Chapter Two – Fawn #3
“Chill. It’s a warm-up,” Cal says.
Can he sense I’m getting flustered? Oh shit, is it obvious?
“That’s a warm-up—” I’m trying to act nonchalant while looking at all the players crouched down, wiggling their hips back and forth in a manner that definitely should not be happening in public.
Cal lets out a nasally laugh. “It’s stretching, loosening up the hips.”
I pinch the bridge of my nose, trying to rub away the tension, but my eyes fail me and lock on to Crawley. He is getting way into it, winking at his teammates as he thrusts forward. Am I . . . am I actually eye-fucking him right now?
Stop, Fawn.
The players double over laughing. It looks like they are used to Crawley’s ways; however, I’m not. I notice Anderson, now in his helmet, skating away from the others. Smart move.
There’s something about Anderson, something mysterious and a little dark. It’s not so much that he arrived late, completely disregarding Coach Richards’ cranky attitude. It’s more the way he behaves — like he’s different than the rest of the group, like he’s part of the team but doesn’t care.
And the thing is — guys like that aren’t just born moody.
There must have been something that molded him into that, right?
I’m interested in knowing about his background — what’s the story with that shut-off, too-cool-to-care attitude?
I mean, nobody becomes that grumpy, lone wolf type for nothing.
And with that, just like a wolf, he completely senses it.
My stare. My attention.
He swivels his head, his eyes cutting through all the commotion and fixing on me.
I hear Cal shuffle beside me, attempting to conceal himself so he won’t be noticed, but I’m completely paralyzed.
Anderson’s eyes lock with mine, and it’s like time grinds to a halt.
Even from this distance, I can see his eyes are dark brown, nearly black, and so freaking intense.
He’s not so much looking at me — he’s looking through me, like he’s trying to discover who I am.
As cold ripples race across my arms, my heart beats hard against my ribs.
What in the world is happening to me?
A player zooms up alongside him in a smooth whoosh, ice spraying in every direction, completely disrupting the spell. Anderson breaks eye contact, blinks, and voilà — I’m free. But the truth is, I’m not even quite sure I want to be.
Fuck!
I shake my head, almost wanting to slap myself — honestly, I’m not here to dissect the players or whatever. I just want to get a feel for the game. I explicitly told Delilah I was here for research purposes.
Really, though, I am entangled with the atmosphere around some good-looking players who are either cocky or cranky and completely off-limits.
No men for at least a year.
I made myself a promise.
I need to simply observe the freaking practice.
****
Cal jumped over a row and decided to sit next to me, so I’m essentially stuck with my unofficially official hockey tutor. I’m not complaining, though — he’s explaining everything that’s going on, and it’s really helpful, even if he makes me feel like I’ll never get it.
I’m somewhat surprised nobody apart from Anderson has noticed us yet; he looks really shady, slouched with his black hoodie and sunglasses, like he’s about to rob the rink.
I return my attention back to the ice, scanning the players. “So, how come none of them joined the NFL?”
Cal snorts. In a split second, he slaps his hand against his forehead with an enormous thwack.
Oh, was that a stupid question? I mean, these men appear to be older than the typical pro athletes I’ve seen on TV. Maybe that’s why they—
“You weren’t lying when you said you know nothing about hockey,” Cal interrupts my thoughts, completely serious, staring at me like I’m a lost cause. Feeling my cheeks warm, I simply slump back in the chair and nibble at my bottom lip.
For a moment, he studies me. Then, with a huge sigh, he rubs his temple like I somehow injured him. “All right, first things first — the NFL is football.”
Oh.
OH!
How can I be so dumb? My knee blurs as it bounces up and down — I can’t seem to stay still. Luckily, Cal doesn’t notice. “You mean the NHL,” he corrects me. “Honestly, some of them didn’t even graduate from high school. It’s a local team.”
Taking mental notes, I nod, avoiding eye contact.
Cal playfully jabs his elbow into my side. “Seriously, Fawn? The NFL?”
I cover my face and groan. “You won’t let me forget it, will you?”
“Never.”
Coach Richards blows the whistle a final time. Thank God for that; it’s my lifesaver, a miracle yanking me out of my stupidity.
Practice is over, and the skaters are leaving the ice one at a time. Crawley stands, waiting for each player, and then—
Smack.
Smack.
Smack.
He slaps each of them on the ass. Well, of course, he does; he’s completely odd and arrogant like that. The guys are playing it cool like it’s nothing, and some of them are even returning it.
Standing, I gather my belongings and tuck my notepad under my arm. Beside me, Cal does the same, stretching as if he’s been sitting all day, but it’s only been about a couple of hours.
Hmm. Feels longer. Maybe all this hockey talk has gotten to me.
“Anyway, it was nice meeting you, Fawn,” he says, shoving his hands in his pockets. “No doubt I’ll be seeing more of you. Seriously, though, you need to do some more research.”
He’s not wrong.
“I know; I’ll have to ask the coach if I’m allowed to come back.” Just thinking about it makes me grit my teeth.
“Good luck with that. Just don’t look him in the eyes, and you’ll be fine,” Cal jokes, trying to ease my apprehension.
“Thanks, by the way. You really helped me out.”
“Don’t mention it. Literally. Don’t.” His lips twitch. “I can’t have my team thinking I’ve gone soft now.”
So smacking each other’s asses is okay, but God forbid a guy shows an ounce of kindness.
Interesting.
“Right, Fawn. I better go and surprise them in the locker room.” Cal jokingly winks.
“Hmm, should I be worried?” A half-smile pulls at the corner of my mouth.
“Nah,” he replies, as if he completely understands the mayhem he’s about to cause.
Hmm, I wouldn’t mind being a fly on the locker room wall.
I simply nod as he turns around, making his way down the steps. I’m left standing with my notepad, wondering what in the world I’ve gotten myself into.