Big Pucking Deal (Men of Havoc #1)

1. Chapter 1

"AND FIVE, six, seven, eight."

The instructor calls out the counts and all the girls follow, moving through the steps we have been taught throughout the day.

I make my moves sharp, hitting every angle perfectly. My toes are pointed so tightly that my arch cramps, but the smile on my face stays wide and plastered in place. A bead of sweat drips from the notch at the base of my throat and straight between my boobs where it puddles with the others.

I pivot and flip my hair with that combination of sass and sexiness that all dancers must possess. Jazz walk, hip left then right, and ready for a leap. The instructor told us to insert our own skill so long as we weren’t doing any barreled calypso’s as we just don’t have the space with everyone.

There are only twenty girls remaining, but the limited space still doesn’t allow for such advanced leaps. I spread my arms, take a deep breath, then jump with my back leg in a high attitude and front leg straight. My arms lift above my head just as I throw it back, then stick the perfect landing, all with a huge smile. I do the last move then fall into the end pose and hold.

My chest heaves up and down, and all that can be heard now that the music has stopped is the panting of all the dancers. No one moves a muscle, holding their final pose and allowing only their eyes to blink. When the instructor claps her hands, we all relax and stand tall. Some of us are in first position, others just let their arms hang limp.

“That was excellent. Thank you all.” The director steps forward from where she sat judging behind the table. “The Havoc organization thanks you for coming out the last two days, and participating in our tryouts. We currently only have ten open positions for our Whirlwind Dancers and let me tell you, this was a tough decision.”

We all clap and cheer as she turns back to the table and grabs a piece of paper.

“Will the following numbers please step forward. Four. Seventeen. Thirty-nine. Fifty-two. Fifty-eight. Sixty-one. Eighty-eight. One hundred ten. One nineteen. And one twenty-three.” Ten girls step forward and my heart falls realizing I didn’t make the cut. “If I called your number, thank you for coming out this weekend. We hope to see you back next season.”

My heart lodges in my throat as the group of girls visibly sag with the announcement. I clench my jaw and try to hold back the scream that is daring to break free.

“To the remainder of you…welcome to the team.” The ten remaining girls, including myself, leap with cheers and hollers.

I look across the room and see that Brooke, the girl I met and became instant friends with on day one, is also jumping up and down. I smile at her and she gives me a distant high five in celebration for both of us making the squad.

The ten girls that didn’t make the team collect their bags and shuffle towards the doors leading out into the auditorium. Once they all have left, the rest of us rush towards one another and throw our arms over the other. We’re connected in a circle and we jump, moving this way and that.

We finally calm down and see our new coach smiling at us. “Congratulations ladies. You are the best of the best and we look forward to a wonderful season. Go home and rest and be ready to get to work in five days.”

We give parting hugs and grab our bags. Brooke runs over to me, squealing as she charges.

“Oh my gaaah, Jolie! We made it!” She jumps into my arms –the tiny thing barely weighs a buck five– and I squeeze her tight.

“I know! This is so amazing. I really thought we didn’t make it when she started calling out numbers,” I tell her and drape my arm over her shoulders, walking side by side out into the hallway.

“You’re telling me. I was already planning on what kind of ice cream I was going to sob into. It was pink bubblegum, by the way.” I scrunch my nose at her, my teeth practically aching thinking of the sugary sweet concoction. “Hold the judgment.”

“Hey,” I quip, holding my hands up. “I was planning to grab a bottle of cheap liquor on the way back to my brother's place.”

As if the mere thought of him is enough, my brother comes walking down the corridor.

“Do I hear the voice of my little sister?” I roll my eyes but do so with a smile.

“By five and a half minutes, Jordan. Get off your high horse.” I step up to him and he looks down at me.

My twin brother is tall, standing nearly six-two, compared to my five-six. It’s totally unfair that he ended up with all of the height while I got cheated. Although, seeing Brooke and her five foot two frame at best, I don’t really have a right to complain.

“So,” he says, placing his hands on my shoulders. “Did you make it?”

I hold his stare, not moving an inch, before finally nodding my head like a bobblehead on a bumpy dashboard.

“I made it!” I shout and jump into his arms much like Brooke did to me just moments earlier.

He spins me in a circle, laughing, and my hair floats around the two of us. When he finally sets me on my feet, I adjust my duffle bag that has slid down my arm and push my hair from my face.

“Brooke made it, too,” I add.

“Who’s Brooke?”

“Me! I’m Brooke,” she says, bouncing on her toes.

Jordan eyes her from head to toe and up again, the wide grin only growing bigger. I can’t blame him. She’s smoking. Petite, copper red hair that drapes down her back in waves, blue eyes, a deep set dimple in one cheek, and a heart shaped face that makes her look like a cherub angel. Think Miranda Kerr, but shorter and definitely more sass.

“Well congratulations to you too, Brooke,” my brother says with a little smolder. “I’m Jordan. Jolie’s twin brother.”

“I didn’t know you two were twins, but I can absolutely tell you’re siblings. You two are ridiculously beautiful.”

Jordan and I examine each other as if it’s the first time we’re seeing one another. While we are fraternal twins, I’d have to agree with Brooke. The fact that he’s a boy and I’m a girl along with our height are about the only differences between us.

We both have fair skin and blonde hair –mine lighter than his, but only because of highlights– brown eyes, identical noses and diamond shaped faces, meaning we both have pretty distinct jawlines. That feature was something I hated growing up but now as an adult, I love the contours of my face.

“Nah,” we say in unison then break out into laughter.

When the laughter subsides, Jordan takes my bag from me and asks, “Have you had a chance to see Jo since you’ve been back?”

I feel my heart sigh and dance in my chest at the mention of his name.

Jo is Joaquín Santos, our childhood best friend, my lifelong crush, and currently the star rightwing for the Houston Havoc Hockey Team. The same Houston Havoc’s for which I am now a Whirlwind dancer.

A little backstory.

When Jordan and I were seven years old, our dad was transferred to Houston from Idaho with his company. He’s an oil and gas guy, and Houston is the epicenter for oil companies.

Leaving our childhood home and friends behind was tough, especially since we went from the land of many seasons to the land of one. Okay, two seasons. Hot and Hades hot. We moved smack dab in the middle of summer and were greeted by temps of a hundred degrees plus.

Our new house didn’t have a pool –which I now know is pretty rare in Houston– but our new neighbors did, and they invited us over the first week we moved in. The house belonged to Fernando and Paola Santos and their children, twelve year old Risa and seven year old Joaquín.

Jordan and Joaquín were instant best friends, of course. Risa was extremely nice, but our age difference made it difficult to have anything in common between the two of us. I stayed at the shallow end at first, kicking my feet in the water and pouting while everyone else had a good time. It wasn’t long when I felt a splash and looked up to see Joaquín in front of me.

“ Hey ,” he said. “ Don’tcha wanna play with us? ”

I looked at him like he had a bug on his face. “ Me? ”

“ Duh. Yeah, you. We need a third to play water tag and Jordan says you’re the best tagger. So..are ya? ”

“ Am I what? ” I asked.

“ Are you the best tagger? ” I smiled wide, holes where teeth should’ve been, and nodded.

My long braids bounced around and I slid into the water. From that day forward, we were inseparable.

People started calling us the three J’s. Jo, Jo and Jo, even though Joaquín’s name was not pronounced the same as ours. We ate together, played together, got in trouble together, learned what it means to be there through thick and thin with each other, and had even decided we would go to college together and start our own business. The Three J’s Building Company. That’s what we named it. Real creative, I know, but we were ten.

Along the way, I fell for Joaquín, but it was not reciprocated. I watched as he dated girl after girl and never once looked my way. I held tight onto my virginity, hoping to give it to him. But the day we graduated high school and he went home with my nemesis was the day I realized he would never be mine.

Joaquín was a hockey stud and ended up getting drafted by Houston straight out of high school. His parents really encouraged him to go to college and play after he graduated, but Joaquín couldn’t bear the thought of waiting four years to play in the pros.

So instead of going to college, he went to play in Houston’s development league in Europe for two years, then came blazing back to the states to become the hottest player on the ice.

While he was doing that, I went away to college broken-hearted and without my twin brother. He stayed here and went to U of H, and I went to school in Colorado and joined the dance team, something I had been doing since moving to Texas.

Leaving Jordan behind was torture, but he visited a lot and even dated a girl there for a while. That ended when Joaquín returned and the two of them continued trolling the city for girls.

Jordan changed his major from tax to Sports Administration, got a job as an assistant facility manager for the House of Havoc upon graduation, and once again became inseparable from Joaquín.

I still got my daily texts and three times a week phone calls from him, but they weren’t the same. When I’d come home to visit, it always seemed to be that Joaquín was busy either at a game, training for a game, or taking advantage of the short time he had off from playing. It made it so we never got to see one another in all the time we were apart. Seems impossible, but it really wasn’t.

Now we’re both back in the same city and part of the same organization. I may just be a dancer –something I’m doing to keep my love for dance alive while I apply for teaching jobs– but we’ll be seeing each other at every home game and no doubt plenty outside of hockey.

Which brings us back to the now.

“I, uh, I haven’t seen him. He’s a busy guy and I don’t want to bother him. I’ll catch him some other time,” I stutter.

“Nope,” Jordan says, plain and simple. “That won’t do. Jo has been asking about you for days now. If you leave here without saying hello, he’ll be crushed.”

I roll my eyes and swat at his chest. “Whatever. You’re being ridiculous. I guarantee the last person Joaquín is thinking about is me. He’s probably wondering what to wear for his date tonight.”

“That would be false,” a voice calls out from behind me. “I’m actually wondering why the best tagger in Houston hasn’t come by to see me. Are you ignoring me or something, Jo?”

I spin on my heel and meet the jaw droppingly gorgeous face of Joaquín Santos. It’s been years since I’ve seen him, but he’s every bit as handsome as I remember. I try not to eye him like a piece of juicy steak, but they have a mind of their own and take a pleasurable stroll over his body.

The smile is the same but that body… goddamn. The guy I left behind is no longer a boy. He’s a smoking, mouth watering, walking sex on a stick and I’d love nothing more than to take a big lick.

“H-hey, Joaquín,” I laugh, nervously.

He reaches me in three big steps and scoops me into his arms before I can react.

“Hey Jo. I missed ya,” he says into my ear as he continues to hug me.

I look over his shoulder and see Brooke mouthing “oh my gaaah” before letting her jaw hang open. Instead of hanging awkwardly in his hold, I snake my arms around his neck and return the hug.

“Yeah. It’s been awhile, hasn’t it.”

“C’mon. I need to hear all about my girl making the dance team and what we’re going to do to celebrate.”

The words leave his mouth and I think, my girl ?

What the fuck is this fool talking about?