Wicked Winters: A Collection of Winter Tales

by Lucy Smoke

I stared at him for a second. Have an article written about me? Sure, I liked to be the center of attention at a party and on the ice, but to be highlighted in a paper? I was about to say no, when a thought occurred to me. Maybe this would be good for my reputation, to have the school paper interview me. I could show how dedicated I was to the sport and to my studies, of course. Scouts might see it.

  "Sure thing, Cap. Let me know the details when you have them," I replied with a smirk.

  "Excellent," he exclaimed as he pulled out his phone and opened up an email. "Actually, the interview is tomorrow morning at ten am, at the Coffee House. You know, the little shop by the library. The same one where Damian picked up his latest Puck? Maybe you can bring this one in. I hear she's a nine out of ten." His statement came with an almost lecherous grin. With that little challenge thrown out there, Davidson moved on to the next player on the bus.

  I shook my head and pulled my headphones back on, the speakers cupped my ears so that all the other noise cancelled out.

  Tori popped up in my mind; the girl from the other night. She‘d come on to me so strongly that there may as well have been a "Free Fuck" sign in neon letters above her head. I'd heard from a few of the other guys that she was hunting for the Puck Queen title this season, so when she’d hit me up, I knew that she understood what she was getting herself into. I was a guy, so I wasn't exactly going to turn her down. Besides, Tori was smokin' hot. Ass and boobs for days.

  But in all honesty, I was seriously over the Games this season. I'd been a part of it for three years. But this year, I’d made a decision before coming back from summer break. I wouldn’t be the reason a girl got herself onto the Board this year. If she was already on there, then fine. But I just wasn’t into the hunt anymore. Not that I had ever put a girl’s name on the Board who didn’t understand what it meant. I’d always explained the rules to them. I wasn’t looking for a girlfriend or love or to settle down, and that if they had mind blowing sex with me, then their name would be entered into the Puck Games.

  I wasn't saying that I wanted to declare Whip status, but that I just wanted to be able to meet a girl in a bar or a cafe or wherever and be able to have fun with her, without having the Puck Games in the back of my mind. The fact that I couldn’t just have a good time with a girl, something super casual, had started grating on me. And truthfully, the competition brought out all the freaky girls, the ones who didn't mind hopping from one bed to the next. It was only a matter of time before a raging case of chlamydia took out the entire team.

  Having said that, sharing Tori with Christian and Justin the other night had worked for me. All of us with the one girl. That night, I had learned that I liked to be watched. I mean, I knew I liked being the life of a party, I just hadn’t realized that extended to the bedroom. Being able to see the other two getting turned on by Tori as I’d fucked her, had fucked with my mind. I wasn’t into dudes at all. I was straight. I liked the ladies. But when all of us had been focused on how good I was making Tori feel, I’d ended up going over the edge way too quickly for my liking.

  The guys and I had been a unit for almost three years now, and we had never done anything like that before. Having said that, Justin had had a girlfriend pretty much the entire time I’d known him. This was his first year participating in the Puck Games.

  Justin had been a bit of a mystery to me until he’d moved in with Christian and me. At first it had been super awkward, what with him being all silently scary and shit, but once he had started hanging out with us, everything had sorted itself out. Now, I trusted the guy completely, Christian too. Especially on the ice. Those two would be there in seconds to back me up if things got too hot between me and another player. I was known to be a bit of a chirper, always getting myself into sticky situations. But that was my job, to get the other team fired up. And I was good at it, even if I lost the first face off tonight.

  Sighing, I dropped my head back against the window and focused on replaying Henderson's move, knowing if I didn't figure it out, at least I had the option of going into adult films.

  7

  Hayden

  Thursday 30th November – 25 days until Christmas

  I arrived at the Coffee Shop about ten minutes before my appointment with Vincent Morello. Cameron Davidson - the captain of the hockey team - had replied to my email late last night saying that Morello, the team’s first-line center forward, whatever that meant, was going to meet me at my suggested time and location. When I’d woken up, I'd seen the email and rushed to get myself ready.

  After ordering a hazelnut latte, I grabbed a table in the back near the electrical outlets, pulled off my mittens, and dusted the light snow off my beanie. It had started to snow on my way over. I set my laptop up and opened the app for recording voice memos on my phone. Once everything was powered on, I opened my emails and started reading through the final submissions that some of The Press journalists had already started sending in for tonight's paper, all to the tune of Here comes Santa Claus whispering from the Coffee House’s speakers.

  Ugh, it isn’t even December yet and they are already playing Christmas songs.

  I was halfway through James' hockey recap when my coffee arrived. Thanking the barista, I grabbed the sugar, poured a pinch in, and stirred it with one of those plastic stick thingies. As I put the stick in my mouth, I glanced up at the door and almost choked. There was literally an Italian Stallion coming through the doors. Tall, dark, and handsome. Black hair shaved on the sides to a thick faux Mohawk with the help of some product, hazel green eyes with dark straight eyebrows, a diamond stud in his left earlobe, at least six-foot-tall, and shoulders so wide my palms itched to run along their length.

  Please God, Universe, Fairy Godmother, let that be Vincent Morello.

  I sat back in my chair, chewing on my stick as I watched him walk up to the counter, rest his black motorcycle helmet against it, and order something. He smiled down at the same barista who had made my coffee, who now just stood there with a dreamy smile on her face. He lightly tapped on her hand, which rested on the counter, before repeating his order. She blushed adorably before turning to the register to enter the details. The guy was probably a heartbreaker and most definitely a player.

  Just as he was about to pay, he looked around the cafe; our eyes met across the room. His eyes flicked up to my beanie and back down; a flash of something ran through them. I quirked an eyebrow at him and mouthed, "Vincent Morello"? He nodded as he let a twelve-watt smile smack me in the face. I felt myself almost get as dreamy as the barista but managed to snap out of it as I watched him gesture to me as he paid the barista. Then he headed in my direction, walking through the crowded café. People just moved out of the way, not even really noticing that they were doing it. And he wasn't rude about it, he just passed through gaps that suddenly appeared.

  When he reached my table, Vincent pulled the chair out opposite me, propped his bag up against the wall and hung his helmet off the back of the chair, just off the bit that jutted up over the back.

  "Hey, I'm Vinnie Morello," he stated as he held a hand out to me with a smile. I reached over my laptop screen and clasped it, giving it a single shake. His grip was firm but not painful, confident. He gave my hand a little squeeze and then released me, which caused my stomach to flip. Ignoring my rush of hormones, I pulled on my journalistic persona as if it were armor, protecting myself from this guy who obviously had no problem getting into a girl’s pants.

  "Hi Vinnie, I'm Hayden Halloway. Thanks for agreeing to meet with me, I'm really keen to write this article," I replied with a smile of my own. I watched him carefully, trying to absorb every detail of this first impression.

  "Well I’m happy to help you out. I'm an open book, so ask me anything you like." He responded with a cute smirk as he leaned back in his chair and opened his arms out wide. Oddly enough, even with the suggestive way he’d said anything, I believed him, but I doubted he would cough up all the details about the Puck Board if I just came out and asked. Hmmm
, maybe if I made this an ongoing piece and we developed a rapport, I could turn it into him sharing a secret with me.

  I let out a chuckle. "Well, let’s just keep it to hockey and school for now. I’ll go easy on you, so don't worry,” I replied with a smirk.

  “The last thing I want is for you to go easy on me,” he said in a suggestive tone as he leaned forward to fold his arms over the table and entered my personal space. His eyes held mine, as a slow predatory smile spread across his face. I sat there caught in his web; my breathing became deeper as I imagined him looking down at me from my bed.

  Hayden, he is a player. Get your crap together right now!

  I let out a little cough as I broke eye contact with him. I looked back at him, knowing I needed to be the one running this meeting, not him. “I was thinking that maybe we could do a follow up article depending on how much response we get from this first article. Would that be okay with you?" I asked, keeping my tone even, cool.

  He reclined in his seat, relaxing. "Yeah, that’d be fine. I'd be happy to help The Press out, anyway I can. Hockey’s really important to me, and I’ll represent my team however they need me."

  I forced my smile to stay on my face, but my eyes narrowed a little bit. Does that mean you are a part of the Puck Games, Vinnie? Do you represent them there too?

  I reached down for my phone and was just about to do the spiel about recording the interview when the barista arrived with his coffee and a brown baggie. "I got two blueberry muffins, would you like one?" I looked up to see his eyes were all soft with sincerity.

  Skepticism rose within me. Is this your tactic, Vinnie? Buy a girl a nice cake, flash her a smile, put her up on the board?

  "Ahh sure, thanks." I took the muffin from him and our fingers brushed against each other, causing a weird little tingle to run up my arm.

  "No problem. So, is this article just a general interest piece or are you looking for a scoop?" he asked as he sipped his coffee, looking at me over the rim.

  My heart stuttered in my chest. Did he know I was investigating the team? No, he couldn't know. And besides the students in The Press office, no one knew about this article. I hadn't even cleared the idea properly with the paper’s sponsor.

  I kept my cool and replied simply. "No, no scoop. Just a general interest piece. A day in the life kind of thing." I smiled back at him, watching carefully to see if he gave any signs he didn’t believe me.

  "Great, sounds easy. I like your beanie, aqua right?" he asked, throwing me completely off guard.

  I reached up to touch the scalloped edging nervously. Is he flirting with me?

  "Ahh yeah, it's my favorite color. Purple is a close second." I swallowed and tried to loosen up my suddenly dry throat. I reached for my phone and unlocked it. "Okay, how about we get started? Would it be okay if I recorded this so I could go back over it for details?"

  "Sure thing, Scoop, record away." He smirked as he leaned forward in his chair and brought his muffin up and took a bite.

  I glanced his way. He’s definitely flirting with me. That provided me with an entirely new angle. Instead of just trying to pump him for more information, perhaps he would be open to actually helping me enter the Puck Games? Decision made, I reset the counter on my flirt-o-miles and attempted to break yesterday’s score.

  "Scoop." I tapped my finger against my chin. "I like it," I said as I sent him a flirty smile back. He let out a little chuckle at my playfulness.

  I hit the record button on my phone and got down to business, "Okay, so tell me about you. How did you get into Hockey? Did you go and see a game as a kid and think, I want to do that someday?"

  "Actually, yeah. My dad took me to a game in New York when I was about eight I think. I can still remember the ice cold feel of the air on my face. We were sitting just a few rows back from the barricades and right behind the sin bin box. The players were taking some serious hits and were just everywhere on the rink at the same time. Dad had bought me a hot dog, but I never ate it. He likes to remind me that I just sat there with it in my hand for the entire first quarter while my mouth just hung open. I knew that day that I wanted to fly on the ice just like them." A self-deprecating smirk pulled at his lips as he rubbed the back of his neck. Clearly the story still embarrassed him a little.

  Awww how sweet.

  I knew exactly what he was talking about. My mom had taken me to see competition ice skaters who were putting on a display at Central Park. It’d been snowing, and I’d been dying to get on the ice. But when we got there and all of the professional figure skaters were out there twirling and jumping, I’d gotten really shy. One of the girls had seen me hiding behind my mother and came over to us, kneeling down to my height and reaching out a hand. I’d taken it, and then I was twirling and hopping over the ice. Mom had enrolled me in classes the next day.

  "So, a fairytale come true then, if what the sports journalist tells me is accurate?" I responded, raising an eyebrow at him. “I hear you’re very likely to be picked up by the NHL at the end of the year.”

  "Oh, you can't believe everything you read in the papers," he joked back, which actually made me smile. "If you want to really see what it's all about, you should come to the game this weekend, it's a home game, so it'll be on campus."

  Someone called out to Vinnie, which made him turn and put a hand up in the air in acknowledgement. I cocked my head to the side as I watched his body language, trying to determine if he was genuinely interested in interacting with his fans, or was just playing it up. When he turned back to me, I popped my smile back onto my face.

  “Sorry, fans,” he said sheepishly. “So, Sunday? Did you want tickets?”

  "Actually, that would be great, thanks." It would be the perfect time to see the team up close, see how they interacted with each other and with the women that surrounded them.

  "Awesome, I'll let my cap... coach, I’ll let my coach know that you’ll be there and make sure you get some good seats." He appeared both happy with the outcome but also a little hesitant, like he regretted asking me to the game. I brushed it off; I wasn't going to give up the opportunity.

  "Perfect. Ok, so let’s go back to the questions." I scanned down my list of questions on my computer screen and just started asking them. I let the conversation flow wherever he took it, sometimes going back and picking another question out.

  Vinnie was really easy to talk to; his charisma just shone through in every movement, word, and look. I had to keep reminding myself that we were in an interview and not on a date. The romantic feel to the cafe with its Christmas carols wasn't helping matters, especially since we were tucked into a back corner. I had thought that it would be a good place since we would have fewer distractions. However, I now regretted my choice, since the darker lighting and tighter confines weren't helping me to concentrate, especially with his knees continually bumping mine under the table.

  After almost an hour of chatting, Vinnie drew our time together to an end. "Well Scoop, I'm sorry to cut this short because I was actually really enjoying this, but I have a class starting now and I need to get to it. Need to keep my grades up or I’ll get put on probation by the Academic Board, and that means no hockey." He stood and grabbed his bag, slinging it over one shoulder.

  I followed suit and stood with him, this time I put my hand out to him. "Thank you for your time. I'm looking forward to the game on Sunday, now that I know a little bit more about hockey players," I said with a smile that I amped up with a slight eyelash bat.

  He grasped my hand, giving it a slight squeeze and then rubbing his thumb over the back of my hand; my knees threatened to turn to jelly at the motion. "You’re welcome. Like I said, I was having fun. How about you give me your number so when I get your seat organized I can tell you how to get your tickets? Wouldn’t want you to deal with the hassle on Sunday."

  Ahhh sneaky sneaky, asking for my number under the guise of offering help. I bet most girls swoon at the gallantry.

  You’re not far off swooning your
self, replied my Inner Voice. I was really starting to dislike her.

  I plastered a thankful smile on my face. "That would be great!"

  He let go of my hand to reach into his back pocket for his phone, looking up at me expectantly. I rattled off my number and he keyed it in.

  "Great. Well, I’ll catch you later, Scoop." He grabbed his helmet from the back of his chair and turned to leave. Just as he got to the door he looked back and nodded in my direction.

  I sat back in my chair with a thump. Wow, my heart pounded in my ears as blood rushed around my body. For just a second, I thought I was going to pass out as the adrenaline rocketed through me. He was seriously good looking, almost unnaturally so. Borderline vampire beautiful. If hockey didn’t work out, and he didn't smoosh up his face, modelling was definitely a career path he should look into.

  Deciding to start my own research into the hockey team since this feel good article actually did need to be written, I jumped onto the internet and used the link from the college’s website to get to the hockey team’s. When the homepage loaded, I was instantly confronted with a large photo of the team in the banner.

  I scanned the faces looking for Vinnie; my jaw dropped when I recognized a couple others. I clicked on the image to enlarge it, and sure enough, there was Vinnie, with Christian and Justin on either side.

  8

  Hayden

  Thursday 30th November – 25 days until Christmas

  Thursday nights were the worst and best night of my week, every week. Putting the paper to bed was always such a rush, all the last-minute changes and trying to make everything fit together nicely, journalists jockeying to get the best spots; I loved it. Everyone had been crowded into The Press office tonight, slowly trickling out as their work was done and finalized.