Foreplayer: A Rookie Rebels Novel

by Meader, Kate

  5

  “Mia W?” The pixie barista with pink streaked-blond hair peeking out from her baseball cap held up Mia’s Venti Iced Latte and placed it on the counter.

  Mia thanked the goddess, the woman in front of her. “You are a lifesaver.”

  “I hear it every day.” The barista grinned. Her nametag said “Kennedy.” “Your cute dog not with you?”

  Usually Mia brought Gordie Howe and used the walk-up window to order. “Not today. He’s hanging with my brother who needs the company.”

  “Aw, that’s sweet. You sound like a good sister.”

  “I try.”

  “So I walk dogs when I’m not slinging espresso.” Kennedy cast a furtive glance over her shoulder in case her bosses were watching, Mia assumed. “If you ever need extra help.”

  “Oh, good to know.” Smiling her thanks, Mia headed to the condiments station to doctor it up. A little cinnamon, a third of a Splenda, and she was ready for infusion.

  “Yoo hoo!”

  She raised the straw to her lips.

  “Hellooo!”

  Mia turned, looked down, and met the huge, bright smile of someone familiar. The bouquet woman, Foreman’s girlfriend. She looked oddly pleased to see Mia, so maybe she’d mistaken her for someone else. Poor thing.

  “Oh, hi.”

  “The wedding? We fought over the bouquet?”

  So much for that theory. “I wouldn’t say fought. I did offer it to you.”

  The woman grabbed a packet of raw sugar, tore it open, dumped it in her coffee, and carried on. “Oh, I know. Water under the highway. I’m Tara. Tara Becker. You’re Mia, right? Vadim Petrov’s sister? It was a beautiful wedding, wasn’t it? I mean, it didn’t go so well for me, but it wasn’t my day. It was Jordan’s and she looked lovely. Though I probably would have gone with something more ivory-toned on the dress with that freckled complexion. Still, she managed to pull it off.” Another raw sugar packet was ripped to shreds. “As for Cal, I could’ve killed him, but a man like that—impossible! You know Cal?”

  “Not that well. He’s a friend of my brother’s.”

  She clutched her chest. “What a dreamboat! Those cheekbones are to die for. Your brother’s, not Cal’s. He has other qualities, if you know what I mean. Pity your brother’s not single but I’m guessing he’s happy?” Another packet of raw, a barely-drawn breath. “Is he?”

  “Vadim? Oh, yeah. He and Isobel are made for each other. Back to their teens.”

  Tara sighed. “Such an unlikely pair but then it takes all sorts, doesn’t it?”

  So Isobel was more athletic than bombshell and Vadim was paid to model on runways—literally. It wasn’t the first time people had hinted at some disparity between them.

  Feeling prickly, Mia spoke up. “I don’t know about unlikely. He’s crazy about her.” All true. Vadim would die for Isobel and had expressed this sentiment on more than one melodramatic occasion.

  Tara’s big green eyes went round. “I didn’t mean to imply he wasn’t. In fact, it gives us all hope, doesn’t it? That we can make the leap and snag that guy we have our eye on.”

  “I’m sorry about Cal. He behaved pretty awfully to you at the wedding.”

  “Oh, I’m over it! Though I was mega mad at him after that “Am I the Dick” post laid it all out there, about how he was manipulating me into dumping him? Did you hear about that? Who’s so afraid of conflict that he’ll pull a stunt like that? Ridiculous!”

  Mia agreed, though she understood not wanting to hurt people’s feelings or looking for the least painful route out of a situation. She had been there.

  Drat! The last thing she needed was to feel a shred of empathy for Cal Foreman just because his ass looked good in jeans and he made a decent balsamic vinaigrette.

  “Maybe he wants people to like him.”

  “Probably. You know he’s on best terms with all his exes? None of them have a bad word to say about him. I checked!”

  “You did?”

  She stirred her coffee vigorously. “Oh yeah. I always do background checks on the guys I date and that includes figuring out how they exited their previous relationships. Says a lot about a guy, don’t you think?”

  Mia didn’t have enough experience to comment.

  “Anyway, life’s too short and Cal really is a lovely fella.” She threw away her stirrer. “Already have my eye on someone else. ABM!”

  “ABM?”

  “Always be making moves!” That was ABMM, but it didn’t exactly trip off the tongue either. “So what can you tell me about Reid Durand?”

  Mia blinked at the whip-quick change, not just of topic but of romantic focus. “You’ve got your eye on Reid?”

  “He wasn’t at the wedding, but I heard he’ll be at training camp. Do you know him?”

  “Vaguely. People think he’s kind of a dick, but I don’t see it.” Reid Durand was a recent acquisition for the Rebels forward line. He had always been nice to her any time she ran across him despite his reputation for making trouble on the ice, usually with insults to a player’s mother. Classic. “I think maybe he’s just sick of the Canadian stereotype of niceness, so he plays against it.”

  Tara looked dreamy. “He has great shoulders.”

  That made Mia laugh. This girl was quite the tonic. “I can’t believe you’re so cool about Foreman. You seemed so upset at the wedding.” She realized now that she had included Tara in the prank without her permission and that might have hurt her. Badly done, Mia.

  “Look, I’ll let you into a little secret.” Tara flicked a glance left, then right before moving in closer. “I really want to be a WAG.”

  “A WAG?”

  “A wife and/or girlfriend.”

  “I know what it means. But … do you mean you’re not fussy about who you honor with your WAG blessing?”

  “Exactly!” Tara laughed her head off as if this was perfectly normal. “Sure, Cal’s nice, but he does read a lot. Once, I woke up in the middle of the night and he had his nose buried in a book as thick as a toaster!”

  Mia wasn’t sure which shocked her more: Tara’s unvarnished ambition to be married to any NHL star or the revelation that Cal Foreman liked to read doorstoppers.

  “You would have married him if he asked you?”

  “But he didn’t and now I’ll be a bit more careful about the next one. I don’t see Erik Jorgenson in the tabloids much. Is he gay?”

  “I don’t think so. But anything’s possible.”

  “It is! Oh, God, listen to me yammering on!” Tara poked a finger in Mia’s shoulder. “I saw you. With him.”

  Did she think that Mia and Jorgenson had something going on? “No, not at all. I hardly know him.”

  “But you want to. I saw the two of you chatting at the wedding. He’s quite the catch in that sharp suit. Love a man in a sharp suit. And he probably wears cuff links as well because he’s all class. Those sports agents always are. Jerry Maguire, as I live and breathe. You had me at hockey.”

  “You mean Tommy Gordon?” Her voice was pitched far too high. How had Tara picked up on this? And if she had, who else knew? “We were talking about the possibility of representation.” She still hadn’t summoned up the courage to call him because she needed to enter the rink with a better strategy.

  “Yeah, but I saw how you looked at him when he walked away. That was longing, girl. I know that look. You’ve got a thing for him!”

  Mia shrunk her shoulders inward. “He reps Vadim, actually, so that’s the extent of our relationship.”

  “But you want more?” Tara took a sip of her coffee, made a face, and grinned broadly. “You and I should have a little chat.”

  * * *

  Tara was all right.

  Definitely a case of never judge a book by its cover. So the woman talked non-stop, looked like she and the ’tox were besties, and was prone to bouquet-zilla meltdowns at weddings.

  But other than that, Tara was pretty decent.

  “I thought Cal moving to Chic
ago to play for the Rebels would take us to the next level, y’know?”

  Mia nodded, not really caring to hear all the ins and outs of Tara’s failed relationship with Cal Foreman. Apparently four months ago, they’d met at a bar in Chicago after a game when Foreman still played for the Quebec Royals. (They speak French up there, did you know that?)

  Mia’s guilt made her gabby. “I heard he accused you of posting that thing online.”

  Tara scoffed. “I only wish I’d thought of it. If I knew who did it, I’d buy them a drink.”

  “Or a coffee.”

  Tara did a cartoon double take and shrieked, causing several people to turn their heads in alarm. “Get out! Of course. Who else would it be?”

  Mia lowered her voice. “I didn’t mean for it to be so obvious. I should have made the names more vague but a couple of the players picked up on it right away and now he’s getting shit for it. Mostly I’m sorry that he accused you of something I did.”

  Tara was chuckling. “Are you kidding? I don’t care about that. I only wish I’d figured out what he was up to while he was doing it. I should have suspected his commitment issues when I found out he was engaged once and she dumped him. That’s the only one I don’t know the whole story on.”

  Mia had heard something about that, but details were scant. Neither did she want to be a gossip—or an obvious one. Thankfully, Tara moved on.

  “So tell me all about your guy.”

  “He’s not my guy,” Mia said glumly. “He doesn’t even know I exist.”

  “That’s defeatist talk! Do you think I gave up when Cal didn’t call me the minute he moved to Chicago? No, I hung out at the coffee shop near where he lives and accidentally ran into him.”

  Oh dear. “You stalked him.”

  “No, merely going after what I want. Some guys need a little push. So he wasn’t the one for me, but that’s okay! We live and learn.”

  Remarkably sane attitude from the stalker. “I’m not even sure Tommy’s the one for me. He’s kind of classy and I’m, well, not.”

  “Nonsense! You’re really tall. Like supermodel tall.” She reached over and pulled on Mia’s pony tail. “What kind of conditioner do you use? I can recommend something. Why do you assume this can’t be done?”

  “Well, there’s a charity gala in November and I was thinking I’d like to make my move then? But that’s the problem. I have no moves. I haven’t dated much and all the guys I’ve been with are idiot jocks with college-quality boners.” She wanted a man, not a boy. Someone who took her seriously, who would have her back and treat her like his world. “I don’t know how to woo someone like Tommy. I don’t suppose—” She broke off, embarrassed.

  Tara was smart enough to pick up on the vibe. “Sure I could give you advice, but to be honest, you’d be better off talking with someone of the penis persuasion.” Her face brightened. “You know who would be really good at telling you what guys like?”

  Mia didn’t like the sound of this. They had one person in common and—

  “Cal!” A few people looked over. Tara whispered, “Foreman.” As if there was room for doubt. “For all his faults, he’s pretty good at telling a woman what works for him.”

  “Sounds selfish.”

  Tara’s expression turned dreamy. It did that a lot. “Not at all. There’s something about a guy giving very specific instructions, who knows exactly what he wants. That can be a real turn on, and Cal knows exactly what to do to return the favor. I can advise, but he would be better. Like the Karate Kid teacher. Wax on, get off!”

  Ask Cal Foreman to give her seduction tips? No, thank you.

  Now all she could see was Mr. Miyagi telling her how to get it done.

  “Couldn’t you give me some hints? What’s the latest thinking on, say, blowjobs?”

  Tara giggled. “You want to do market research on the male psyche, you have to get into the mind of one.”

  The mind of a hockey player, though? Sounded like a hellscape. “My brother wants me to train with Foreman. I’m trying to get on the Olympic team.”

  “That’s perfect! While you’re getting instruction on your slapshot, slip in a quickie query about anal.”

  “Tara!”

  They both burst out laughing. Mia couldn’t recall having this much fun in forever. She’d had a hard time trusting people over the last couple of years, and since her college days ended in ignominy, she hadn’t maintained close friendships with her former teammates.

  “You’re outrageous.”

  “And I get a lot of dates. Listen, I’m serious. Cal’s such a nice guy, he would totally tell you what’s what.”

  “But you just broke up with him. Wouldn’t that be weird?” Mia couldn’t believe she was even entertaining this kooky idea.

  “Would I feel weird about you asking my ex for sex tips so you can seduce another man?” She made an exaggerated motion with her hands. “Uh, I might have very decided thoughts about wedding bouquets but I’m not a complete loon.”

  6

  Mia was an amazing skater. Cal had known this, but when you don’t skate with women much—or at all—it wasn’t always immediately obvious. For three days solid, he’d put her through her paces, but really, she was making him work to keep up with her.

  On day one he had told her to show up at the practice rink at six a.m. Security said she’d arrived at five.

  On day two they had worked sprints and drills until they were exhausted. Or he assumed they both were. He had to call it because he was gasping out there. More gym time needed on his schedule, for sure.

  Now on day three, they had finished face off practices and checking challenges. She accused him of going easy on her because she was a girl. Slamming two hundred pounds of muscle into a woman’s body while neither of them were naked wasn’t his idea of fun, so she might have something there.

  He trailed her to the bench, watching as she pulled off her helmet and grabbed her water bottle. Her hair was every which way, and he resisted the urge to do something about that. Something he might not be able to come back from.

  What the hell was wrong with him? He should be mad at her after that online stunt, and he wondered why he wasn’t.

  Because you deserved it.

  “What’s wrong?”

  He looked up to find her staring at him, curiosity in those deep blue eyes.

  “Nothing.”

  “You look like you’re mad at something. It’s ’cause I kicked your ass out there, right?”

  He dug up a smile. “Yeah, that last move ticked me off somethin’ terrible.”

  “Knew it.”

  His phone buzzed in his pants and he took it out. It was from his mom.

  What’s this I hear about you breaking up with someone at a wedding? Again?

  Jesus. Like the woman who was on Husband No. 3 could talk. This was not the same as Bethany.

  “I like that ring tone. What is it?”

  “It’s from Back to the Future.” At her blank look, he said, “Time travel. Marty McFly. Great Scott!”

  “Oh, I know it. You’re a fan.”

  “Yeah, I’m a fan of the greatest trilogy ever made.”

  Her lips twitched. “The greatest trilogy? Better than Star Wars, Lord of the Rings, Indiana Jones?” She held up a finger. “We don’t count the Hobbit movies or that Crystal Skull junk.”

  “Yes, Back to the Future is the greatest. Star Wars can take a hyperspace leap into an asteroid belt.”

  She grinned and Great Scott! His heart flipped. “Foreman’s a movie buff. I dig it. So what call or text did you get that pissed you off?”

  Tenacious, this girl. He put the phone back in his pocket, then waited a beat. “This “Am I the Dick” thing. People have made the connection.”

  Her eyes went as wide as pucks. She grasped his arm, and he had to say, it was not unpleasant. “How would they know that was you?”

  “We’re talking about the gabbiest sons of bitches in pro sports. Have you spent any time with this l
ot? They love to gossip and they especially love anything that makes a teammate look like an idiot.”

  “That’s not fair. You didn’t write it, so it doesn’t seem right you should suffer for it.”

  “Whoever wrote it obviously doesn’t feel that way. Whoever wrote it thinks I deserve everything that’s been said about me.” This was so much fun that he decided to raise the stakes. “Harper Chase called me.”

  “No!” She grabbed his arm again. This tactile way of hers was kind of nice. You’re going to hell, Foreman. “What did she want?”

  “To ask if I needed to talk to a counselor about my issues with women.”

  The Rebels CEO had called but only to one, verify it was about him and two, laugh her head off.

  Mia looked appropriately forlorn. “Foreman, I need to tell you something.”

  Here it comes. He wasn’t sure he wanted it done, but at the same time, he didn’t like knowing she thought badly enough of him to craft a prank like that. If anything, he needed to understand her motivation.

  “You do?”

  “Yeah, I … well …” Finally came a very small, “It was me.”

  “What was you?”

  “The post. I wrote it.” Her obvious anguish almost made him feel bad, then he remembered he was the victim here.

  “You wrote it? I—I can’t believe it.” Rubbing his mouth, he shook his head in feigned shock. He stood and gripped the player gate, his back to her to hide the smile on his face.

  “I was mad at you, Foreman, and—oh, God, I had no idea it would take off like this.”

  Ah, hell, he couldn’t keep it going any longer. He turned to face her. “I know.”

  She frowned. “You know what?”

  “I know you wrote it.”

  Her cheeks went red. “How—but how do you know? When did you know?”

  “I figured it out when I was over at your place for lunch.”

  “But—but that was almost a week ago!” She shot up, hands on hips, fire in her eyes. “You’ve known all this time and didn’t say anything?”

  “Sure did. I didn’t think you’d want Vadim to know you were behind it. He’s pretty black-and-white about stuff. Not a lot of gray in his world.”