Chapter 16
Rome
Phone sex.
My ex and I used to dabble in it, but it was nowhere near as hot as what Billie and I have been doing the last few nights. The first couple of times it was me getting her off, but then last night she did all the talking, and I shot off so hard I made a mess everywhere. Totally worth it, though.
I don’t know what the hell we’re going to do when we get back to L.A.
With Bodi underfoot, we’re never alone, and even if we are, there’s always a chance he’ll come home.
We absolutely can’t have sex at the townhouse.
Getting a hotel room wasn’t my first choice, but now that we’ve discussed it, that’s probably what we’ll do. We just have to be careful with it.
Both of us staying out all night? We might get away with it once, but multiple times? Bodi isn’t stupid. He’ll be suspicious and that’s the last thing either of us needs.
Not getting naked isn’t an option, though.
I get hard just thinking about her.
She’s not like the twenty-two-year-olds I remember dating in college. She’s smart and has a solid head on her shoulders. She works hard, and while there’s no mistaking the naughty streak in her, she knows what she’s doing. She has goals for the future, like finding her path in the business world.
And I don’t know where or if I fit into her dreams.
Once I get a real taste of her, it’s going to be a bitch to back pedal, and that would be a shitty thing to do to her anyway. The time to back off is now.
But I don’t want to.
Which means we’re most likely taking things to the next level.
I look across the locker room where Bodi is hanging out with Blake and Connor.
He and Blake are best friends. They spend a lot of time together even though Bodi’s ridiculously single and Blake just got married.
Rowan seems to adore Bodi, so the three of them spend time together as well.
Bodi hasn’t even been on the team a year but he’s fit right in.
It’s different for me.
I’ve been here two months and don’t really hang out with anyone. My first week here, Shane, Teague and Chandler took me out. That was the night I met Billie. We had a good time but it was obvious we didn’t have a lot in common. They didn’t ask again, and I never brought it up.
Marty seems cool, but he’s a family man, completely in love with his supermodel fiancée and the life they’re building.
Gabe Delugo is my age, but he’s made it clear this is probably his last season, and he’s married to the team owner, Harper Barrowman-Delugo.
They had a baby not that long ago, so he’s another guy that doesn’t go out much.
Everyone else is either too young or too married, once again making me the locker room outcast.
In the past, it’s been acrimonious; here in L.A., everyone is pretty much indifferent. They’re not openly hostile or anything, but invitations to hang out aren’t forthcoming either.
“I need everyone to bring their A game,” Coach Vanek says, looking around.
“The game against Columbus was lackluster. I know a bunch of you are hoping to make it to the Crimson Edge show tonight—but if I see a half-ass, distracted effort on the ice, I’ll put the lot of you on lockdown at the hotel. Am I understood?”
There’s a chorus of agreement around the room.
“And let’s see if we can get a little scrappy tonight.” He looks right at me. “I haven’t seen much grit the last couple of games.”
Then he turns and leaves the room.
Shit.
Have I been so caught up in my thoughts about Billie that my performance has been… lackluster? I mean, we won two out of three. But the last game was rough. I may not have been at my best, but neither was anyone else.
Well, tonight I’ll make sure it’s different.
If Coach wants my A game, that’s what he’ll get.
My teammates may not like me, but I can make sure they need me.
In an effort to change my reputation a little and not be such a loner, I’ve tried to tone down the chirping and on-ice antics. Unfortunately, that appears to have been a mistake. One I won’t make going forward.
“Let’s do this, boys!” Jensen Bang, our team captain, looks around the room. “Are we ready? Gabby—you ready?”
“Fuck yeah.” Gabe nods, grabbing his stick.
“You ready, Marky-Mark?” He looks to Canyon Marks.
“All systems go, bro.”
“That’s what I’m talkin’ about.” He turns to me. “How about you, Cassie? You ready to kick some ass out there?”
I hate that nickname—it’s short for Castellano—but I nod because it’s expected. “Always.”
“Then let’s go.”
Gabe leads us out onto the ice and it’s immediately evident that the crowd here in Minneapolis is fired up. It’s loud and energy is high. That’s either really good or really bad, because it means our opponents will be overconfident and not give it their all, or they’ll be on fire.
Either way, if they want me to make some shit happen, I have an arsenal of tricks up my sleeve.
My legs feel heavy when I step on the ice, but that’s just nerves. Once I’ve loosened up, I’ll put everything out of my mind. The crowd, Coach’s distinct warning, even Billie. All of that will be compartmentalized until the game is over.
“Coach was in a mood, eh?” Marty asks, skating next to me as we warm up.
“Last game was tragic,” I say, shrugging. “We need to do better. Especially me.”
“Nah, he was just lighting a fire under your ass. Everybody knows it’s their ass next time.”
Maybe, maybe not, but I’m not going to argue with him.
I have a job to do and they’re paying me over a million dollars a year to do it.
The game is rough, and despite my best efforts, I’m having a hell of a time making anything happen out there.
And it’s not just me. Jensen is built like a proverbial Mack truck, and is constantly throwing his weight at people, but it’s like they’re immovable.
Canyon is a league-leading scorer and he can barely get his stick on the puck.
The only reason we’re not losing by a dozen goals is because Gabe is all but standing on his head.
Coach switched things up and put me on the first line with Canyon and Connor, who are elite scorers, but by the third period we’re tired, aggravated, and beyond frustrated.
There’s nothing worse than a game like this, but the score is 1-0.
We’re only down by one. If someone—anyone—could just make something happen, we’d tie it up.
And that someone is going to be me.
I don’t know how, but as we make our way down the tunnel toward the ice, I feel an old tingle of excitement.
A feeling that only hits me occasionally, something that burns deep and doesn’t show itself often.
It’s confidence along with a good dose of will power—if I can wish it hard enough, it’ll happen.
The last time I felt it was two years ago, right after my second divorce, and that night I scored the only hat trick of my career. A hat trick isn’t the goal tonight, but all the better if I can make it happen.
Right on the opening faceoff, one of the D-men on the other team chirps at me.
“How’s it hangin’, old man?” He smirks.
Damn, the kid doesn’t look old enough to drive, much less play in the NHL.
“Right between your mom’s legs,” I chirp back, grinning when his mouth falls open.
Poor kid can dish it out but can’t take it. He’ll learn.
I snake the puck between his legs and shoot it to Canyon, who passes it to Connor.
There’s a scuffle at the boards, Connor and one of the other team’s forwards fighting for control.
It’s not pretty, but Connor comes out victorious, snapping the puck in my direction.
It bounces off my stick but I manage to get it back and head for the goal.
I shoot, knowing it won’t get past the three guys between me and the net, but I’m fully aware that Canyon, Connor, and Evan Laurenz are positioned to snatch the rebound.
We go back and forth a few times, but as seems to be our luck tonight, we can’t score.
Then I get that tingle again, the one that tells me I’m about to make something happen.
Mr. I-Can’t-Take-A-Chirp gets control of the puck and takes it up the ice, but Canyon gets it away from him, bringing it back into their zone.
I’m trying to determine if he’s going to pass it, but he’s looking right at the net, so this is going to be a shot.
I need to position myself in case there’s a rebound, and sure enough, the puck hits the post but instead of bouncing back, it drops like a fuckin’ rock.
Their goalie doesn’t know where it is and there’s a limited amount of time before he sees it, so I have to get there. Now .
I come in fast, their goalie knows I’m heading in his direction and twists for a better view, but I’m already there.
I’m going too fast for any finesse, so I stretch my body as far as I can and tap the puck with the tip of my stick, giving it a little poke toward the goal line.
I see a flash of red behind the glass right before there’s an explosion of pain deep inside my inner thigh.
And when I go down, I can’t get up.