Chapter Five
Phoenix
"Why am I hearing that you're on your way to prison?" Callie asks by way of greeting as soon as I have my phone to my ear. "What did you do?"
"Nothing."
"You're a terrible liar, Phoenix Michaud," she growls. "Spill before I come down there and choke the truth out of you."
"Has anyone ever told you that you have violent tendencies?" I ask, shoving shit into my locker.
"Yes. The last player I murdered told me that," she says sweetly. "Spill."
"Calm down. I'm not on my way to prison," I say, chuckling when she growls savagely. "It's just a rumor."
"About you going to prison?"
"It's a long story."
"I've got time."
"It's bait for a reporter," I explain, dropping onto the bench to pull my jersey on over my head. "I started a rumor to get her attention. Except my teammates are assholes and decided to take it to extremes. Now, I'm apparently on my way to prison for drug smuggling or some shit."
Harrison hears me from the opposite side of the locker room and cackles, the bastard. I flip him off, which just makes him laugh again. I swear, I'm going to kill them all for this shit.
I told them to be vague, not turn me into a criminal mastermind. Clearly, I put too much trust in the bastards because the entire damn staff is now involved, I'm apparently heading to prison, and it'll be a miracle if some other reporter doesn't get wind of this entire shitshow.
Raise a hand if you've ever been personally victimized by a rumor you started about yourself.
"Jesus Christ," Callie groans. "You're an idiot, you know that?"
"I'm aware, but I'm fixing it."
"How are you fixing it?"
"I threatened to start revealing real dirt if these fuckers don't correct the record," I say. "They're on top of it."
"How, precisely, are they on top of it, Phoenix?"
"They're floating a new story." It's a terrible plan, quite frankly.
I'm aware of this. But it's better than letting this whole "Phoenix is going to prison for drug smuggling" rumor continue to grow.
It's also better than admitting to Cara that I started the rumor myself.
I plan to do that…eventually. But not yet.
The longer rumors fly, the more excuses I have to see her. Right now, I need every excuse. I haven't seen her in the last five days. I'm losing my mind.
Corey isn't having the same problem. He took a puck bunny back to his room after the game in Colorado on Saturday.
Which is just further proof that he does not now and will not ever deserve Cara.
I spent the whole night dreaming about her.
He spent it forgetting she even exists. We are not the same.
"Jesus Christ," Callie groans.
"I've got it under control."
"You most definitely do not have it under control if I'm hearing about it!" she says and then groans. "But you know what? Knock yourself out. I hope whichever reporter you're terrorizing right now writes an expose about you."
"What's there to expose?"
"Gee, I don't know. Your lack of anything resembling two brain cells capable of rubbing together hard enough to produce the electricity needed to spur a rational thought?" she retorts.
A rough bark of laughter escapes before I can stop it. "Goddamn, you're mean."
"The truth hurts. You better hope your rumors don't escape containment or you're on your own."
"They won't," I promise. I mean, they haven't yet.
And if they do, it's not like anyone is going to find anything to confirm them.
It's all just gossip and rumors, exactly as intended.
If someone decides to write about them without proof, they'll be the ones who look stupid in the end, not me.
But so long as the gossip keeps Cara here, hunting for the truth, it's doing what it was meant to do.
Look, I said I had a plan. I never said I had a good plan. Clearly, I should have thought it through a little more carefully and made a few amendments—like not entrusting said plan to my teammates. But the puck has been shot now. I can't wind it back.
"They better not," Callie says before hanging up on me like usual.
I toss my phone in my locker and then grab my skates. Harrison is still at his locker, dressing slowly.
"She's going to kill you," he says.
"I'm aware," I grunt, earning laughter from him. "But Callie is the least of my problems at the moment. Apparently, I'm a drug-smuggling future convict. Fuck you all very much for that."
He cackles again.
"See you on the ice."
"See ya." He shoots me a wave before I duck through the door.
My heart goes into overdrive as soon as I spot Cara standing against the wall with her hands behind her back, staring at a stain in the cement. She's in another of her fuck-me dresses, her hair pinned up on top of her head.
"Damn," I breathe, my eyes locked on her.
She startles, her gaze tangling with mine. "Oh. Hey."
I stride toward her, bending down to brush my lips across her cheek. She shivers slightly in response, her body swaying toward mine before she catches herself, leaning away.
"Missed you," I groan softly.
"Phoenix."
I love the way she says my name. It's always supposed to be a warning, but it never comes out that way. It's a plea, every single time, as if she's begging me to keep being this honest with her even though she's supposed to pretend she hates it.
She places her hand against my chest, pushing me backward. I don't really want to get out of her space, but I play nice this time, curious why she's here so early.
"I have a question."
"Yes, I will go with you to prom."
She shoots me a withering glare.
"Was that not the question?"
"I didn't even go to my first prom," she mutters. "Why would I ask you to an imaginary second one?"
"You didn't go to your first prom?"
"No."
"Why the fuck not?"
"I was suspended."
A stupid grin stretches across my face. "Cara Oliver was suspended from prom?"
"No. I was suspended from school. Prom was just a casualty of war."
"Oh, I have to hear this story," I say, motioning for her to spill.
She stares at me for a long moment, as if she's trying to decide if she wants to share or not, and then she shrugs. "I got in trouble for snooping in the principal's office. Apparently, looking through his stuff was 'against the rules', even though he left it out in the open."
I throw my head back, laughing. "Of course you did. Find anything interesting?"
"Enough to get me suspended for a week," she grumbles, clearly still pissed about it.
"What's your dad's name?"
She blinks at me. "Uh, Blake Oliver."
"He played professionally?"
She stares at me for a long moment and then nods. "One season before he broke his leg. How did you…?" She trails off with a shake of her head. "You know what? Never mind. We're here to talk about you and your misdeeds, not me."
"This again, huh?" I grin at her, shaking my head. "Already told you not to believe rumors and gossip, gorgeous."
"And why is that?" she asks, her head cocked to the side, her eyes locked on me.
"Because they're rumors and gossip."
"Or is it because you started them yourself?"
"Me?" I blink, a little surprised that she's figured me out so quickly. Fuck. I expected it to take her a little longer. Clearly, I'm no good at this shit. "Why would I do that?"
"Isn't that the million-dollar question?" she asks, scanning my face like she's looking for the truth.
I meet her gaze, giving her my best innocent expression.
I'm not sure if she's buying it or not. She's hard to read when she wants to be.
A bead of sweat rolls down my back. Shit.
Should I fess up? I don't want to lie to her, but I'm not ready to watch her walk away from me, either. I need more time.
I decide to try to buy myself some time with a partial truth.
"Expensive questions require expensive truths," I murmur. "Maybe I'm not rich enough to afford to pay the price yet."
"And when will you be?"
When you fall for me.
"I'll let you know."
She stares at me for a long moment and then nods as if she gets what I'm saying and is willing to play along for now. I bite back a sigh of relief, my hands tight around my skates to keep from reaching for her.
She tracks the movement, her eyes widening slightly. "You have practice."
"I do." I take a step toward her. "Am I going to see you afterward?"
Her throat works, her pulse fluttering wildly. "Maybe."
Fucking hell. I want to kiss her so badly it defies logic.
"I'd like to see you after."
"Why?" She looks at me, not like she's just meeting my gaze, but like she's trying to figure me out. Like my answer matters. She wants the truth, not about the rumors, but about me. About us. About why I'm so fucking determined to wear her down.
And I'm not sure I know how to answer that question. It'd be easy to say I want her because I'm jealous as hell. That's true, but it's not the truth. I don't want her because the thought of her with Corey makes me homicidal. I don't want her because she's kept my cock hard since the day we met.
I want her for all the reasons I'm not sure I even know how to put into words.
Because she's constantly on my mind. Because she feels necessary.
Because my body is a livewire whenever she's around.
Because she makes me want more. Because, as fucking cliché as it sounds, my life has been demonstrably better since I collided with her than it ever was before that moment.
I want her because not having her is the worst thing I can imagine.
But I think telling her any of that might send her running. She doesn't know me, doesn't trust me, isn't even sure she likes me. I'm wild for her…and she's still on the fence about me.
So I settle for another partial truth—the little piece I think maybe she'll accept. "Because I like you," I say simply. "And I'd like a chance to prove that maybe you like me, too."
"Phoenix."
"It doesn't have to be a date, gorgeous. Just a conversation. That's all I'm asking for here," I murmur, my voice pitched low. "Just ten minutes where you let yourself forget that you're trying not to like me and let your guard down."
She stares at me for so long, I'm convinced she's going to shoot me down. But she doesn't. Instead, she groans, a tiny smile licking at her lips.
"Fine," she says. "Ten minutes."
I whoop like I just won the fucking Cup. Truthfully though, I think this might be better than that.
"Go to practice," she says, shaking her head. But she's still smiling.
So am I. All the way to the bench.
Not even seeing Corey's stupid ass wipes it away.