The Devil You Know: Devington Devils Hockey Romance

by Daphne Slade

  “What’s that?” I retort, snapping my head around to face her.

  “He has it bad for you, honey chile.”

  “Oh please. This?” I say, lifting the box. “Was just his idea of a joke. He loves getting under my skin.”

  “Exactly. He might as well be tugging on your pigtails.”

  “What are we, in kindergarten?”

  “Isn’t that where you first learn to play doctor?” She muses, one finger to her cheek as she considers that.

  I elbow her and laugh. “You know what, I’m going to bed. Classes begin tomorrow and this is not how I need to start the school year off.”

  “FYI, in the morning, I’ll be interrogating you on what it looks like when you put it on,” she says as I rise up and carry the box with me to my room.

  “You’ll be disappointed,” I sing as I enter my bedroom and close the door.

  I lean against the door and breathe out one long, slow breath. My eyes fall to the Agent Provocateur box and I frown.

  “Mood enhancer,” I scoff, then place it on top of my dresser.

  I stare at it a long moment, wondering if I should try it on, just to see what it looks like. I quickly shake that thought away. School officially starts tomorrow, and the last thing I need to do is play smutty, pretend dress-up all night.

  A reluctant hitch forces the side of my mouth up at that thought.

  “Noah, you ass,” I mutter, feeling the smile grow wider.

  I’ll have to make sure to set up some firm boundaries from now on. If Matt knew about this he’d—

  He’d what?

  He’d get jealous, that’s what. Maybe even go ballistic.

  And wouldn’t it be nice to have a man fight for me like that?

  Maybe Noah has a point after all.

  I unzip my dress to change for bed, for once feeling a sliver of hope about all of this. After changing into my sleeping tank top and pajama shorts I pad over to my short bookshelf overflowing with books.

  My fingers slide along the well-worn spines of favorites I’ve held onto, longing to re-immerse myself into them. So many books to read, and so little time. All the more reason to devour the ones I haven’t read yet. I know it will only get worse when I’m in medical school, and after that, doubly so during residency. Considering my mom’s busy schedule I may never have this much free time again. I might as well dig further into the latest fantasy romance series by my favorite author.

  It’s a juicy little thing, complete with fairies, magic, and a love triangle. The irony isn’t lost on me, all the more so because I find myself leaning toward the guy who has already done despicable things. Every reader knows who the heroine is supposed to end up with.

  So why do we always root for the bad boys?

  Chapter Eleven

  Noah

  Sleep was obviously out of the question. Not a good thing since hockey practice begins at five, yes, even on the first day of classes. Not a problem for me, since I’m happy to take any opportunity to get into my skates.

  So long as the same distractions that kept me up all night don’t interfere during practice.

  If I wasn’t imagining Grace in the gift I sent her from Agent Provocateur, I was revisiting snippets from our time at the bar. Honestly, her in that black dress does more for my libido than any lingerie could.

  Then there was the kiss.

  She felt and tasted exactly like I always imagined she would.

  And I want more.

  So much more.

  The phone next to my bed rings to life, snapping me out of my sordid thoughts. It’s only four in the morning, but still, a smile comes to my face at the intrusion. My arm whips out to grab it before another loud trill fills my apartment.

  I press the button to enter FaceTime.

  “Happy first day of school!”

  I laugh and grin into the phone. “Hey Mom, Dad.”

  The two of them are in their bedroom, both still in their pajamas, being that it’s only three a.m. in Milwaukee. I feel a tightness seize me as I scrutinize my mother. She has a colorful headscarf on, which I know she’s worn for my sake.

  I took the cancer announcement hard, mostly because they kept it from me until I returned home for the summer, not wanting to interfere with my concentration on hockey or school. The chemotherapy lasted most of the summer and she’s going through radiation now.

  “We didn’t wake you did we, Noah?”

  “Nonsense, Bets,” Dad says. “He’s got practice in an hour, all the better to get some coffee in before he has to head down to the ice.”

  “I’m wide awake,” I assure them.

  And how.

  “Good,” Mom says with a smile. “Because you know we had to keep up with tradition. You’re our baby boy and this is the last time we’ll get to do this!”

  A bittersweet smile comes to my face at how that could have been interpreted, particularly if the chemo hadn’t worked for Mom’s breast cancer.

  Fortunately, it’s in remission.

  I’m the youngest, and this is my last year of school. My parents have done the First Day of Class photo thing for my three older sisters and me every year starting in kindergarten, yes, all the way through college. As soon as I hang up, I’ll be sending a selfie.

  I won’t be sorry to see this tradition end, but if it meant mom making it out of this cancer-free, I’d do it every day for the rest of my life.

  “Just to remind you, we did it right through senior year with all your sisters too—all the way through grad school with Amanda,” she says.

  “I know, I know,” I say feigning exasperation.

  “And when you finally get picked up by the Chicago Blackhawks or the Minnesota Wild we’ll be calling you on that first day too,” Dad says, giving me a knowing grin.

  “I thought we agreed on Tampa Bay Lightning,” I say with a look of mock confusion on my face.

  “We’ll be proud of you wherever you end up!” Mom says before Dad falls for my teasing. “Though it would be nice to have you close to home,” she makes sure to point out.

  “Alright, alright, we’ll let you get on with going to practice, then class,” Dad says in a gruff voice. I know for a fact, he’s stated it in order of importance, at least for him. He was the one to push me through that mid-point ambivalence that afflicts so many promising hopefuls when they think about quitting. After that, it wasn’t long before I was driving myself harder than he was.

  Mom is the one who put a heavy emphasis on school and grades. Dad is a mechanic who only went to technical school, and mom had only finished two years of college before becoming pregnant with my oldest sister and dropping out. She wanted all her kids to complete what she couldn’t and was thrilled when I landed at Devington, which ranks even higher in academics than it does hockey.

  “Okay, thanks for calling. And keep me updated on anything,” I add, making sure they both see the meaning behind that in my expression. No more keeping me in the dark for my own good.

  “We will, Noah. Good luck in your classes and with hockey.”

  We say our final goodbyes and close out of FaceTime. I rest the phone on my bare chest and stare at the ceiling.

  The good news is, that bit of family tradition was enough to snap me out of my thoughts about Grace. Now, I feel the adrenaline start to seep in, motivating me to get into that zone where my focus is purely hockey.

  With one deep breath, I sit up and swing my legs over the edge of the bed.

  The Ice Breaker Tournament, which starts in a couple of weeks, kicks off the hockey season with the four top-ranked Division I teams playing against each other. The fact that Devington made it this year bodes well both for the season and the future career of the handful of us who hope to go pro as a free agent after graduation. This hockey season is probably the most important of my future career, the one that makes or breaks my chances as a professional player when I graduate.

  Not even Grace can distract me from that.

  Chapter Twelve
/>   Noah

  Coach’s whistle blows again.

  Through the heavy gasps of air, I can hear the collective groan of my teammates as we do another run across the ice. I’ve been training all summer, but even I feel the muscles in my thighs and calves begin to protest.

  “I don’t want to hear it!” Coach Egler shouts before blowing the whistle again to send us right back across the rink. “If this is the best you’ve got when we start the season, you might as well get off my ice right now!”

  I’m one of the few that plans on going pro after graduation, but that doesn’t mean the rest don’t play their heart out. It’s the nature of competitive sports, you can’t help but be in it to win. Still, there’s nothing like a hardass coach to whip you out of your summer slouch and right back into winning shape.

  “Alright,” Egler finally says, giving us a break. “Go on and get to class.”

  It’s like a ripple effect, some of the team actually dropping their sticks and falling flat on the ice for a breather. I lean against the boards, my stick settled next to me, and remove my helmet. Every drill we do, we’re completely geared up which prepares us for the real thing.

  Evan Huntington, my left wing, falls back next to me. He removes his helmet and gloves, dropping both on the ice as he catches his breath. His light brown hair is darkened with sweat, plastered to his forehead. He wicks it away with one hand.

  “Man, I thought having complete access to the rink this summer would prepare me. I forgot what a tyrant he is.”

  “So, has your dad finally caved on you wanting to go pro?” I ask. Evan’s parents and step-parents are a perfect example of who’s-who when it comes to elite circles, complete with all the trappings of wealth and power that accompany it.

  “He still thinks this is a hobby,” he says with a bitter set to his mouth. “It was hard enough getting Mom on board so I could at least have an advisor.”

  I chuckle and shake my head. “You planning on surprising him with it? Last year you said he pretty much had your future mapped out.”

  “That’s like asking me to reason with a pack of weasels. He and my step-mom have a way of twisting everything so that, before you know it, you’ve basically signed away your firstborn.”

  “Weasels. Interesting analogy.”

  “Don’t let the bespoke suits and Testoni shoes fool you. Underneath, they’re all teeth and claws.”

  “Bespoke? Testoni? I didn’t realize the one percent had their own language.”

  He punches me in the arm and I laugh.

  Once we’ve recovered enough from practice, we join the others to head back to the locker room to shower and change.

  I’ve just pulled on my clean shirt when I feel a hand clap me on the shoulder.

  “So, Noah, any luck with Grace, or have you given up the challenge yet?” I know Matt is joking, mostly at my expense, but the way he so casually objectifies her has my fists curling. He’s also made a point of saying it loud enough for anyone in the locker room to hear.

  Despite what I told Grace, I would be surprised if news of last night’s kiss had gotten back to Matt. It was dark and there were only a few students around. Still, I don’t want to say anything that might have him reconsidering and running back to her while she’s still blinded by his light.

  I spin around with a cocky grin on my face. “Actually, I was planning on asking her out this Friday.”

  His smile falters, wondering if I’m joking around. We’ve also caught the attention of a few of our nearby teammates, which is his own damn fault.

  Still, the look on his face tells me this might just be trouble.

  The last thing I need is for him to start any kind of shit on my account before the season has even begun. The team captain is supposed to lead and, more importantly, maintain morale.

  But he also needs to earn respect.

  “What do you think my chances are?” I ask, feigning overt seriousness, bringing some levity to the situation. Anyone who has seen Grace and me in the same room, and that’s most of the team, would know she has always put me at the same level as a wad of used gum stuck to her shoe.

  Matt’s smile softens again and he laughs. “If I had a thousand to drop in Vegas, I’d take those odds.”

  Once again, I’m asking myself the same question Grace should have been asking herself this summer: What did she ever see in this guy?

  Everyone thinks Matt and I are best friends, and I suppose we are close enough by default. We both come from Milwaukee but completely different sides of the track, so to speak. We only knew each other because we played junior league hockey. He was a familiar face the first day of practice here at Devington so we naturally gravitated toward one another. Being teammates made the connection all the more inevitable. The label has pretty much stuck since then, even though I definitely get along better with at least a few other teammates, like Evan.

  When he got involved with Grace I was able to blow it off at first, especially when I found out just how many other fish there were in this quasi-Ivy League sea. But watching the two of them grow closer only made me want her more.

  What made it worse was that she, for some inexplicable reason, hated my guts.

  “You know what, Matt?” I say, clapping him on the shoulder the way he did mine. “When it blows up in my face, feel free to say, I told you so.”

  That lessens the tension in the locker room enough for everyone else to chuckle to themselves and finish getting dressed.

  Matt laughs as well, now visibly relaxed with reassurance. “You aren’t seriously interested in her, are you? Not after all this time and with all the girls you’ve been with?”

  I drop my hand away and lean back against my locker door, closing it. “Are you serious about this break? You have to know she would have options.”

  “That doesn’t answer my question,” he asks, his eyes narrowing with suspicion.

  By now most of the team has left so there are few of them around to hear us.

  “How’s it going with the girl from the bar the other night? You two hit it off?”

  He coughs out a laugh and shakes his head with disbelief. “I should have known it. You’ve always had a thing for Grace, the one thing that was all mine. I’ll bet you were chomping at the bit for this to happen, weren’t you?”

  “I just enjoy a challenge, you know that. But hey, if you’re worried, just say the word and I’ll back off.” I dare him with just the look in my eyes. Inside, my gut is walking a narrow tightrope, just waiting to fall if he should prove smart enough not to take the bait.

  “The thing is, Noah,” he says, taking a step closer, “I could have her back today if I wanted. Next week? Next month? Hell, I could probably wait until the end of the semester and she’d still come crawling back to me.”

  “Well then, I guess you have nothing to worry about,” I say with a hard edge to my voice.

  He laughs softly, then speaks up louder so those who are left can hear. “Go for it, Noah. It will make it that much more worth it when we’re back together.”

  I don’t respond to that. If I push him too far, this could blow up in my face.

  That kiss last night sparked something in Grace. I felt it the moment my lips touched hers. A spark is all I need.

  Because when I go hard, I win.

  As the rest of the team heads out, Cole Novick remains behind, sitting on one of the benches staring at me in that silent way he has about him. He’s one of the more introspective players. The guy has a way of communicating about a million different things just from one look with those calm gray eyes.

  “I know,” I say with a sigh.

  His eyes dart to the side to make sure we really are alone.

  “Look, unlike the rest of these troglodytes, I know you’ve had a thing for Grace since day one, and not just because she’s with Matt.” I know he uses the term for our teammates in an affectionate way. He’s picked up the nickname “Steinbeck,” because he always spends his free time reading. “Knowi
ng Matt, I’m sure that’s part of the appeal for him. Me? I get it, she has a sort of Audrey Hepburn thing going on. But then, I make a point of not going after my teammate’s girl, ex or otherwise. No matter how much he doesn’t deserve her.” He gives me a pointed look.

  I think about denying it for just one second before giving up that idea. Of all my teammates, Cole would be the one to see through that bullshit.

  “I’m not saying don’t go for it, because I know this isn’t just some dare for you. I’m just saying, either treat it like a dare—and if you do, you know Matt is going to fight you on it. Also, if you do, you’d better lose because he’s the kind to get nasty. The team doesn’t need that.” A hint of a smile crosses his lips. “But we both know that’s not what you’re after. So, when you decide to seriously pursue her, do it quietly. And next practice, tell Matt he’s won the dare.”

  A quick rush of fire heats my veins. Why the hell should I have to hide anything just because Matt can’t handle it? I quickly temper it down.

  Cole is right, as always. He’s not telling me anything I don’t already know. Cole is one of the defensemen who is aiming to go pro as well. He doesn’t need me screwing up his chances with this mess.

  “I get it. The woman one man decides to treat as trash has always been another man’s treasure,” he says with a sympathetic look.

  As the intellectual of the team, his poetic turn of phrase isn’t a surprise.

  “But the team comes first.” I’m the one to say it.

  “Right.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Grace

  I successfully escaped this morning’s inquisition from Erin about the Agent Provocateur ensemble. No, I didn’t try it on last night. And no, I probably won’t tonight either. No matter how much that pink box sitting on my dresser taunted me. I eventually had to take the lingerie and stockings out and shove them in the back of my underwear drawer just to avoid the distraction.