Foreplayer: A Rookie Rebels Novel Page 7

  “I like someone.”

  His brow furrowed again. “Right, you said, but not a player. Because players, dummies, yes?”

  She rolled her eyes. “Yes. This guy is kind of, uh, sophisticated, I suppose. And experienced. More experienced than me. I want to know what guys like.”

  At which point dumber than a box of pucks Cal Foreman burst out laughing.

  Whereupon, in proof of Newton’s third law of physics about actions and equal reactions, Mia took her half-empty—or full, because she was trying to be more optimistic—bottle of water and poured it over his head.

  He still laughed.

  She stood quickly. “Forget it. I thought maybe you’d like to help out a friend.”

  The laughing stopped and gravity took over. He grasped her arm to stop her walking away.

  “Mia, I’m sorry. That wasn’t cool. It just sounds funny—a girl as fantastic as you needing advice on what guys like. You should have no problem snagging this guy.”

  Slightly mollified, she sat again. His hand remained on her arm, branding her through. “But he’s not really in my league—”

  “First thing I’m going to do is stop you right there. Hold that thought.” He released her arm, leaving a chill in its wake, and walked to the kitchen. Grabbing a dishtowel, he blotted his face and hair, then returned to the sofa to clean up the water from the leather. She should feel guilty about that but she didn’t. This asshat had laughed at her!

  “Piece of advice number one: there’s no such thing as leagues when it comes to dating. There is only compatibility. Would you say you’re compatible with this guy?”

  “Yes. I mean, we’ve talked and we always seem to get along.”

  He gave a curt head shake. “That’s not compatibility. You get along with the mailman. Compatibility is connection. Emotional, intellectual, physical, sexual. Got any of that with the object of your affection?”

  “That’s the point. I haven’t been able to make enough of an impression on him to figure all that out. I need him to notice me.”

  “So who is he?”

  “I’d rather not say.”

  He narrowed his eyes. “Someone I know?”

  “Nope,” she lied. Cal might not know Tommy well, but he definitely knew of him given that he was Vadim’s agent. “He’s a businessman, not a jock. He’s gone to grad school, dates models, drinks scotch, has swagger.”

  “Sounds like a tool.”

  She growled and folded her arms.

  “Okay, okay. He sounds like a stand-up guy and the heart wants what it wants, so who am I to say this is crazy?” Said as if it was the craziest thing he’d ever heard, and she hadn’t even got to the meat of the issue. His eyes had turned strangely cool.

  “Thing is, Mia, every guy is different. But I’ll tell you what they have in common: they want to feel they have something to offer a girl, something she can’t get anywhere else. Protection or sex, usually.”

  “So I need to make him feel special or horny. That he’s the only guy who can give me what I need.”

  No missing that grimace. The more time she spent with Cal Foreman, the easier he was to read. “Sure. You said he’s older and dates models?”

  “Yeah, that’s the issue. I don’t think he’d notice me because I’m not a sexpot. I don’t exactly have game. So I’m wondering if maybe, you could … teach me?”

  8

  Cal had a bad feeling about this.

  It wasn’t so much the Vadim’s little sister thing, though that definitely gave him pause.

  It wasn’t that a woman like Mia Wallace shouldn’t need to play games with any guy to attract his interest, though he recognized some idiots needed a whack upside the head to get it out of their asses.

  It wasn’t even that he was the last person who should be giving anyone advice about how to woo someone.

  No, his bad feeling stemmed from the weird tension that had suddenly entered his body, a hardening of his muscles and rushing in his veins, sensations he would normally associate with nervousness before a game. He had butterflies, like he was suffering some bizarre genus of stage fright. This whole situation made him edgy, tense, and not a little agitated.

  He was already in a weird mood. He never read online crap about himself, but earlier he’d been checking to see if that “Am I the Dick” story had gained any more traction when he came across something else that put his back up: a few hockey know-it-alls talking up his supposed rivalry with Reid Durand for a spot on the Rebels’ first line. While he had known competition for a place was likely—had even experienced it on previous rosters—he hadn’t enjoyed seeing that other people knew it. It had definitely soured his day until Mia came over. The sheer pleasure of seeing her text then seeing her as she stepped off the elevator had taken him by surprise. This was why he shouldn’t go solo for long—any woman in his orbit started to look interesting.

  Then she dropped the bombshell.

  “Teach you?” It came out as an unmanly croak.

  “Right.”

  “What exactly?”

  “What guys like. Some moves.”

  If he wasn’t already in the corner of the sofa he would have moved back an inch or ten. Moves? She wanted him to teach her moves to get another guy?

  Hold up now. Was that what this was about? Was this why he suddenly wanted to enter the hexagon, pound every challenger, and then rip the metal to shreds after eating the hearts of his enemies? Because Mia wanted to use any skills she learned on … someone else?

  No. He was merely feeling protective in a fraternal way. Perfectly normal.

  “And if I taught you some moves, or what a guy likes …” Baby steps here. “How would you go about this?”

  “I’d try to get him alone and seduce him.”

  He shot up like his ass was on fire. Sat again. Cursed himself for looking like an idiot, then came up with the only thing he could think to cover his bizarre-even-to-him behavior. “Vadim’s not going to like that.”

  She regarded his reaction with a morbid curiosity, as if he was some sort of bug she was detailing. Example five of the male subspecies. Unable to sit still when faced with talk of seduction.

  “Are you saying you’re afraid of my brother?”

  “I most certainly am saying that. If he knew we were even discussing this, he would tear out my spine, use a rusty skate blade to chop it into tiny pieces, and whack those pieces about the ice.” Best case scenario.

  Her eyes sparked with humor. She knew exactly what she was doing which belied the notion she needed any help from him at all. Mia was funny and smart. Witness her evisceration of him and bro-culture with that fake post. He’d have to get up early in the morning to stay level with her.

  “You want me to give you a list of things guys want?”

  “In bed.”

  Jesus, this was getting worse. How could this be getting worse?

  “In bed.” His voice sounded like that rusty skate blade Vadim would happily use to do his so-called friend a permanent injury. “Isn’t that what the Internet is for?”

  “But nothing beats hearing it from the horse’s mouth.” She smiled and his heart kicked hard. She certainly didn’t need him when she had a smile like that.

  “I don’t think this is a good idea. In fact, I think it’s a terrible idea. If this guy can’t figure out what’s staring him in the face, then he doesn’t deserve it. You. Your—whatever you want to give him.” He tapped the back of the sofa, gearing up to ask the most awkward question in a series of extremely awkward questions. “What do you want to give him exactly? Are you in love with this guy?”

  Her cheeks turned bright red. “No. I don’t know him well enough. Right now, it’s an infatuation, I suppose, and I’d like to follow through with it and see where it leads. He checks a lot of boxes for me.”

  Boxes that douchebag bros like Cal didn’t even know how to draw, apparently. This woman knew exactly what she wanted and her honesty slayed him.

  The silence ticked ove
r, so she spoke into it. “Is that so bad? Wanting to win someone?”

  “No, not at all.” He had to admire how open and unjaded she was. She was willing to put herself out there to see if this guy was the one. The plucky heroine of her own story. “Kind of brave, actually.”

  “I don’t know about that. I feel like an idiot around him, all butterfingers and rubber tongued. I have no clue how to talk to him, or what I could say to make him notice me.”

  Cal was similarly clueless. Feeling shy or hesitant around a potential love interest—okay, bang interest—was foreign to him. Women usually pursued him and took what they needed. Wooing rarely entered the equation. He wondered what it would be like to actually go for it and try to win a woman like this.

  Like Mia.

  He cleared his throat. “So what do you need from me?”

  “Give me an idea of things guys like. What keeps them interested. Sex moves.”

  “List them out? That’s not really appropriate.” He held up a hand before she could protest. “Not because I’m some sort of prude. I’m not. But you and I don’t know each other all that well.” Though he felt he knew her better over the last few days on the ice and since they had fessed up to each other about that dick post. Even the last ten minutes had felt revelatory. There was no doubt about it—a thread of something connected them, one that was growing stronger with each moment they spent together.

  “Are you worried the plain sex talk might be a strain on our burgeoning friendship?”

  He rolled in his lips, hiding his smile. She felt it, too: the friendship potential was there but it was too soon to label it as such.

  “I’m not going to list out a bunch of sex moves so you can take notes, Mia. And yes, this is partly to do with my relationship with your brother, but mostly to do with my relationship with you.”

  A small crimp, like a misbehaving comma, formed between her eyebrows. Her brain was ticking over. He liked when people took the time to figure things out before blurting the first thing that came into their head. Watching her think was more pleasurable than he could have ever imagined. Her lips parted, and her teeth dragged on the bottom, plump pillow, making a little indentation he wanted to kiss. He gave a mental headshake, clawing at solid ground.

  Finally, she asked, “What do you suggest we do?”

  “You’re already learning, my young Padawan. Guys like to think they have all the answers, so bowing to my superior knowledge is a great first step. Smart girl.”

  She gave a mini bow. “Well, you are the big-brained man who knows everything.”

  “Don’t overplay your hand.”

  She laughed, a full-throated sound that hit him hard in the solar plexus. Where was the harm in this? All she needed was some advice, a few words of encouragement. Vadim couldn’t object to this in principle. Now that they’d chatted for a while, he found himself warming to the idea.

  Before he could agree, she spoke again. “How about we do this? I’ll do some research and run it by you, so you can tell me if it’s a good or bad idea.”

  “Can’t object to that, I suppose.”

  “Really?” She jumped toward him on the sofa and threw her arms around him. He’d always thought of her as strong, athletic, well-built so he wasn’t expecting such … softness. Of course she was a woman with curves, but to be presented with the evidence did things to him he would rather not dwell on.

  He placed his hands on her arms and gentled her back. She had a huge smile on her face, and his first instinct was immense happiness to have put it there.

  “Any research you come up with doesn’t have to be limited to sex, either. We’re not pieces of meat, you know.”

  She chuckled, a sound that went straight to his dick. “Okay, I’ll try to get a more rounded picture of the woo-worthy male. I really appreciate this, Cal. You’re doing a good thing here.”

  He wasn’t so sure, but if it meant she didn’t do a dumb thing then he could assure himself this was what Vadim would want—even if Cal would never in a million years actually tell him.

  * * *

  Mia sliced off a sliver of pancake, dipped it in syrup, and inhaled it like she hadn’t eaten in 24 hours. These early morning practices gave her such an appetite, and the best part was the debrief over breakfast with Cal afterward. The Sunny Side Up Diner in downtown Riverbrook reminded her of a fun place she used to visit with Drew and her teammates back in Cambridge.

  She scattered thoughts of that time to the diner’s far corners. Now she had renewed purpose, for both her career and her personal life, and Cal Foreman, of all people, was part of her team. He probably didn’t quite see it like that—yet—but she was determined to surround herself with people she could trust. So far, Cal was meeting her barest minimal requirements for friendship.

  He wasn’t mean, he didn’t disrespect her, and he had yet to screw her over.

  A week had passed since she had asked for his help, a week spent trawling relationship websites, listicles, and Cosmo quizzes for talking points.

  “I have a list of things guys supposedly like.”

  Cal took a sip of his coffee, having already plowed through a breakfast of six eggs scrambled, four rounds of toast, more bacon than had to be healthy, and a large glass of OJ.

  He sat back with those thick, muscled arms folded. “Hit me.”

  She blinked away an image of Foreman’s arms caging her in and taking control. Unfortunately, those flashes of inspiration were happening more frequently. Ahem. She read from her phone. “Flirt with him.”

  “Never hurts.”

  “Make him feel important.” The ego stroke inevitably led to the dick stroke.

  “Has its merits.”

  “Lots of eye contact.” She demonstrated by staring into Cal’s deep brown eyes. Those gold flecks had a hint of umber to them and were really quite mesmerizing.

  “It’s okay to blink.”

  “Oh, right.” She made a note. Less stalker staring.

  “Smile.”

  “Can’t go wrong,” he confirmed.

  “Walk on his left.” At his puzzlement, she added, “Apparently, a man feels more protective when on the right side of a woman.”

  He looked amused. “I’m seeing potential flaws in this strategy but go on.”

  She leaned with a coquettish giggle. His response was a grin and a raised eyebrow. “Nice.”

  “That worked for you?”

  “Yeah, the incline of your body, the girlish chuckle. All classic.”

  Her heart leaped at the mention of her body—there was something intimate about how Foreman said it. “But if you know I’m doing it, how effective can it be?”

  “I know you’re doing it because well, I know you’re doing it. But when you do it for real, it’ll be more natural.”

  “You think so?”

  He squinted. “Why did your voice change?”

  “Raise your voice an octave,” she read back from her notes. “That’s one of my concerns. That I don’t come off as feminine enough because I’m sporty. Neither am I the “needs a guy to walk on the right while I giggle and gush” kind of woman.”

  “No, you are not.” There was no trying to put her at ease for the sake of it, which she loved. His honesty was a salve. “But that doesn’t mean you’re not feminine enough. You’re strong, fearless, smart, and sexy, which is all woman as far as I’m concerned.”

  Holy wow. “I am?”

  “Just said so.”

  Indeed. But was she supposed to take it at face value without delving deeper? Like any good mentor, he was probably trying to give her a boost.

  “So what would work for you?”

  “Do I have to tell you that what works for one guy won’t necessarily work for another?”

  “No. But there must be some common themes. What do men want in a woman?”

  He looked deep into his coffee, and for a moment, she wondered what was holding his interest beyond the creamy swirls.

  “Cal?”

  “
Guys like women who respect themselves and their men and who aren’t afraid to challenge and call them out on their shit.” He peered at her. “But you’ve got to get into a relationship before you can even demonstrate this.”

  “I know, I know. So how do you get your crush to like you back?”

  “Do you have any opportunities to spend time with him now? Talk to him? Make an impression?”

  She had left Tommy a message asking about setting up a time for lunch and hadn’t heard back. Of course he was a busy guy, so she had yet to let it seed her self-doubt. Telling Cal that would give away Tommy’s identity and she wasn’t quite ready to do that.

  “Sometimes. But other people are usually there so it’s hard to get him alone without it looking really obvious.”

  He put his mug down, the sound of it hitting the table loud even in the busy restaurant. “Is this a player on the team?”

  “No! I already told you hockey players are verboten.”

  “Really? An entire profession is off the table, no allowances made for exceptions to the rule?”

  “I’ve met my share of asshole hockey players in college.” One in particular who had shaped her viewpoint in a way her brain despised but her heart refused to dismiss. “I know what they’re like. There’s always some romantic drama with the ladies”—she gestured at him, trusting they were on a good enough footing now for him not to take offense—“and I’d rather someone who would never be at the center of that. I need to know what might work to reel him in.” She leaned in a little closer. “How about this?”

  His gaze held hers steady, those velvet brown eyes making her heart trip faster. “How about what?”

  “If I incline my head like that and hold eye contact, does that seem like I’m projecting confidence, mystery, desire? Would that work on you?”

  “Probably but then I’m not a sophisticated, scotch-drinking, suit-wearing, graduate degree-totin’ guy. Anything works on me because I’m a dumbass jock who loves drama and any chick who looks like she’s into me.”

  She laughed so hard she snorted. Way to demonstrate her femininity. Cal Foreman’s self-deprecation was very appealing.