet and throws a lot of bills on the table. He’s doing a shitty job of hiding his anger now. “You ready to go?”

  Prissy stands up and grabs her purse, but she seems lost. It seems like, instead of balls, it’s Becky’s spirit getting busted. I don’t like the look on her date’s face either. I stand up and grab her, pull her into me and hold her for a second. I let that surprise at being grabbed melt. I let her realize exactly what I’m doing when I kiss her. The Douche puffs up like he’s gonna do something about it, but when she r
elaxes into me, he can’t take it anymore.

  “Fuck both of you,” he seethes and walks away. At least I think he does, because I don’t give enough of a fuck to check.

  Prissy pulls back. She’s breathing a bit hard. “What was that?”

  “What? Did you want to leave here with him?” Her lips twist down. “Didn’t think so. Besides, it’s good luck to kiss a hot girl on your birthday.” I shrug.

  “Please tell me that line doesn’t work.” She laughs and sits back down with me at the table.

  “Every. Single. Time.”

  9

  Dick Kazoo

  Priscilla

  I rinse off my hands in the most impressive public bathroom I’ve ever used. I’ve eaten at a few nice restaurants before. Not on dates, but back when I was younger. Mom was big on celebrating milestones. From lost teeth to a part in the middle school musical and even when I graduated college, there hasn’t been a significant event in my life that my mother hasn’t celebrated. Usually, even in nice places like this, the bathroom situation is always a little disappointing.

  This one is like a dream… if you dream about the women’s toilet. After being in here, I might start. Stall walls and a door that goes to the floor, that’s a game-changer. As a general rule, I don’t love knowing exactly how far complete strangers pull their pants down to go. These sinks have so much space between them, and the mirror over each sink is huge and well lit. A woman designed this bathroom. I’d bet any amount of money on it.

  It works out that it’s such an upscale place. It makes the pep talk I’m giving my brightly lit reflection feel less silly. “His birthday doesn’t change anything. This doesn’t mean all bets are off,” I scold myself quietly. “You need to get him home. And then go home… to your home.” I ramble at myself, trying to not look like a crazy person. It’s clear I’m failing from the look on the woman’s face who just walked out from the long line of stalls. I’ve been betrayed by the exact feature I love about them. I couldn’t see if anyone was in here by looking for feet.