Fire & Ice

by Rachel Spangler

  Warm needles pricked at her back, and she relished the feel of something other than Callie against her skin. She was fine. Or she would be. She wouldn’t panic. She wouldn’t let her mind spin out of control, or make connections she didn’t want to make. She would focus on the here, the now, the different. And, mother of all things holy, was Callie different.

  She was powerful and passionate. She went after what she wanted without being pushy or manipulative. Everything had escalated so quickly last night that Max still wasn’t sure how they’d gone from a reluctant slow dance to horizontal in no time flat, but she suspected the answer started with “Callie.” She had been in control the whole time, and for the first time ever that didn’t bother Max. Perhaps because Callie had been so good at everything she did.

  It might be tempting to tell herself the sex had simply seemed stellar because it had been so long since she’d had sex, but Callie hadn’t even left her that excuse. The sex had clearly been amazing because Callie was amazing. At everything. And, as she raised her hands to scrub her hair, the ache along her obliques drove home the point. She didn’t know how many times she’d climaxed last night, but she did know it was all her poor contracting core could handle. And then she’d helped Callie do the same.

  She smiled at the thought and rinsed the soap from her hair. Callie’s body was so amazing, and the command she had over it even more impressive. The command she’d had over Max’s body was pretty great, too, but she liked to think Callie might say the same for her. While she had no doubt that Callie was her better in many cases, last night they’d found something akin to equality, another rare occurrence in Max’s life. Her last relationship had been a lot of things, but equal was never one of them.

  The thought caused a little shot of pain in her chest. Why did she even let her mind go there? Or perhaps the better question was, why hadn’t she gone there last night? Had she gotten too swept up in the moment, in Callie, to remember the lessons she swore she’d learned? Why had she waited until now to summon that terrifying realization?

  She shut off the water and threw back the shower curtain. She couldn’t believe she was doing this again. Of course, Callie wasn’t Sylvia, but once again, she’d leaped without looking. And now what did she have to show for herself? Another woman who had to run out the door lest anyone know they’d been together.

  Her stomach lurched, and she held onto the towel rack to steady herself as she dripped water onto the tile floor. She couldn’t start another relationship like this. She didn’t even want to. Maybe Callie didn’t want to, either. She hadn’t exactly left with a promise to get together anytime soon. She didn’t know if that thought should make her feel better or worse. And yet, that kiss. If she’d followed it up by crawling into bed, Max would have yielded again and again. She had no ability to think clearly around her. She was weak and dumb and powerless, the same way she’d always been, no matter how well she had learned to hide.

  “No,” she said aloud, taking comfort in the way the tile amplified her voice. This wasn’t the same thing. Callie wasn’t that person. Max wasn’t even that person anymore. She’d just been caught off guard last night, and she had to cut herself some slack on that front. Who wouldn’t cave when a beautiful, passionate, sexy woman suddenly asked you to take her back to your hotel room for the night? Surely better humans than her had fallen in similar situations and lived to tell the tale. She could stay calm, gather her wits, and move forward with a clear head.

  She didn’t have to make the same mistakes twice. And Callie wasn’t the kind of person who would let her. Callie wasn’t manipulative, helpless, or needy. The thought helped lighten her mood considerably. Callie had been the antithesis of needy last night, or this morning, or ever, really. She was a star on the ice and in the bedroom, and anyone who saw her in any area would know without a doubt that Max couldn’t offer her anything she didn’t already possess in spades. But then again, few people would ever get to know Callie unless she got some more press coverage.

  Her stomach flip-flopped again. “No. No. No.”

  This wasn’t that. It couldn’t be that.

  She wrapped a towel around her waist and padded out of the bathroom to begin collecting her clothes. ESPN moved to coverage of last night’s hockey games. “In what’s shaping up to be the feel-good story of the year, Victor Garrick scored a hat trick last night as the Rangers beat the Red Wings.”

  Her chest seized at the name, and she scanned the room for the remote, ready to make a dive for it, but before she got the chance, a familiar voice coming from the television froze her in place.

  “I’m trying to move on. I’m trying not to let anything take away from my final season,” Victor said to a room full of reporters. “I think my teammates deserve that. I think I deserve that, too.”

  “Hard to argue with that.” The reporter cut back in. “You’d have to have a heart of stone not to root for this guy after everything he went through during the off-season, between the—”

  Max abandoned the remote and slapped the off button on the television. She couldn’t take this right now.

  She couldn’t take it ever again.

  Callie’s rock slid between the two stones she intended to bounce off of and kept right on sailing until it hit the backboard.

  Layla threw her hands up in the air and said, “Field goal!”

  She shook her head. “Not helpful.”

  “Maybe not, but you have to admit we just witnessed a rare feat, Skip. You managed to miss both rocks in one shot. When was the last time that happened?”

  “About ten minutes ago.”

  “Oh yeah.” Layla grinned. “I guess the event was only rare up until this week. You ready to talk about why that might be?”

  “Lack of focus,” Callie grumbled.

  “Sure, we can accept the surface explanation, but wouldn’t it be more fun to get to the bottom of why you’re not focusing?”

  “Fun for who?”

  “Me, clearly.” Layla laughed. “I suspect you already had your fun last weekend.”

  Callie’s cheeks burned even in the cool of the curling club.

  “Come on.” Layla nudged. “Let’s take a break.”

  She rolled her eyes. “There’s no time for breaking when I’m playing so poorly.”

  “Look,” Layla said, her tone carrying a new warning. “I get that you’re not all into talking about your feelings, but I have waited the mandatory three days before I can lay down the best friend card, and I’m playing that ace right now. You know the rules of friendship. Sit down.”

  She complied, largely because she did know the rules. She and Layla had established them over more than a decade of friendship. Layla had given her ample time and space to process, but now she’d come to collect the goods.

  “Time to play ‘Yes or No.’”

  Callie slouched in her chair and stared up at the exposed metal roof of the club. “Fire away.”

  “Did you leave the Patch with Max Laurens last Sunday?” Layla always started with the easy ones since she liked to build to a crescendo.

  “Yes.”

  “Did you, at any point in the night, come back to our hotel room?”

  “No.”

  “Were you with Max that whole time?”

  “Yes.”

  “And what percentage of that time was spent having hot, freaky sex?”

  “Foul,” Callie called. “That’s not a yes-or-no question.”

  “I’ll rephrase,” Layla conceded. “Was more than half of the night spent having hot sex?”

  Callie sighed, but the sound ended up more dreamy than frustrated. “Yes.”

  Layla laughed. “Go girl, it’s your birthday, your sexy sports reporter birthday.”

  She rolled her eyes.

  “Okay, sorry. Yes or no, the sex was in the top ten percent of all the sex you’ve ever had?”

  “Yes.”

  “Top one percent?”

  She didn’t hesitate. “Yes.”

 
; “Aha!” Layla said triumphantly. “I rest my case.”

  “What? That’s not a case. There is no case. You would make a terrible lawyer.”

  “Right?” Layla flopped into the chair beside her. “Could you mention that to my mother next time she starts banging on about me needing to choose a real career?”

  “Sure.”

  “For real though, Cal. What happened with Max?”

  “I don’t know.” She hung her head. “I mean, I know how things ended up, but I’m still not sure how they got there so fast. I mean, it was kind of a big day for both of us. But I’ve won bonspiels in the past and never jumped into bed with anyone.”

  “And it’s not like you haven’t had that chance.”

  She snorted. “Maybe, but I’ve never had any urges to take it.”

  “So, maybe the more important question isn’t how it happened, but why it happened with Max.”

  She blew out a slow, steady breath that fluttered a strand of hair away from her face. “It would be easy to say she just happened to be there, right place, right time, but there were hundreds of people there. I remember there being a crowd. Other curlers wanted to talk. The fans were on the dance floor, but I just didn’t see any of them.”

  “You only saw Max and that square jaw and that hair that doesn’t move.”

  “It moves,” Callie said with a little grin.

  “There you go. Give me the details. Did you ruffle her all up when you rocked her world?”

  “Maybe.” Her face flamed.

  “Give me more.”

  She shook her head. “I can’t.”

  “You could if you loosened up a little. At least tell me she’s not so damn stoic in bed as she is at the events.”

  “She is not,” Callie admitted, as a thousand memories flashed through her mind. “She’s cocky, and she’s got this, I don’t know, swagger almost, but she backs it up with skill and a hint of playfulness.”

  “Playful doesn’t strike me as her MO.”

  “I know, but it’s there, underneath all the stubbornness. She’s actually really witty and kind of funny when she’s not grumpy. And she’s passionate. It’s so intense. That’s what did me in.”

  “Is ‘passion’ a euphemism for ‘good in bed’? Because if so, I feel you.”

  “No,” Callie said quickly, then laughed. “I mean, the two may be related, but I got swept up in it before we got to bed, and I think that comes from seeing her struggle and fight and claw her way back into control.”

  “She had a long way to go on that front after her first day here.”

  “But she did it. Or at least she’s working hard to do so. She knows what it’s like to take hits and get back up.”

  “Indeed,” Layla said with a shake of her head. “Pride is strong with that one.”

  “She gets what it’s like to want something when no one else believes you deserve it. She knows what it’s like to pour everything you have into something no one else thinks you can or even should do.”

  “Ah.” Layla’s smile turned a little sad. “So, this wasn’t, like, a one-time wild night off? You two bonded?”

  “No,” Callie said quickly. “I mean, we hit it off, but it was totally a one-time thing. We are not—I mean, I cannot, because curling, and work, and focus.”

  “And Max knows this.”

  “Of course.”

  “Because you talked to her about it?”

  Callie bit her lip.

  “Oh, Cal. You’ve talked to her, right?”

  “We overslept. You saw the shape I was in the next morning. I barely made it to the car before Ella and Brooke got there. I didn’t have time to talk to her Monday morning.”

  “It’s Friday,” Layla deadpanned. “Tell me you called her.”

  Callie grimaced. “Am I supposed to call her? Why isn’t she supposed to call me? I mean, we’re lesbians. There’s a fifty-fifty chance she’s supposed to call me. Right?”

  “Please don’t tell me we’re doing that.”

  “What? Am I wrong? She knows where I work. She works here, too, and she hasn’t been in. What if she’s avoiding me? What if she thinks we made a terrible mistake and she’s right?” The words all came out in a rush that suggested they’d been pent up for a while. Maybe a lot of things had been pent up for a while, given her behavior lately. How long had it been since she’d lost herself in something other than curling? Doing so with Max had been a big deal for her, and while she hadn’t expected it to go anywhere, it stung to think Max might be avoiding her now.

  “Who jumped whose bones?” Layla asked, cutting to the heart of the matter.

  “We both jumped. Again, lesbians.”

  “Who jumped first?”

  “Um . . .”

  “It was you, wasn’t it?”

  She nodded.

  “First of all, high five!” Layla extended her hand above her head, and Callie slapped it halfheartedly. “Second of all, call her! She hasn’t been to a practice in almost a week. That’s not like her. You know who it’s like?”

  “Please don’t tell me.”

  “I’ll tell you. It’s like someone who had great sex with a woman who ran out on her the next morning and hasn’t called in a week, so now she’s worried things are going to be awkward at work.”

  “No.”

  “Yes. And guess what is also awkward at work: you missing shots you can make in your sleep.”

  She slumped. “See, this is exactly why I shouldn’t have slept with her. It was amazing—”

  “How amazing?”

  “Indescribably amazing, but now we’re in a mess. Our reporter has disappeared, I’m distracted and missing shots, and you’re sitting here talking about my sex life instead of practicing.”

  “Talking about your sex life is more fun.”

  “For you, but for me it’s a reminder that I let my emotions and my libido get in the way of what really matters. It can’t happen again.”

  “But—”

  “I mean it. Please respect me here. I don’t want it to become a thing. And I don’t want Brooke and Ella to know. It’s bad enough I pulled you off track. I couldn’t take it if my lapse in judgment derailed our whole team.”

  “I think you should have a little more faith in them.”

  “It’s not about them. It’s about me.”

  “And Max.”

  “No,” she said emphatically. “There’s no ‘me and Max.’ It’s just me. My life, my dreams, my career.”

  Layla held up her hands. “Okay.”

  “Okay, you won’t tell them?”

  “Yes.”

  “Okay, you’ll let this go?”

  “Okay, for now.”

  They stared at each other for several seconds before Callie realized that was probably the best she could get, given the magnitude of the conversation. “Okay, we can get back to work?”

  “Yes.”

  She nodded resolutely. “Okay, then, let’s do that.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Max sat in the car outside the curling club. She needed to go in. It was time for a full team practice, the first since their big win last weekend. She could easily wave off not stopping in all week as Callie practiced at random times, and none of the other players were guaranteed to even be in town. She had video to edit and articles to submit, plus she’d started working on a series of curling primer blogs for the run-up to the Players’ Championship in a few months. She’d had plenty to keep her busy, working, without watching Callie trying to make the same shots over and over again in those tight pants with those amazing arms flexing and her hazel eyes so intense.

  She shivered more than the dropping temperature warranted. Winter had arrived in Buffalo, with freezing air and an inch or two of snow, but neither of those things had helped cool the heat still burning inside her. Heat from lust, heat from embarrassment—they both boiled in the pit of her stomach. She didn’t even know if she could separate the two in her mind anymore. How could she ever explain the mix
to Callie?

  At least with the whole team together for a full practice the two of them probably wouldn’t have much chance to talk about anything other than work. The thought made her feel a little cowardly, but also helped her get out of the car.

  Nothing had changed about the club. She didn’t know why she thought it might have. Because she’d changed? No, she hadn’t really changed. Because Team Mulligan had won a big match? There was no more excitement or sense of greatness surrounding them now. It had been only one match out of hundreds. Everyone had simply gone on with their work, and she intended to follow their example.

  She pushed through from the lounge to the ice and immediately saw her team huddled together around the white board where Callie drew up some sort of play. There, to her right, still magneted to the board, was Max’s article under the bright, bold heading of “challenge accepted.”

  Oh, how she wished she’d known then what she knew now. She didn’t know if her assessment of curling’s qualifications as a top-tier sport had fully changed, but it had certainly become more complicated. Her assessment of Callie’s athletic fitness had certainly evolved. And she would no longer question any of the curlers she’d met in their dedication or competitive spirit. More importantly, though, now that she knew how that challenge would draw them closer together, pinning their dreams and drives to each other’s, would she have made the same choice? She feared she might’ve, which only made her feel worse.

  “I got it,” Ella said, breaking from the group. “Let’s roll.”

  She nodded a brief acknowledgment in Max’s direction, which was more than she’d freely given her in . . . maybe ever.

  “Hey, Pencil Pusher’s back,” Layla called, as she slid by to take her position, broom in hand.

  “Did you miss me?” Max asked, and then grimaced that her voice sounded more needy than sarcastic.