Making a Play

by Victoria Denault

“Thanks!” I bark and suddenly regret calling her. I shouldn’t, though, because I know what she’s like. Callie has never been anything but blunt and honest her whole life. If I wanted someone to baby me, I would be having this conversation with Jessie.

  “When I worked as a waitress in Silver Bay I had at least three guys try to pick me up every single night,” Callie tells me bluntly. “The boys must be falling all over you, too.”

  She’s right. Working at the most popular bar in town is good for the ego. There hasn’t been a night some guy hasn’t asked for my phone number or told me I was gorgeous or whatever.

  “They’re all drunk, slobbery college boys who just want one-night stands.”

  “So? Still counts. They think you’re hot.”

  “So I don’t want that.”

  “Even if it’s with Luc?”

  I open my mouth to tell her “not even with Luc” but the words don’t seem to want to come out. I hear her laugh lightly through the phone. “You need to loosen up. Throw caution to the wind just once. Stop waiting for Prince Charming to sweep you off your feet and instead do something that forces him to rip your clothes off instead.”

  “What do you mean?” I have to ask because I can’t even begin to wrap my head around her words.

  “If Luc doesn’t see you as the sexy, totally bangable adult woman you’ve become, then make him see it,” she explains. “Flirt with him. Wear sexy clothes. Tease him like it’s your job. Make him see what those drunken college boys see. It might not get you your PG-13 fairy-tale romance but it will get you some NC-17 action from the one boy you’ve always wanted to see naked.”

  I laugh. “You’re telling your little sister, the one you raised, to have a one-night stand?”

  “Yes. Or maybe two. Possibly three.”

  “Callie!”

  “There is something to be said for getting your rocks off, Rose. Not everything has to be a Disney movie. And remember, Cinderella didn’t ask for a prince. All she wanted was—”

  “A night out and a dress.” I laugh, pushing off the railing in front of me so the swing starts rocking. “You’ve been saying that for years.”

  “You’re twenty-one, Rosie. Live a little,” Callie tells me firmly.

  “I’m just… it’s not my thing.” I confess what I know she already knows. I’m not like her. I don’t know how to be like her. I don’t know if it’s even possible to pretend.

  “Your thing isn’t getting you what you want, is it?” she questions and when I don’t respond, because she’s right, she continues. “Time to try something new, sweet sister of mine.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind.” I roll my eyes as Dave Cooper, the contractor renovating the house, wanders onto the porch.

  Coop, as he likes to be called, is wearing jeans and a white tank top. He’s sweaty and his brown hair is slightly askew. His blue eyes twinkle and he smiles warmly when he notices me. I smile back. He’s been here every day since I got back from Vermont. He’s a really nice guy and his work is amazing.

  “Got to go, Callie.”

  “Go where? Go get laid? Because that’s what you should be doing!”

  “I love you, whore.”

  “I love you too, prude.”

  I hang up. Cooper laughs. I stand up and make my way back inside, motioning for him to follow me. I put my cell phone down on the kitchen table and walk over to the fridge, pulling out a pitcher of sweet tea.

  “You look like you need a drink,” I offer and he nods.

  As I pour him a big glass he asks, “Who is this whore you love?”

  “My sister Callie,” I reply.

  “Ah, Callie Caplan.” He smiles and nods.

  “You know Callie?” I ask, suddenly a little nervous about how he might know Callie.

  “No. Not personally,” he replies. “But I remember when she worked at Last Call before Cole Garrison bought it. She used to flirt with my buddies endlessly. Most of them would end up giving her their paychecks in tips.”

  I nod. “I should ask her for pointers.”

  He levels his blue eyes on me as he takes a long sip of tea. When he pulls the glass from his mouth he’s wearing a small, devious-looking smile. I suddenly feel a little warm under his gaze. He’s been really easy to have around the house. He tries not to get in my way and we’ve kind of become friends. But lately, the last couple of days, he also seems a little flirty.

  “I’ve seen you at work in your little shorts and cowboy boots,” he says softly in his deep melodious voice. “I’ve been tempted to tip you an entire paycheck, so I’d say you’re doing just fine, Rose. Thank you for the drink.”

  And then he’s gone—into the living room and back up the stairs to work on the master bedroom again. Wow. He was totally, not even subtly, flirting with me. Why can’t Luc see me the way Coop seems to? Maybe Callie’s right… maybe I need to make him see.

  Chapter 5

  Luc

  I’m breathing hard and my legs feel like Jell-O as I make my way from the ice to the locker room. Jordan is behind me with Cole, and Adam is in front of me. This is one of my favorite training days because it’s just a light, fun scrimmage game. The other days are filled with weight training—hours of dead lifts, pull-ups, barbell squats, dumbbell lunges—and conditioning where we do crazy stuff like pulling a tractor-trailer tire around our old high school field or, if we’re feeling particularly aggressive, we pull each other. So on-ice days are a treat. Some are filled with drills, led by our personal off-season trainer, Skip, and some are like this, where we invite old high school teammates to mess around with us. I still get a workout but it’s way more fun than the other days.

  As we enter the locker room and start pulling off equipment, Adam’s phone whistles and he digs for it in the front flap of his knapsack. I toss a glove in his general direction and grin. “Is that Tasha begging for another ride on the Miller train?”

  He smirks. “I wish. It’s just an app alert. The only girl who has called me since last night is Bri, asking for your phone number. Don’t worry, I didn’t give it to her.”

  Jordan perks up at this, a confused look on his sweaty face. “You’re blowing off phone numbers?”

  I nod. “I need some time to myself.”

  Cole chuckles as he pulls his jersey over his head. “Then why is it every time I see you you’re with Rosie?”

  “That’s different. It’s just Rose,” I mutter and catch a weird glance pass from Cole to Jordan.

  “What?” I ask, but neither answers. Instead Jordan turns to Adam.

  “How many girls has he turned down so far this summer?”

  Adam shrugs, still looking at his phone screen. “Six or seven in my presence. It’s okay, though, because most of them think I’m a consolation prize. I am not above being second best.”

  “Stay classy, Adam!” Cole quips, untying his skates.

  Adam finally looks up, an innocent smile on his round face. “I wasn’t good enough to make the hockey dream happen but that doesn’t mean I can’t enjoy the perks. I may not get the money or the fame, but I’ll take the chicks if he doesn’t want them.”

  Then he holds up his phone and the grin on his face slips into a smirk. “And I have the TMZ Sports app on my phone to remind me that there’s a side I was lucky to avoid.”

  Adam turns his phone screen toward the rest of us. I can’t make out the writing on the screen but I see the picture of my ex clearly from across the small, concrete room. Jordan reaches out and takes the phone, and after a few seconds scrutinizing the screen, he starts laughing.

  “What now?” I ask, even though I don’t want to know.

  “Swedish supermodel Nessa Carlsson leaving 1Oak with a male that is definitely not her hot hockey boyfriend. Where’s Luc Richard? Is he still in hiding after tanking yet another season?” He’s laughing so hard now, he’s bent over at the waist. I use the opportunity to swipe the phone from his hand and read it myself.

  It’s word for word what Jordan said, but he le
ft out the headline, which stated “When the Hockey Player’s Away the Supermodel Will Play.” I swear in French under my breath. “I wish they’d let it go. We have. And when did she become a supermodel?”

  “When she started dating you,” Cole retorts. “You’ve given her more press than any runway show ever could.”

  “If you just released a statement saying it’s over, they’d start easing up,” Jordan says, telling me what I already know.

  “She won’t have her people do it. She likes the attention it brings when we let people wonder. And my people are so fed up with the Luc and Nessa Show that they won’t deal with it,” I explain, pushing my hockey pants from my legs and grabbing my towel. “They’re furious at the attention my relationship has brought the team.”

  “Vegas is a non-hockey market,” Cole points out. “They should be lucky anyone’s talking about them at all.”

  He’s right, in a way. The Vegas Vipers have always struggled to find a fan base, just like a lot of teams in warmer states. Vegas residents didn’t grow up with backyard rinks and local junior teams, and with all the other attractions in Vegas—casino shows, boxing matches—tourists aren’t jumping at the chance to spend a night in our chilly arena. We haven’t sold out a game the entire time I’ve been on the team. Of course, the L.A. Kings grew their fan base by winning two Stanley Cups. We haven’t made the playoffs in four years, so that doesn’t help. But when the captain of the team started being photographed with an up-and-coming model, the news felt hockey was finally worth talking about. Before I knew what was happening, or how to avoid it, we’d become the Tony Romo and Jessica Simpson of the NHL. It didn’t help that Nessa loved the attention and tweeted pictures of herself in a Vipers bikini or a bejeweled pink Vipers jersey and nothing else. She also tweeted about the games, using the wrong terminology for every play she remarked on, confusing things like penalty kills and power plays. After almost two years of this, Vipers fans grew to hate her, team management thought she was distracting me and my future in Vegas was tenuous.

  “Maybe a trade wouldn’t be such a bad thing,” Jordan tells me as we walk to the showers. “A fresh start, maybe even in a hockey market like Seattle or Brooklyn.”

  When we were kids we used to all dream about playing together in the NHL but the closer we all got to making it, the more we knew that would be a long shot. We were all high-round draft picks who would command large contracts, and there were salary caps for each team. No one team could pay all our salaries and be able to afford the rest of the players. Besides, my agent called every day to reassure me the Vipers weren’t giving up on me yet. He told me repeatedly that if I proved myself to them this summer by keeping my nose clean, they wouldn’t trade me. And even if I asked for a trade, something I had thought about doing, my poor play the last couple of years might not get me a lot of interest from teams. I was more likely to end up on another poorly performing team rather than on Jordan’s Winterhawks or Devin’s Barons. So, all things considered, lying low and girlfriendless so the Vipers kept me was the best option this summer.

  “I’m not going to push for a trade,” I tell him as we each slip into a private shower stall, divided by tiled half walls. “I’m going to prove to them that I can make hockey my only focus. And next year, I’m going to get this fucking team to the playoffs if it kills me.”

  “Okay, buddy.” Jordan nods but I can see the skepticism on his face. I simply choose to ignore it.

  “Keep hanging out with Rose,” Cole adds with a smug smile on his face for some reason. “We’ll see how that works out for you.”

  I ignore him completely, just like I did his brother.

  Chapter 6

  Rose

  I stare at my bathing suit choices in my dresser drawer as my conversation with Callie days earlier dances around my head. I wish I was more of a fashion queen like Callie. My middle sister always looks fabulous—and mostly in clothes that would make other people look ridiculous. She can rock anything and doesn’t veer away from bold, wild choices. I do. I am safe. I am sweet. I dress like a Catholic schoolgirl—and not in that porn fantasy sort of way.

  Jessie walks by my open bedroom door and stops. “What are you doing?”

  “Trying to decide on a bathing suit to wear to the lake. Everything I own is lame.”

  She walks in and stands beside me, staring down into the drawer. She reaches in and picks up my blue-and-white gingham bikini and holds it up. “Wear this! You look adorable in it.”

  “I don’t want to look adorable,” I explain and roll my eyes.

  She drops it back into the drawer and fishes out my red tankini. I give her a stern look before she can say anything. “I might as well wear a turtleneck.”

  She laughs at that, drops the suit back into the drawer, walks across the room and sits on Callie’s bed. “What’s the big deal about what you look like?”

  I sigh. “I just… I guess I’m sick of my image. I want to change things up. Maybe I should cut my hair off.”

  “Whoa!” Jessie raises her hands. “Don’t be crazy. You have the most beautiful hair of all of us.”

  She’s so ridiculous. My hair is a bland almost-black shade and flat as a board. Hers is perma-tousled and a beautiful auburn that’s prettier than a sunset. I don’t bother to argue this point with Jessie because I know—I’ve known my whole life—she doesn’t see herself the way the world sees her. It’s probably a good thing. If she knew how stunning she was, she might be unbearable.

  Jessie claps her hands suddenly like she’s just had a brilliant idea, jumps off the bed and rummages around in Callie’s dresser. She pulls out a tiny black bikini with a silver band around the waist that ties on either side and silver string ties holding the two tiny black cups of the top together. I notice the tags are still on it.

  “She’s never worn it,” Jessie tells me. “She bought it for a photo shoot she was styling for a magazine but forgot to pack it when she went back to L.A.”

  I take the bikini from her and examine it. It’s the tiniest thing I have ever seen. I’m a little terrified of it, actually.

  “Is that image-changing enough?” Jessie asks with a smirk, like she’s calling my bluff.

  “I guess we’ll find out,” I whisper.

  “For the record, there is nothing wrong with your current image,” my sister tells me as she disappears into the hall, closing the door to my room behind her.

  I know she still thinks of me as sweet, innocent, romantic Rosie. I knew even before Callie joked about it on the phone that everybody sees me that way. But Callie was right, that Rosie isn’t getting what she wants out of life—so it’s time to mix it up. I put on the barely there bikini and stare at myself in the mirror as I tie the silver straps around my neck. The bottom is so low-cut it barely covers my butt and the tiny triangular top is subtly padded to make my small B-cup breasts look more like an ample C.

  I grab my cover-up from the desk chair and head into the hall. Coop is coming out of the master bedroom at that exact moment. He literally drops the hammer he’s holding when he sees me. I instantly turn completely red in the face.

  “Sorry!”

  He smiles. It’s devious, like he’s thinking dirty thoughts. About me.

  “Don’t ever apologize for looking like that,” he says in a deep growl of a whisper.

  Jordan comes up the stairs as I start to pull my cover-up on and stops at the sight of me. “Holy crap, Rosie!”

  “Shut up!” I shoot back, feeling my face flush deeper. I very awkwardly get the gauzy white cotton cover-up over my body.

  “Luc’s here,” Jordan tells me, shock still plastered over his face.

  I smile at Coop and basically run down the stairs, eager to get away from my embarrassment. Jessie is standing in the kitchen holding a coffee mug as I charge past her. Luc, sitting at the kitchen table, looks up and smiles. He’s wearing a fitted black T-shirt and his black-and-red swim shorts. His sunglasses are perched on his head, pushing his long hair back from his
handsome face.

  “Let’s go!” I say, grabbing the beach bag I packed earlier off the kitchen chair and pulling him out the door.

  Jessie follows us onto the porch and calls to Luc. “You have my permission to slug any guy who goes near her today! And that’ll be a lot of guys!”

  Luc gives me a confused stare. I just shrug. We hop into Claudette and fall into easy, casual conversation on the ten-minute drive to the lake.

  He turns toward our favorite part of the lake. At night the dead-end street that borders this part of Silver Bay Lake is a bit of a popular make-out place. In fact, Jordan’s mom, Donna, told me she and Wyatt had their first kiss there when they were young. During the day it was the smallest and least crowded shoreline of the entire lake.

  “So have you heard about the bachelor and bachelorette parties yet?” he asks me.

  “Heard what?”

  “Leah and Cole want a joint one,” he explains. “And get this—they want to have it in Atlantic City!”

  “Really? When?”

  “In two weeks,” Luc explains, his brown eyes bright with excitement. “You’re coming, right?”

  He parks by the curb across from a small park where toddlers are playing with their parents and a group of high schoolers are paying Ultimate Frisbee.

  I shrug and jump out of the truck. “I don’t know if I can get the time off.”

  “You’re coming, Rosie,” he repeats, and this time, he’s not asking.

  We walk through the grass and tall oaks until the ground turns to sand and Silver Bay Lake stretches out before us. It’s a beautiful sight, as always. Silver Bay Lake is enormous and this particular end makes for a picturesque view. You can see the cluster that is the main part of town directly across the large expanse of rippling, silvery water. Toward the east are rocky cliffs and hills peppered with vibrant evergreens and bushy maple trees that turn fiery colors in the fall. In the winter, it’s snowcapped and as beautiful as an Ansel Adams photograph. There’s something so romantic about our hometown, which is why I’ve always loved it. I watch the corners of Luc’s mouth tug up a little, like they always do when we hang out at the lake. He loves it as much as I do, which is why he chose to build his home on it.