by Meader, Kate
“You don’t know shit.”
“Sure. I don’t know anything.” He sounded like he knew everything, things Cal didn’t, and now Cal was even more pissed. Unfortunately he had no clever response at hand.
He headed into the bathroom and went about his business.
19
Cal passed the puck to Vadim, who easily took it and maneuvered it around the pipes. On the rebound, Cal slipped it into the pocket, right past Jorgenson.
Only practice, but Cal and Vad high-fived anyway. Or Cal offered—Vad stopped and leaned on his hockey stick.
“What’s got you in such a good mood?”
“Feeling fit, just scored a goal in practice, playin’ with my buddy for the first time in years … why not?”
“You are ridiculous.” But he smiled and returned the high-five in the end.
Sure Cal was being ridiculous. But after that night with Mia, now the most normal things felt extraordinary: food tasted better, the air smelled sweeter, and even a goal in practice gave him a bigger high.
The only damper on his good mood was that he’d not had a chance to talk to her since Boston. Right after, the Rebels had been on the road for five days, hitting Detroit and Nashville on their way back to Chicago. Two wins and a loss, four points on his board. He’d checked in with Mia by text but nothing more personal than good game and how’s Gordie Howe?
The puck slipped by him. He turned too quickly and stumbled, but even that couldn’t annoy him. He chuckled to himself like a fool.
Vadim skated over and held out his hand. “As I said, ridiculous.”
Gunnar Bond glided up as Cal pulled himself upright. “What’s ridiculous?”
“Foreman and his good mood. It is making me nervous.”
Bond tapped his stick on the ice three times. “You trying to jinx us, Foreman?”
“What we talkin’ about?” Theo stopped by to give his two cents.
“Apparently I’m throwing the team’s vibe out of alignment with my superior cheer and stellar attitude.”
“Must be getting laid,” Theo commented.
Someone snorted behind Cal. When he turned it was his least favorite person in the world: Reid Durand.
“Something on your mind?”
Durand merely shook his head and skated on.
“Fucker,” Cal muttered under his breath.
“Durand?” Bond stared after him then back at Cal. “He’s all right. A bit moody but who isn’t?”
“Except Foreman, apparently,” Theo said. “Guys who are getting laid play better. At least that’s what Harper says.”
Vadim chuckled. “I’m fairly certain my sister-in-law has said that men in love play better.”
A roar went up from the bench in the gentle tone of Coach Calhoun. “Are we playing hockey here or just being chit-chatty assholes?”
“Pretty loaded question, Coach!” Theo yelled back. “We’re obviously being chit-chatty assholes.”
Laughing, they split apart with Vadim following Cal back to center ice.
Vadim eyed Cal. “Is it true?”
“Is what true?”
“That you are getting laid?”
A chill slithered down his spine. He had once in the last week—okay, three times in one night because damn, this man’s sister had the sweetest curves a man was blessed to touch. But was he getting laid, present tense?
“Nope. My good mood doesn’t have to be related to regular sexual activity, Russian.”
Vadim shook his head and got back into formation, leaving Cal to breathe a sigh of relief, but not for long. A couple of minutes later, over at the bench, a deep voice spoke in his ear. “How do you think he’ll do it?”
Durand again. Cal should have known better, but he still took the bait. “Do what?”
“Perhaps he’ll waterboard you in the showers. Or slide a skate blade across your Achilles. Maybe colonoscopy-by-hockey-stick.”
“Stay out of my way, asshole.”
Cal skated away from Durand, who was doing a fairly good impression of his conscience these days. The man was right: Vadim would make his life a misery if he knew Cal had taken advantage of his baby sister.
A virgin.
Jesus, not good. Well, really good. Best sex of his life, but not good because of the peril it placed Cal in with his friend. A few years ago, he’d made a decision to keep something from Vadim, information that ensured their friendship would carry on untroubled. Yet here he was risking that same friendship for a woman who had made it clear he was not even her first choice.
Ten minutes later, practice was almost over, and a movement over by the bench caught his eye. Think of the temptress and she will appear. The yapping confirmed it.
Mia stood off to the side with Gordie Howe in her arms, waving at both of them.
“Mia’s here,” Cal said to Vadim, jerking a chin toward her.
Vadim skated over to her. Cal wanted to but figured he would not be able to school his expression around her, not since he now knew what it felt like to have her grip his cock and make him come harder than he’d have thought possible. He avoided Durand, knowing if he made eye contact he wouldn’t be able to hide a thing.
Vadim called him over.
“What’s up?” He pulled off his helmet and leaned on the bench wall.
Mia was looking at him, eyes bright, biting her lip. Christ on a Zamboni, he couldn’t stop staring back. It was just so good to see her.
“She got in,” Vadim said.
Cal was still staring at Mia because he couldn’t not stare at her. “You got in?” Awareness dawned. “Team USA? You got in?”
“I did!” The dog yelped in excitement, and Mia put him down so he could run around the bench.
Screw Durand and Vadim and the whole damn lot of them. Cal pushed Petrov aside and wrapped Mia in his arms. “You got in! Well, of course you did. You were a freakin’ lock but now everyone knows. So proud of you, Mia.”
She smiled at him, her tongue flicked to wet her lips, and there it was again—that carbonation in his blood, that elation in his chest.
You’re happy for her. That’s it. Nothing more.
No, idiot. You’re more than happy. You’re so much more than happy. You’re in trouble.
She was still in his arms, her hands laced around his neck, her breath sweet against his lips. Even with her parka and his padding, he could sense her curves and her heat.
They were this close to kissing in front of her brother.
He dropped her like a hot coal. “We should celebrate. Tonight, we should all go for a drink.”
She smiled at him, all glitter and glow. “That’d be great.”
Vadim divided a look between them, then asked, “What happens next?”
“I have to go for training camp in November and December, then we go hard at it in January.”
“And you will be picked up by a pro team. If not sooner,” Vadim said. “Where you are meant to be.”
Mia’s smile faltered, and while she quickly recovered, there was no missing that emotional stumble. “We’ll see. The new franchise will have its pick. There’s a lot of talent out there.”
“They won’t have my money if they aren’t willing to consider my sister.”
“You’re investing?” Cal asked.
“I am. But only if they agree to certain conditions.”
Mia pushed at her brother’s chest. “Vad, you can’t do that! Ever hear of nepotism?”
“How is it nepotism when my sister has made Team USA? Is that not the crème de la crème? Any of the franchises would be lucky to have you.”
Vadim was right. “Got the world at your skates, Wallace,” Cal murmured.
“Don’t you start.”
“What? Being supportive like your brother? Uh, okay. I’ll shut my trap.”
Mia laughed. “That’s right. Quiet, you.”
Which made him laugh, too, and now both of them were chuckling at each other like flirting fools.
Vadim shot a sharp
look at him, so Cal shut it down in time for Coach to call them back for practice. Cal caught Mia’s eye before he turned away and tried to convey with his hottest gaze that he was proud of her. Maybe more.
She mouthed something, and because he couldn’t work it out, he skated back over. “Yeah?”
Her big blue eyes were filled with excitement and something like trepidation. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you first. I wanted to but Isobel was there when I got the call. It came sooner than I expected, and I knew she’d tell Vadim, so I came here to head her off. I texted you, though. First thing.”
His heart was on fire. She cared that he would know before anyone else? Before her brother? He couldn’t wait to check that text, which was silly because he already knew what it said.
“Of course you should tell Vadim first.”
“Yeah, but—”
“Foreman, get your ass back in!” Coach bellowed.
He took a chance. “Listen, can you come over to my place for lunch?”
She grinned. “Make me a celebratory sandwich?”
“If you’re good.”
She bit down on her lip. “What if I’m bad?”
His cock thickened. “Foreman!”
“I’ll text you when I’m leaving here.” Without waiting for her reply, he headed back to the center ice, his pulse rate thundering to the rink roof.
Vadim skated up to him. “What did Mia want?”
For the second time today, Cal lied to his friend. “Just thanking me for helping with her training.”
“Yes, thanks for doing that. I bet you’ll be glad not to have to hang out with a kid anymore.”
“She’s not a kid, Vad.”
“That’s where you’re wrong. She’ll always be my kid sister.” Vadim moved past him, brushing his shoulder with a little more force than usual.
Message received.
* * *
Mia was floating on air—and getting a spot on Team USA was only part of it.
She really should not be so excited to be heading to Cal Foreman’s place for a sandwich. Aiming for discretion, she had parked her car around the corner and was currently talking it out with her best friend.
“I know, it’s kind of crazy, isn’t it? I should not be this pumped.” Gordie Howe trotted alongside her, listening closely and valiantly keeping up with her long stride.
The minute Mia finished that call from Coach Lindhoff, the only person she wanted to tell was Cal. The only person she wanted to celebrate with was Cal.
“Don’t look at me like that, Gordie Howe! Of course, I’d tell you first. But he was the first human I wanted to share it with. Why do you think that is?”
He yelped.
Mia lowered her voice. “What do you mean I haven’t thought about Tommy in days?”
The little bundle of fur was right. Since that night over a week ago in Biddeford, her mind had been filled with Cal, Cal, and more Cal. So much so that she’d tried to keep it cool with “yo, bro” texts and nothing deep while he was on the road with the Rebels.
But that scorcher of a look he’d given her at the rink, the one that said he was proud of her and maybe that he wanted her and missed her and … she was, getting ahead of herself. Cal Foreman made her stomach swoop and her heart sing. But how was that different from the hormonal excitement of in-the-moment attraction? She hadn’t thought much of Tommy, her future, merely because Cal was very much her present.
A hockey player? That’s not what we agreed upon.
But he’s good in bed. Or she assumed he was. She didn’t have any frame of reference beyond a few awkward fumbles with He Who Shall Not be Named. With Cal, she had certainly felt good, but there was more to relationships than sex. More than base urges.
Base urges got her into trouble in the first place. Thinking with her vagina had landed her in that mess with the Fabiens. She didn’t want to be there again.
You won’t have to be. Cal Foreman wasn’t interested in her—not really. He just wasn’t used to being solo and she was on hand, with a ready set of hands and an excuse for him to break that self-imposed celibacy. They were merely helping each other out.
For a long time she’d been planning her future: getting back into hockey, finding a man who wouldn’t let her down, starting the life that had been put on hold. Cal was Mr. Right Here, nothing more.
Satisfied she had a grip on the reins, she headed into Foreman’s building and stopped at the front desk. The doorman smiled at her.
“Miss Wallace! Mr. Foreman told me to send you right up.” As she walked away, he said, “Congrats on making Team USA.”
“How did you know that?”
He frowned, maybe worried he’d spoken out of place. “Mr. Foreman told me. Is it a secret?”
There was that warm feeling again, like her lungs and heart were ready to come apart.
“No, not at all. I’m sorry, what’s your name again?”
“Henry, Miss Wallace.”
“Thanks, Henry.” With an awkward wave, she stepped into the elevator.
She wasn’t sure why she was analyzing every little thing. Getting on the team, achieving her goal, should have made her happy. But she couldn’t trust it. Not that it had come too easily, but because she had worked so hard. Now she was waiting for the other skate to drop.
That skate had Cal’s name on it.
Somehow she had twisted her goals up with her feelings for Foreman. Her professional trajectory was on the upswing and now it was giving her hope that maybe she wasn’t such a loser in her personal life after all. That maybe she was attractive, had something to offer, was worthy of a nice guy’s attention.
This was dangerous. Cal Foreman was merely a stepping stone toward the next mile marker: Tommy. It would be wise to remember that.
On exiting the elevator, her phone rang with an unknown number. Usually she’d ignore a call like that, but Coach Lindhoff had said someone from Team USA would be in touch about training camp.
“Hello.”
“Mia, it’s Selena Fabien.”
Her heart sank. “Oh. Hello.”
“I heard you made the team. Congratulations! I’m very pleased for you.”
Are you? “Thanks. That’s kind of you to call.”
“Lindy and I go way back. He really appreciated hearing from me that you were getting serious again about your hockey career. I know you didn’t ask for a reference but it never hurts to know people.”
Mia’s mouth went dry. Was the woman helping or making a threat? Just like with Foreman, her instincts were completely out of whack. She could no longer tell if she was being gaslit.
“Thanks for”—Not ruining my life again?—“talking to him. I appreciate that, but I’m hoping he picked me for my talent.”
“Of course he did! You are an amazing player and the team will be better for your inclusion. I know we haven’t always gotten along, but I wanted to put all that mess behind us. Drew’s doing well. You’re doing well. We’ve all learned something and now we can move on.”
“Um, yes, well I have to go. Thanks for calling.” She hung up, her hand shaking. That’s why her blood was bubbling and her nerves were on high alert. That skate about to drop wasn’t Foreman, but the ghost from her past that refused to leave her be.
Selena Fabien would never let her forget the hold she had over her.
20
“You okay?”
Mia looked up from her phone. Cal was standing at his door, hands on hips, watching her closely.
“Fine! I—” She waved the phone. “Someone congratulating me. Again.” She tried to smile. Faking it through the afternoon with Cal would be impossible. He had a knack for seeing right through to the very heart of her.
Like now. The way he was looking at her was unnerving, to say the least. She walked toward him, her hand wrapped around Gordie Howe’s leash, and stopped a few inches short. Perhaps she should take a rain check.
“C’mere,” he murmured, low and husky.
Before she c
ould spend another nanosecond of worry on her problems, she was in his arms and he was kissing her stupid.
This. This was what she needed.
He nuzzled her nose. “I wanted to do that the second I heard. The second I saw you. Even before then, the millisecond I heard Gordie Howe’s yap. Because that meant you were back.”
“Back?”
“In my orbit. Where you belong.”
She smiled against his mouth. “My dog’s bark has you conditioned to want to kiss me?”
“Petrov’s sister’s dog. Pavlovian or something like that.”
She laughed, immediately feeling better. Sometime during the kiss, she’d dropped her dog’s leash and he’d trotted into Cal’s place to make himself at home.
Cal said, “Let’s eat.”
“You were serious about the sandwich?” Because she wouldn’t mind a bout of mindless, take-her-brain-off-her-problems sex right now. People did that, she heard.
“Well, yeah. What did you—oh. Right.” He smiled, but there was something off about it. Derp! He didn’t want to be with her. Not in that way.
“You’d rather we didn’t …” She trailed off.
“Never say that again.”
“What?”
“Of course I want you. I thought you’d like to have lunch first and then I’d ravish you post-sandwich. You’re a lusty competitor between the sheets and I need fuel.”
Laughing, she stepped inside and got the shock of her life. The blinds were drawn, the room illuminated by subtle lamplight and a candle on a set table with sandwiches and … oh my … champagne flutes.
“I have Coke or Prosecco to accompany our sandwiches.” He circled her waist from behind and leaned a chin on her shoulder. “It’s the best I could do on short notice.”
She closed her eyes, relieved he couldn’t see her expression of absolute longing. Her heart lifted, a purely Cal Foreman inspired move. How did he make her feel a million times better?
This was Cal, the nicest guy in pro sports. He was kind to animals, ex-girlfriends, the homeless (probably), his parents, and now his student. She couldn’t let herself get caught up in his web of decency.
