Chapter 9—Wolfe
The cold from the hundreds of feet of ice curled up and veiled Wolfe in its frigid comfort. Holding his stick loosely in his hands covered by his thick hockey gloves, Wolfe powered his way around the rink the Colorado Crush called home. He gained speed with each intense glide of his skates.
He joined Matt and Dante for another of their many summer workouts held in recent months. All three were warming up as they awaited their goalie, Anton, to emerge from the tunnel so they could work through some shooting drills.
The diva was always late.
Fucking goalies.
Wolfe grabbed a puck with the blade of his stick as he sailed by the resting disc awaiting him at the blueline.
He began to move the frozen puck back and forth from the front to the back of the stick’s blade while continuing his swift laps around the rink.
Never looking down, Wolfe let his speed and muscle memory of the action he’d done thousands of times during his life fuel him.
After two full laps, he leaned his weight against the stick and his front leg to fire a laser of a shot to the upper corner of the empty net.
“Light the lamp, Wolfe,” team captain Dante yelled, then cupped his hand over his mouth to imitate the roar of a crowd.
“Lookin’ good, Wolfe-y,” Matt, the rookie sensation shouted and skated to a halt next to him, an icy spray scattering in his wake.
Wolfe remained extraordinarily pissed at himself and the mess he made with Aspen during what should have been an enjoyable evening. Instead it went to hell because he couldn’t seem to compartmentalize his sister’s death and yet another shitty conversation with his dad.
It served him right to think that he could find any semblance of happiness, let alone peace, especially on the anniversary of the death of his baby sister.
What in the hell was he thinking?
“First, don’t ever call me Wolfe-y again,” Wolfe gripped his stick so hard he thought it might shatter into a million shards of carbon fiber. “Second, quit flapping your gums and get to work.”
To accentuate his point, Wolfe lifted a puck with his stick and wristed it against the kid’s track pants covering his shins with a little more force than necessary.
“Ow!” the rookie complained. “Seriously, Wolfe, you’re crankier than normal today. Are you hangry? Do you need a Snickers?”
Wolfe narrowed his eyes before speaking. “Rook, don’t begin to think for a second that we’re friends because we workout just about every single day. In fact, it’s all I can do to not jam you into the boards to wipe that smug look off your pretty-boy face right now.”
Although Wolfe wouldn’t admit it aloud, based on the threat he just issued, the kid was blooming quickly into a leadership role with the team that matched his remarkable hockey talent.
Wolfe found it difficult to believe how effortlessly Matt shifted into those roles after being called up to the club during a short stint with the Crush near the end of the team’s playoff run.
“It’s okay, Wolfe,” Matt began gently, as if he was approaching a stray dog. “I heard that your dinner with Aspen didn’t go well.”
“What dinner?” Dante asked as he glided to a stop next to them. “You went to dinner with Mia’s boss?”
Wolfe ignored the captain and the confusion in his dark brown eyes that were currently full of questions. “How’d you know I went to dinner with the boss baker, kid? Where’d you hear that? Were you hanging out at the bakery for some reason?”
Deflect. Deflect. Deflect.
The stunned expression that crossed the rookie’s face almost made Wolfe smile.
Almost.
“Oh, um, I stopped by the bakery for a quick cup of coffee,” Matt rushed out. “The coffee was to go. I didn’t stay. Anyway, Mia and Aspen were talking about the dinner and that it didn’t go so well.”
Fuck a duck.
Wolfe normally kept all of this shit in, but he was stumped as how to proceed in hopes of landing back into BB’s good graces.
He longed for the internal sun that lit up her beautiful face and spread to others around her.
A light that Wolfe not only desperately wanted but began to crave.
And a light he was responsible for dimming.
“And?” Wolfe asked blandly, as if he wasn’t holding his breath to see what intel the kid might have about the situation.
“And nothing. It sounds like it was a weird night and she was just sharing with Mia.”
“Weird how?” Dante jumped in before Wolfe could ask for clarification.
“I don’t know, it sounds like some superfans basically offered Wolfe sex, by the way Aspen was talking about it, and she sounded more jealous than anything. But then they stopped talking.”
Both men looked to Wolfe, expecting him to fill in the gaps.
“What?” Wolfe questioned, then continued flatly. “Some bunnies came to the table to chat and get autographs while we were eating dinner. I shut them down and moved them along, but not before one of them shoved her tits in my face to sign her skin.”
“Damn, bro,” Dante shook his head, then leaned his chin against his gloves resting atop the knob of his hockey stick.
“Needless to say, the night didn’t end well with the boss baker.”
“So what are you going to fix around her shop to get back in her good graces?” Matt said with a laugh, and began batting a puck lightly against the taped portion of the blade of his stick.
Wolfe thought long and hard about that. He didn’t want to show up and do a shitload of work to make her feel even worse, like she owed him even more in materials and time.
This whole situation was laughable. Wolfe was certain he could pay off her loan with his salary from one month of games.
Although her shop needed every bit of extra TLC Wolfe offered and more, he knew Aspen’s pride and need to avoid taking handouts brewed beneath the surface between the two of them.
“Maybe you could bring her a gift,” Matt’s voice interrupted Wolfe’s wayward thoughts about how to proceed in this unclear situation.
“Like what?”
“I don’t know. I accidentally broke... a friend’s tablet, so I went and bought her a new Kindle. She seemed cool with it.”
“Sounds like a plan. Maybe instead of bringing her a gift, you could take her to Chick-fil-A for a shake,” Dante offered.
Wolfe shook his head in disbelief at Dante’s lame recommendation. He was also certain that the new tablet went to Mia based on the way the rookie loitered at the bakery during Mia’s shifts. Wolfe would save that bit of info for another time.
“Cap, I swear, you’re one day shy of wearing plaid pants pulled up to your sternum and eating dinner before four in the afternoon based on how old you act. You’re such a grandpa.”
A serious look crossed Dante’s face. “There’s nothing wrong with eating early, Wolfe. It’s good for digestion,” Dante retorted, unaware he was being dinged for acting insanely older than he was. “Okay, smarty, you tell me what she likes.”
The problem was Wolfe didn’t know exactly what she liked. He didn’t know the first thing about what BB enjoyed since their dinner mostly involved an argument over who was going to pay and an interruption from the busty bunnies at their table.
From her work at the bakery, he knew Aspen loved her business and making sweet treats.
“We know she likes to bake,” the kid offered.
“Yeah, but wouldn’t she have everything she needs since it’s her job?” Wolfe countered, taking his hockey gloves off his hands and tucking the padded holders under his arm since it seemed they weren’t going to be practicing anytime soon. “I mean she has pans, ingredients, that kind of shit.”
Wolfe was at a total loss.
“You could google fancy cupcake baking supplies and see what comes up,” Matt spouted.
Wolfe considered the not-so-bad suggestion from the kid who had far more game than the team’s captain. Must be his fancy Ivy League education.
“That’s not too bad of an idea, rookie.”
Wolfe only hoped it helped him score more time with the boss baker.
He was tired of feeling off-kilter around her.
It was a foreign feeling and uncomfortable as fuck.
Speaking of uncomfortable, he was also tired of his cock staying as hard as a rock while constant fantasies of BB fueled his desire and led to more jack time than he’d had in his life.
“Why are you standing around?” the team’s goalie, Anton Sokolov barked at the trio standing at the blueline as he finally made his way to the ice. “You all talk a big game about winning the Cup, but you stand and chat like gossipy women at the salon. Let’s work.”
Wolfe appreciated the goalie’s drive, along with his effort to learn English when he came to the States from his homeland of Russia and the Kontinental Hockey League a few years ago.
It didn’t mean he wasn’t going to chirp at him though.
“Spending lots of time in the salon, Russian? Getting those lovely blonde locks conditioned and trimmed? They’re so pretty.”
“Blow me, Wolfe.” The goalie declared in perfect English, then swept away the puck that rested in the goal just behind the crease, as if its mere presence within the confines of the net was a capital offense. “Let’s work.”
And just like that, all thoughts of a disastrous dinner and a baker faded into the sounds of skate blades against the ice.
Wolfe could finally breathe.