CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Cal
As days turn into weeks, my feelings for Aspen grow deeper, and I don’t know what to do with that. I should stay away from her, but I can’t. An array of emotions swirls through me, ranging from lust, guilt, happiness, sadness, confusion, and anger—a daily battle between my mind and my heart. I know I shouldn’t, but still, I can’t help but find reasons to touch her in subtle ways. Even if it is just a graze, a little hit to get me by for a little while. She lives rent-free in my head, and many nights she takes residence in my dreams. Several times a week, we take walks together in the cool night air. Sometimes we sneak over to each other’s houses late at night and sit in the backyard wrapped in a blanket and talk about everything or nothing at all. It’s when I return home that I always feel conflicted.
I try to shake her from my thoughts as I skate around the ice, warming up for my game. For some reason unbeknownst to me, I’m nervous—I feel off. Something just doesn’t sit right. This isn’t normal for me. My eyes continue to find their way to the owner’s box, looking for Aspen. Why do I keep looking up there, and why does it feel like I miss her? I shouldn’t be feeling this way. My hands shake. My mind doesn’t want to cooperate with my body—I’m sweating, even though I haven’t worked up a sweat. I don’t understand why.
I’m scowling when Aiden yells out, “Yo, Smiley! What’s wrong, man?”
I shake my head, conveying I don’t want to talk about it. I don’t tell anyone anything, but even if I did, it isn’t like I would talk my shit out on the ice in front of everyone and especially right before a game. I don’t even fully understand what I’m feeling myself, so I’m sure as hell not going to gain clarity from a teammate.
Trying to clear my head and my nerves, I take one last lap around the ice.. When it’s time to face off, and the puck is dropped, I’m quick to pass the puck back to Jerome. He skates up the right, fighting for the puck against the boards with Toronto. Jerome passes to Trevor but Trevor misses the pass, sending the puck into Toronto’s possession. Toronto passes back and forth, dodging our guys, before their player rounds the crease to shoot for a goal. Ivan makes the block.
I’m not in the game; I don’t know what is wrong with me, but my head isn’t clear, and I just let these assholes by me. I take a deep breath and trying to center myself between the plays.
The puck is passed to me. I pass to Trevor; he passes to Drew, then it comes back to me. I skate up the left side, over the red line to circle the crease, then I’m slammed into the boards. Before I know what’s happening, Carter slams into someone beside me and begins throwing punches. He’s booted from the ice, mouthing off while skating to the sin bin.
We alternate taking possession of the puck. Our opponent is playing to win. Aiden has the puck; he makes it over the blue line and passes to me. I cut, skate up the left, deke around Toronto, cut to the right, wind up for a wrist shot, sending the puck to the goal—it hits the post and bounces off. Fuck!
We recover the puck; Jerome passes to Trevor, he winds up, takes the shot, the red light spins, and the siren blares. Fuck yes! We’re in the lead, zero to one.
We end up winning four to three, but Toronto handed us our asses for a minute. Everyone jumps around, shouting. There are rounds of backslaps, hugs, and fist bumping. The locker room is loud in celebration with Humankind’s “Big Dawgs” blaring through the speakers. I hit the showers, letting the hot water soothe my aching muscles as I wash away my sweat. That uneasy feeling still doesn’t settle, but after our win I’m in a much better mood. While I dress in the black Armani suit I arrived in, the guys are talking shit and popping each other with towels.
I’m standing at my locker, spraying cologne on my neck, when Carter sidles up next to me. “You want to go out with us to The Sapphire Lounge?”
The Sapphire Lounge is an exclusive club for the elite down in the lower east side of New York City.
“No, I think I’m going to call it a night.”
It’s an instinctive habit to say no right away. I’ve never wanted to do anything with them outside of hockey, and he knows what my response will be, but to be polite, he continues to ask me anyway. I just wonder when the invitations will stop completely because it’s expected of me to decline them. Do I want to go to the club with everyone and celebrate? Thinking of how much fun I’ve been having lately by spending time with Aspen has me second-guessing my original response. I don’t know if it’s just her or the fact that I don’t want to be trapped in my lonely ass house anymore. Life is becoming just a little bit easier to manage and I do have fun when I’m out.
“You know what? I’ve changed my mind.” I wrap Carter in a headlock. “Let’s do this!” I give a broad smile.
“No shit?” He asks, with a beaming smile.
Jerome, Carter, Drew, and I bypass the long line for the club and head straight in. We ascend up the stairs to the VIP section reserved for us. Standing at our private bar are Aspen, Hannah, and River, along with a few other teammates who just arrived. I walk toward the bar to greet the girls, but Aspen must sense me approaching because she spins around to face me.
“God!” She groans, tilts her head back, and puffs out an exhale. She tips her martini glass at me. “You are such a damn creeper!”
“Oh, I’ll just . . .” I throw my thumb over my shoulder and turn around like I’m going to leave.
She quickly grabs my hand, and a current of energy runs through my entire body. Every time she touches me, my stomach flips. I’ve never felt that before her.
“No. No. No. No. Don’t you dare,” she says, turning us and pulling me toward the bar. “I’m glad you’re here. By the way, good game tonight. I’m proud of you guys!”
I don’t know when Aspen had time to change after the game, but she has on a tight red mini dress that hugs her round ass. Her perfect tits are not completely on display, but her dress is tight across her chest, and even with the modest neckline, I have to avert my eyes. Don’t look at her tits. Don’t look at her tits. Don’t look at her fucking tits. I repeat the mantra in my head. She looks hot as fuck. My hands are clammy. My heart beats a little faster, and all of the blood rushes south to my cock, where it begins to strain against my pants.
A busty blonde bartender is working behind the sleek black bar. Underneath the bar, glows a cool blue light, showing off the upscale vibe. There are a few stools, but all of us are standing at the bar. The bartender sports a tight, haltered, tuxedo top, cut low enough to show off her tits. She’s paired it with a black miniskirt. Her name tag reads, Gina . Gina leans on the bar, and her boobs squeeze together. “What can I getcha, Hotshot?”
Aspen’s head rears back like she’s been backhanded, and she frowns. Even though I’m pretty sure it’s a common nickname, I can see the annoyance on Aspen’s face. Gina’s friendliness is obviously saturated in motivation. I could be mistaken, but I’m almost certain I see a little jealousy in Aspen’s eyes as she glares at the bartender. The left side of my mouth lifts into a knowing smirk. I place my hand on Aspen’s lower back. Her lips part with a gasp.
“Macallan, neat.” I say and toss a twenty into Gina’s tip jar. “And here’s another twenty if you call me by my name all night; it’s Callan. Hotshot is off-limits.” I look to the side and throw a wink at Aspen.
River leans over to whisper in Aspen’s ear. Aspen shakes her head no in response, and River quirks an eyebrow. I hear Aspen murmur to River to “leave it,” over the loud music as Carter finds us at the bar. He coasts his way over to River like a sly fox. “Look who it is! How are you, gorgeous?” His eyes roam over her face.
“Thirsty,” she retorts.
“Well, let me buy you a drink then.” He turns to the bar to get Gina’s attention, but River’s words stop him in his tracks.
“No, I was talking about you, not to you.” She pushes at his shoulder and walks over to the round booth.
“Ooooooh,” The crowd around laughs at his expense.
Aspen sits beside me in the booth River snagged; everyone else in our group is seated all around us as we play speed quarters. We all take shot after shot, joking, laughing, and having a good time. The two shot glasses have caught up with me. With a quarter in my hand, I bounce it on the table and miss. I have one more chance to bounce another quarter; I shoot again and miss. I quickly take both shot glasses and down them. I’ve never been good at quarters, and it shows. I’m certain we played the entire game wrong, but we are all drunk by the end of the round, so either way, mission accomplished.
River grabs Hanah and Aspen’s hands, dragging them down the stairs and onto the dance floor. The guys stand with me at the railing of the loft upstairs, which overlooks them. There are cages in every corner with women dancing, but are my eyes on them? No, they are on the raven-haired beauty that has seemed to gain all of my attention. We watch the girls dance, arms in the air, swaying their hips to the music.
“So, are you going to finally admit you got a thing for the boss lady?” Carter asks with his elbows resting on the banister.
I scoff. “I don’t have a thing for Aspen. We’re just friends.”
The moment I say that, my eyes narrow on three guys making their way over to the girls. One of them begins dancing with Aspen. He runs the back of his hand from her shoulder down to her hand, intertwining them as his other hand goes to her waist. He grinds his crotch on her ass, but she immediately moves to put space between them. He leans down to whisper in her ear. My blood begins to boil, and I become dizzy. I don’t want him near her. I would probably label this feeling as jealousy, but I don’t want to be jealous. We’re friends, and that’s it, but I sure the fuck don’t like his hands on her. My jaw ticks, and my teeth literally crack as I stand by idly and watch them. When she turns around and wraps her arms around his neck, I can’t take it anymore. I swiftly turn and breeze my way down the stairs, cutting through the crowd, maneuvering people out of my way until I’m standing in front of them.
“Move.” I say to the guy.
“No. Aspen . . . It’s Aspen, right?” He asks her, and she nods. “Aspen and I are talking. You can wait.” He pushes me back.
He has one hand on her waist and one on my chest, and all I see is red. “Get your fucking hand off of her,” I say.
“Cal!” She scolds, then steps back from the asshole.
“Fucking make me,” the douche says with his fist flexing at his side. He still has his hand on my chest. My fist flies.
“Cal! Stop!” Aspen screams as I punch him two times in the face, feeling his nose crunch. “Stop it now!” She goes to grab my arm, but I jerk back from her touch and turn to walk away. Bouncers are hot on my heels as they follow me to the door. The cell phones in my face don’t escape my attention as I dash out of the club. FUCK! Once outside, I jog down the sidewalk, trying to put distance between myself and anyone who might want more pictures to sell to the tabloids. Aspen is running after me, her heels clacking loudly.
“Cal! Stop!”
My feet meet the pavement in fast strides. I can’t talk; I’m too pissed off, and fuck, I’m drunk. And something has been stirring within me all day. I’m confused as to what. I’m trying so hard to keep everything locked up tight, but Aspen makes me feel. She’s always made me feel. From the moment I heard her voice, before I even saw her beautiful face, she’s been embedded so deep in me. The guilt assaults me again. My conscience tells me I shouldn’t have these feelings for Aspen; it’s wrong for my heart to race when she’s near me. As if I have any control over how she makes me feel. It’s right then that I realize why I’ve been feeling like I have today. It’s my wife’s birthday. Fuck my life . It’s my wife’s fucking birthday, and here I am out with another woman. Wanting another woman. I can’t do this.
“Cal, stop fucking walking!” She yells.
I stop abruptly and turn around. “Are you telling me that as my boss or my friend?”
She rears back and looks at me incredulously. “Cal, I’m your friend. I mean . . . yes, I’m your boss, and what just happened is going to be a fun time to clean up with Teagan, but I’m asking you to please stop walking and talk to me—as your friend.”
“I don’t want to be your fucking friend!” All my emotions spill out of me. Her face immediately drains.
I rub my hands up and down my face trying to collect myself. Pulling her into the dark alley, I back her up against the brick wall. One hand goes to gently cradle her throat, and the other grabs her hip as I push our bodies close together—I rest my forehead on hers. I close my eyes and whisper the lie I’ve been telling myself, “I don’t want to be your fucking friend. I don’t want you.” The lie tastes bitter on my tongue as it leaves my mouth.
She gasps. My mouth is so close to hers I can taste the Patrón from all the shots we had. I want to kiss her, but I know if I do, there will be no turning back for me, and I’m not ready. I’m such an asshole.
My hand slides from her neck and traces across her collarbone and down her arm, erasing that bastard’s touch. Our fingers intertwine, and our foreheads break apart. I just want to be close to her. I’m tormented. I’m tired of being sad. I’m tired of being broken. I’m tired of wanting her and feeling awful about it. I’m just fucking tired. Our eyes clash. “You come into my life and turn it upside down. I thought I could do this.”
“You promised.” She says softly, tears marring her emerald eyes. “You said you wouldn’t do this to me. You know my history—and you say you don’t want me? Fine! I told you not to catch feelings. But if that’s the case, Cal, if you really don’t want me, then what was that bullshit back there with the guy I was dancing with? Huh?”
“Well, what was that shit with the bartender? Huh? What was that?” I point in the direction of the club. “You’re being a fucking hypocrite, Aspen.”
“Me?” She pats her chest, then digs into mine with every poke of her pointy red-polished nail. “You’re the one who takes all my secrets, all my confessions, and hoards them, but you give me nothing in return! You’re locked up like Fort Knox. When I ask about your life, you give me nothing. Nothing! You redirect or change the subject. I asked you what it was like where you grew up, and your answer was, ‘It was cold.’ Like, what kind of fucking answer is that? What does that even mean? So yeah, I might be a hypocrite, but so are you . . . and what’s more is you’re a fucking coward too.” She swipes a finger under her eye to wipe away a stray tear, shakes our hands apart, then she pushes me off her.
“It was cold because I was fucking homeless, Aspen! Okay?” I yell. I rub my palms over my face, gathering myself. “Nights wherever I could lay my head on a bench were fucking cold. Trying to make sure I was safe and in a well-lit place where some creep wouldn’t try to violate me in my sleep was terrifying. I was a homeless child with a cracked-out mother. Is that what you want to hear? Because it sure the fuck isn’t what I want to discuss. It’s not something I’m proud of. I don’t go around sharing that tidbit of information in casual conversation.”
With her fingertips spread over her lips, she gasps, her eyes wide with the realization I presented her. “Cal, I’m sor—”
“I just need to go home. We can talk this out when we are both sober. I’m getting a ride.” I say softly as I cut her off. I don’t want her pity. I pull up the app on my phone and order a ride for us.
“Well, that’s not surprising, Callan Miles. A man’s back is something I’m used to,” she cries, brushing away her tears. “Go on! Leave! It should be easy for you. It’s been easy for everyone else,” she yells.
I exhale a long breath. “I’ve ordered us a ride. You seriously think I would leave you here by yourself? We both have far too much alcohol in our systems. We can have a conversation tomorrow when we’re both sober.”
The hurt expression on her face causes a foreign discomfort in my chest. Knowing that I did this to her, that I caused her pain by telling her I didn’t want her or her friendship, I can’t bear it. I try to pull her into a hug, but she fights me off. So, I try again. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean it. I don’t want to hurt you.” Finally, she relents and curls into me, and her tears soak my shirt.
We wait in the alley until our ride pulls up. I usher her into the car. The ride is eerily silent the whole way home. She stares out the window and wipes the errant tears from her face as she silently cries. I scoot over and pull her against me, holding her the rest of the way home. When we make it home, I walk her to her door and give her another hug. I place a kiss on her forehead and mumble, “I’m so sorry, Firecracker. I truly didn’t mean what I said. Let’s talk tomorrow. Okay?”
She nods, and without a word, she steps into her house. I turn around and walk back to my lonely house. Once I make it up the stairs and plop into my bed, regret slams into me. Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! My fist comes down on my pillow over and over. Something in me has to change. I can’t keep doing this to myself or to her.