Foreplayer: A Rookie Rebels Novel Page 10

  First the forearms, now the thighs and the package. Damn you, Tara Becker!

  “You were a no show this morning at the practice rink.”

  “I figured you had training camp now. You really don’t need to waste your time on me.”

  “Mia.”

  She hated/loved the way he said her name, how he imbued it with a rich, soulful caress that went straight to the fork of her legs. Still avoiding his gaze because that would involve journeying past the thighs, forearms, and don’t even get her started on his pecs, she focused on her phone. Whatever was Chrissy Tiegen up to these days?

  “We need to talk,” he said.

  “Okay, talk.” Finally making eye contact, she crossed her arms over her chest and waited.

  “When I said yes to your request I thought it would be more along the lines of ‘ask him about his day’ or ‘show interest in his hobbies,’ not ‘what’s the right amount of suction on a guy’s dick?’”

  She waved at Harper’s closed door. “Keep it down, Big Mouth!”

  He walked over, all swagger and unyielding maleness, and sat in the chair beside her. The proximity of him was unaccountably heady. She regretted ever starting this whole mentorship business.

  “I told you I needed seduction tips.”

  “So seduction is all about sex?”

  She flapped her hands. “Well, yeah.”

  He shook his head. “There are a million ways to seduce a guy before your lips even get close to his dick.” A faint blush overtook his cheeks and his eyes went dark, having swallowed all the gold.

  Cal Foreman was embarrassed.

  “Are you some sort of prude, Foreman?”

  “No, I’m not. But I don’t even get into the weeds of this type of talk with guy friends never mind my pal’s kid sister. I’m trying not to be disrespectful.”

  “Right. You can’t see me as independent of my brother. I’m not a kid anymore, Foreman. I’m a grown woman with a lady boner for a guy and I thought you could be mature enough to help me out. But as you’re so worried about offending my non-existent sensibilities, we don’t have to discuss this any longer.”

  Abruptly, he took her hand and clasped it tightly to his own. “Mia ….” He bent his head, his eyes intent and focused on her in a way that made her heart flip. “Can we start over?”

  “With what?”

  “With this … project. I want to help, only I’d prefer we established some clearer boundaries.”

  “Can’t handle penis talk. Check.” Despite her flippancy, she was currently in a hormonal frenzy because Cal Foreman was holding her hand. That should not have been sexy, but oh how it was.

  He smiled. “I’m a delicate flower.”

  She laughed nervously. “I suppose I did jump right in the deep end. Should have realized you might be a touch sensitive.”

  He gave her a dark look. “What do you mean?”

  “Because of Vadim being your friend. It’s too close to home.”

  His expression smoothed out. “Sure. Vadim.” But he’d thought she meant something else. What did Cal Foreman have to be sensitive about?

  He was still holding her hand. The intimacy of it made her heart thunder.

  “Tryout’s in a couple of weeks,” he murmured.

  “Well, November.”

  “I thought you were headed to Biddeford the first week of October for the Team USA evaluation camp.”

  “Oh, that tryout.”

  “What tryout are you talking about?”

  She’d mentioned this, but of course he’d forgotten. “This guy—the one I like—he’ll be at Isobel’s charity event in early November, so I was aiming for that as D-Day.”

  He released her hand, leaving her cold. “You’re considering that a tryout? Like you’re auditioning to be this guy’s girl?”

  “Isn’t that what every potential encounter with someone who might be relationship material is? A tryout to be in this person’s life?”

  He opened his mouth to say something, but Harper’s door opened at the same time. Quickly, they both withdrew from the close huddle, not that there was anything going on. But lately all her conversations with Cal had a dangerous intimacy to them she hadn’t experienced with anyone else, man or woman.

  Perhaps he was right. They should aim for some level of detachment.

  “Mia! So sorry to keep you waiting.” Harper emerged, looking her usual competent and dazzling self. A cool, Hitchcockian blonde, petite in stature, large in personality, Harper ruled the Rebels with steely strength and fabulous stilettos. “And Mr. Foreman. Did we have an appointment?”

  “No, Ms. Chase. Just in the neighborhood, thought I’d keep my student company.”

  “Ah, I see.” Cool green eyes assessed them both.

  Mia stood, anxious to put some distance between herself and Cal. It was bad enough she was getting ideas of her own, she certainly didn’t want anyone else to get them. “Are we still on for lunch?”

  “Yes, of course,” Harper said. “I had a surprise drop-in—”

  “And I won’t take up another minute of your time, Harper.”

  Mia froze at the sound of that voice. Smooth, silky, honeyed tones that threw her back to a time she had tried to forget.

  “Mia, you know Selena, don’t you?” Harper gestured to a buxom brunette in a smart business suit.

  Yes, Mia knew Selena Fabien, Commissioner of the Women’s Hockey League.

  Or as well as you can know the person who destroyed your life.

  11

  Mia nodded slowly, feeling like she was working her way through molasses. Everything had slowed down—her body, her mind, the world around her.

  After what felt like hours, she found her voice. “Yes, I do.” Then she added a small-sounding, “Hi.”

  “Oh, I know Mia,” Selena said. “She and my son were classmates at Harvard.”

  Technically correct. Sure, she went to the same college as Drew Fabien. Mia would sacrifice her left tit to be able to say she hadn’t. But as was often the case, the devil was in the details, specifically the ones Selena had neglected to mention.

  How she threatened to sue Mia after she accused her precious son of sharing intimate pictures of her with his friends.

  How she persuaded the school that Mia was a troublemaker and just as “misguided.” Maybe more so because she should have been on guard. After all, women have a responsibility to be ultra-aware of these things, an unfortunate but realistic double standard (Selena’s actual fucking words.)

  How she promised Mia there would be no repercussions if she would agree to let it lie.

  How she went back on that promise and left Mia flapping in the wind.

  Selena said none of these things, but her smile—that snake’s smile—told the tale.

  “How are you, Mia?”

  “I’m fine.” Mia waited for the gods to strike her down but they must have been out to lunch. Fine? She was nothing of the sort.

  Oblivious to the tension, Harper motioned to Cal. “Selena, do you know Cal Foreman? Our new power forward. Formerly of the Quebec Royals.”

  Selena reached for Cal’s hand and shook it. “We haven’t met but I know you by reputation. You’ve landed on a good team here.”

  “I have.”

  “Mia’s training for the Team USA assessment camp at Biddeford,” Harper added.

  Selena’s eyes lit up, all calculation. “Oh, great. We all wondered if you’d get back to this level.”

  Mia prayed her voice wouldn’t betray her. “Yeah, taking some time to think about my next move was good for me. Made me realize how important it is. How much I miss it.”

  “A lot of our girls will be there,” Selena said, referring to the women already making strides in the hockey league. “The game’s gotten pretty fast in the last couple of years.”

  Harper cut in. “She’s looking great. Working with a one of our pros and wiping the rink with him.”

  “She sure is,” Cal affirmed with a self-deprecating smi
le.

  Selena said, “We’d love to see you try out for one of the pro teams. Of course, you can’t use your family connections to get ahead, but I’m sure we can find a place for you.” She turned to Harper. “Would you mind if I had a word with Mia alone, Harper? Just a couple of minutes.”

  “Not at all. If that’s okay with you, Mia?” Her sister-in-law checked in with her, a querying look on her face.

  “Of course!” Too much. Mia turned to Cal and hoped she didn’t sound like a robot. “Talk to you later.”

  His head was cocked, curious. He’d picked up on the vibe, but all he said was, “Sure.”

  Mia skirted Selena and headed into Harper’s office, listening for the door’s closing snick behind her.

  “Have a seat, honey.” Selena walked over to the blue sofa in Harper’s office, where the Rebel Queen usually sat and offered refreshments to her guests. A beautiful tea service took up most of the coffee table.

  Mia strode to Harper’s desk and leaned against it. “I’d rather not sit. Just got out of practice so standing’s better.”

  Selena leaned back and picked some dust off the sofa’s back. “Team USA, huh?”

  “Gonna put a good word in for me?”

  “I’m surprised you’ve stayed away so long.”

  “Are you? I guess when your reputation precedes you, it can be difficult to get a foothold.”

  Recognizing that Mia wasn’t going to sugarcoat the turd in the room, Selena’s eyes turned predatory. “Harper and Isobel really want the franchise for Chicago, Mia. But then lots of cities do. I can make that happen.”

  Another day, another threat.

  “They’d do a great job. Look what they’ve done with the Rebels. Look at all they’ve achieved.” Despite everything they were up against. Despite the entire hockey establishment waiting with bated breath for them to fail. The stakes might not be as high for Mia—she was merely one rich-girl, privileged hockey player after all—but she knew the pain of banging against a wall built especially to keep you out.

  “Oh, I know. As for you, well, you’ve done your time. You flew a little too close to the sun, had your wings singed. But everything turned out for the best. Now you know for sure that hockey is your calling.”

  This notion that Selena believed, or chose to present as her version of events, that she’d done Mia a favor stuck in her craw. Mia had played Selena’s game, hadn’t even told her friends and family the dirty truth, all so she could reset and return to the game she loved. But Selena drew initial blood and as everyone knows: the first lie wins.

  She struggled to make the words come, and when they did, they sounded like an underdog cliché.

  “Nothing’s going to stop me from getting back to where I belong.”

  Selena’s smile was pinned on. “Then we’re on the same page. I won’t stand in your way. In fact, I can make a call to Lindy to give you special consideration.”

  Lindy, the nickname for Coach Lindhoff, who made the final decision in Biddeford.

  Mia held up a hand, amazed it wasn’t shaking. Her stomach turned in disgust. “Please. I don’t need your help, Mrs. Fabien. You’ve already done so much.”

  Selena’s smile was more assured now, almost as if she enjoyed Mia’s passive-aggressive digs. How Mia longed to scream at her.

  You were supposed to stand up for women in hockey. Women in sport. Women, period. Instead you put your asshole son first.

  While Mia understood the Mama Bear instinct to protect her own, Drew had done something wrong, and Mia was left paying the price. It wasn’t fair, but Mia knew she’d find a way back in—and she didn’t need Selena Fabien’s “help” or her family’s connections to do it.

  * * *

  Cal loved nothing more than a good sandwich.

  Lashings of shaved turkey—he was partial to smoked mesquite—with iceberg lettuce, a couple of slices of gouda—not the pre-sliced stuff, but a hunk from the deli counter—a dab of mustard and mayo, and he was in heaven.

  He had plans this afternoon.

  First, down this beauty.

  Next, watch clips of the Rebels during last year’s playoffs. He wanted to see how the current lines fit and what he needed to do to ensure he would be on every game’s roster. Durand would not be getting the jump on him.

  After that, a long nap and maybe a little fun time with his right hand.

  These were great plans. Stellar plans.

  Yet he couldn’t help thinking that something was off about them, or maybe something was just off. Damn Mia Wallace.

  She had a date in mind for when she was going to put her plan in motion. He checked online and there it was: the Hockey for Everyone fundraiser, an annual event organized by Isobel Chase to drum up money for youth hockey. Pictures of previous years showed Rebels players lounging at ten-thousand-dollar tables with media vultures, NHL brass, and hangers-on. The night was capped off with a charity auction putting the single players on the block for a good cause.

  At this event, Mia would take everything she had learned and attempt to seduce this moron who hadn’t already noticed her. Because if he had, then she wouldn’t need this instruction at all.

  This guy didn’t deserve her, not because Cal could do better—he didn’t think that at all—but because this target wasn’t even in the game and guys like that didn’t deserve nice things.

  Perhaps she was underplaying it. Perhaps they were already friends and Mia was trying to move it along. But whatever was happening, Mia didn’t feel confident in making a case yet. She had to train herself for a shot at this guy. For a tryout to be in this guy’s life.

  That was all wrong. So much about this setup was wrong, but the fact that funny, quirky, sexy-as-hell Mia Wallace felt she needed to take lessons in seduction was particularly egregious. Christ, she was already perfect.

  Feeling agitated, he took his sandwich out to the living room and lined up the afternoon’s viewing. Focus on your game, Foreman. Show the team why you were worthy of that trade. Ignore the flashing lights of bright smile and wicked blue eyes and the sweetest ass that had ever filled a pair of sweats.

  His phone buzzed. He flicked it a glance.

  Lady M: I’m downstairs. You busy?

  Alarm bells went off in his head, but do you think he cared? He wanted to see her. He wanted to learn more about this plan of hers and … there was something else that had snuck in like a barb in his skate. Why had she looked so out of sorts in the presence of Selena Fabien?

  Yeah, he and Ms. Wallace needed to have a chat.

  Come on up. He dialed down to Henry the doorman and told him he had a visitor.

  Half sandwich in hand, he walked to the door and opened it. Twenty seconds later, he heard yapping.

  She had brought the dog, which wasn’t terrible because if anyone needed a chaperone right now, it was this prick with half a sandwich in his mitts.

  “Why is that ball of hair here?”

  “Because I was taking him for a walk.” She took the sandwich, a very smooth move. “Thanks, I am starving.” Woman, dog, and sandwich walked away from him into his apartment.

  “Please. Come in.”

  She took a seat on the sofa and a bite out of his lunch. Mumbled something he couldn’t hear because, you know, she was eating his goddamn sandwich.

  “What’s that? Can’t hear you while you’re chewing.”

  She swallowed. “This is a really good sandwich!”

  “I know. I make amazing sandwiches.” He folded his arms and watched as she finished, trying not to enjoy the sight of her enjoying so obviously something he’d made with his own two hands. There were lots of things he could make with his hands—whimpers, moans, orgasms …

  “Want the rest?”

  “Definitely.” He brought back the other half on a plate with a glass of water, and handed it off.

  “Thanks, Foreman. You’re all class.”

  “What’s up?”

  “I was taking Gordie Howe for a walk.”

 
; “So you said.”

  Her nose twitched. Ding ding ding. The siren got louder.

  He sat beside her on the sofa, and the dog jumped into his lap and preened. Dumb dog. Cal really missed his own pupper back in Boston.

  “No lunch with Harper? Or bad lunch with Harper?”

  “Didn’t happen. It was obvious Selena wanted to talk about the franchise and I would be in the way.” Her voice sounded flat.

  “So you know her? Selena Fabien?” Cal didn’t know her from Adam but he’d not been impressed. There was something slick and predatory about her.

  She nodded, sniffed, raised both hands to cover her face. Shit. Instinctively, he nudged in closer and put an arm around her, loving that she sank into him without protest. Her shoulders heaved and she let out a throaty sob.

  “Mia, what’s wrong?”

  “I thought I had it all figured out, but now I’m not sure.”

  “Sure about what?” Was this about the guy she wanted? Was she having second thoughts? And why did he like that idea so damn much?

  She looked up, her big eyes blue and wet and filled with longing. “Sometimes I think I chose one direction because it would make it easier on everyone, you know?”

  He understood. He could have—maybe should have—told people about Bethany. Instead he covered up for her so … what? She wouldn’t be hurt. But mostly it was because he didn’t want people talking about him and what a fool he’d been. Guys like Cal didn’t really land quality women like Bethany in the real world. When they broke up, Cal realized it was meant to work out that way.

  “People do that. Put others above themselves, for good and not so good reasons. We think we’re doing it so other people won’t get hurt, but if you look a little deeper, you’ll find that you’re really doing it so you don’t get hurt. And by you, I mean the collective you. Meaning all of us.”

  She nodded. “I think I understood that. It sounded really profound.”

  “Generally, we think we have all the answers, but usually we ain’t got shit.”