Sticks & Stones (Winter Olympics Novella)

Chapter 1

If I see one more naked ass in the mirror while I’m brushing my teeth, I swear to god I’m going to throw up my breakfast.

I’m all for women’s empowerment and being confident in one’s skin, but walking around butt ass naked in a common area full of strangers is a bit much for me.

Now don’t get me wrong, they’re nice asses. Firm. Muscular. A bit pale, but that’s what you’ll get with a bunch of athletes who play winter sports. Not much time to tan the behind. But put some underwear on for fuck’s sake.

We’ve been in Sweden a few days now and I’m already over the ‘accommodations’ at the Olympic Village.

Privacy? What’s that?

Not only am I sharing a bathroom with over ten women, half of whom I don’t even know, but the walls are paper thin.

And if you’ve heard anything about the Village, you know these athletes are all horned up.

Our first night here and I got to hear one of my competitors on an entirely different level than I’d like.

She and some dude named Sebastian got to know each other very well in the wee hours of the morning.

Not that I would’ve gotten much sleep anyway. The sleeping quarters are absolute shit. I think I’d be more comfortable on the ground with a sleeping bag than on the bed that practically falls apart as soon as you lie down.

We’re world class athletes. You’d think we’d get beds with actual mattresses, not some flimsy padding.

Or at the very least, beds long enough to fit anyone taller than five-foot-eight.

I can’t even stretch my legs out without my feet hanging off the end of the bed.

I wonder if the men's quarters are this bad? I’m five-foot-eleven and I can’t imagine some of the men sleeping in these beds. There’s no way.

I spit my toothpaste out and shield my eyes as an impressive set of tits bounces into the shared bathroom.

“Morning,” I mumble as I keep my head down and beeline it to my room.

As soon as I’m in the safety of my own room, I slam the door shut and slump back against it in relief. Closing my eyes, I take some steadying breaths and try to remind myself that this is the dream.

You’re at the Olympics, Charlotte. You can handle a little nudity. It will all be worth it.

“How was your morning show?” My roommate, and best friend’s voice breaks through my affirmations. I turn my head to find her sitting on the ground, attempting to straighten her hair in a tiny makeup mirror she must’ve brought from home.

“Oh, just lovely. Did you know that one of Finland’s defense has a tattoo of a peach on her ass?”

Liv snorts and looks up at me. “No I didn’t. But I’ll be sure to ask her about it after I dangle around her and score later.”

“I’m sure you will.”

She shrugs her shoulders and turns her attention back to the mirror to finish her hair.

My best friend and linemate is a shit-talker. It’s one of the things I love most about her. She’s exactly like me on the ice. We don’t mind chirping the other team and getting under their skin.

I met Liv my freshman year at the University of Wisconsin. She was my assigned roommate in the dorms and we’ve been inseparable ever since. It’s why we’re so dangerous on the same line. We can read each other better than anyone else, anticipating where we’re going to be on the ice.

This is both of our first times at the Olympics. We’ve played in the Canada/USA rival series, but this is different.

This is the Olympics.

It’s what I’ve been dreaming of since I was a little girl playing in an all-boys hockey league.

We’re lucky enough to have the PWHL now, and I’m extremely grateful to be playing for the Frost, but this was always the dream—wearing the red, white, and blue and representing my country on the biggest stage.

Our room is smaller than our dorm was at school, so when I sit down on my “bed,” I’m able to stretch my legs and rest them on Liv’s. God, this place sucks.

“You almost ready? I want to stop at one of the grab and go stations to see if they have any gummy bears.”

Liv finishes straightening her last strand, her auburn hair falling down to the middle of her back, looking shiny as ever. She unplugs her straightener from her outlet adapter and pops up off the ground.

“I can’t believe customs confiscated your gummy bears. Do you even know how to play hockey without them?”

I reach down next to me and hurl a shoe at her. “Shut up! You know how superstitious I am. If I don’t have some before the game and in between periods, it won’t be good.”

Liv dodges my attack at the last second and the shoe bangs against the wall beside her.

“What the fuck?” a voice yells from the room next to us. The walls are thin enough that I know for a fact that was our goalie, Jonesy, sounding all disgruntled and pissed.

“Sorry, Jonesy!”

I barely need to raise my voice for her to hear me. This place is so damn loud all the time. I have no idea how I’m going to get any sleep while we’re here.

“Maybe they’ll have gummy bears and ear plugs.”

Liv laughs and grabs her navy Team USA vest off her bed, swatting my feet off of her blanket.

“Now that is a good idea.” She reaches her hand out to me and helps me off the rickety bed.

As soon as I stand, the bottom portion of the bed dislodges itself from the top half. I groan and throw my hands in the air. “Seriously?”

Liv grabs my arm, putting an end to my dramatics, and loops hers through mine.

“Living the dream, baby. Living the dream.”

We’ve stopped at three different grab and go stations and unfortunately there’s not a gummy bear in sight. We did secure some ear plugs, so at least that’s something.

We don’t need to meet the team for transport to the arena for another half hour, so we decide to explore the Village a bit.

The place is packed. Athletes from all over the world sporting their countries’ colors occupy the space and it’s extremely humbling.

The entire world could be a dumpster fire, but being here, with all of these people from different ends of the earth, it quiets the noise a little bit.

We’re at war in our own country and with other countries, but all of that fades to the background in a place like this.

Sports are more than just a form of entertainment. The hockey community is my family. The rink is where I go to find peace. It’s where I go to find my support. But the Olympic Village? This is unlike anything I’ve ever seen.

Athletes from different countries sit at the tables together, laughing and sharing stories. In just a few hours or days most of them will be competing against each other, but they’ll also be cheering each other on. The atmosphere here is different.

It’s hopeful.

In a world where hope seems to be lost much of the time, the Olympics bring just that.

I’m taking in the scene around me when Liv’s elbow jabs me in the arm, causing me to lose my footing.

“What the hell, Liv?”

When I look at her, her eyes are zeroed in on something across the plaza. I follow her gaze to see a group of four men, sporting USA winter jackets, coffees in hand.

“Isn’t that, Luke?”

I nearly trip over my own feet when I see him.

His chestnut hair is all over the place from the wind, his cheeks rosy with the cold. At six-foot-three, he stands four inches taller than me, and my god he looks good in red, white and blue. But that’s not what causes me to stumble. It’s those piercing blue eyes that nearly knock me off my feet.

Lucas Morgan is every woman’s dream. He’s also my brother’s best friend.

I’ve been doodling his name in my notebook since the fifth grade when my brother, Connor, brought him home for the first time.

He now occupies every dirty dream I’ve ever had.

And my best friend is the only person who knows about the crush I’ve been harboring all these years.

If my brother found out, he’d never let me hear the end of it.

One drunken night our junior year of college, I spilled my guts to Liv after we went to one of Luke’s bonspiel tournaments.

He actually used to be one of the curling coaches at our alma-mater when we played at Wisconsin, too.

Even though I rarely saw him, just knowing he was there was enough to keep my crush alive and well.

And now here he is in all his glory, the skip of Team USA’s men’s curling team.

The skip is what they call the captain of the team in curling.

Essentially he’s the team leader and strategist. During play, he directs the team and is responsible for making decisions on shot selection and overall game strategy.

Honestly, I feel like he has more responsibility as skip than a hockey team’s captain.

The team’s success literally rests on his shoulders and his decision making.

He’s worked his ass off to get to where he is, training just as hard as I have to get here.

I just can’t believe he’s here. At the Olympics. With me. At the same time.

I’m lost in my Lucas-induced haze when Liv’s hand starts waving in front of my face.

“Oh god, we’ve lost her. Hello? Char? Are you with me? Or are you busy daydreaming about the man who has no clue you exist?”

Her last comment breaks the spell. “You bitch. He knows I exist.”

“Oh yea? Let’s just see about that.”

Liv grabs my hand and yanks me across the square, heading straight for the curling team.

“Liv. No. What the fuck are you–”

We stop inches away from the men, all four of them pausing and turning our way. No one says anything at first, but I don’t miss the way the gentleman in the back snickers and the guy next to him eyes my best friend up and down slowly.

Typical men.

Finally, Liv breaks the awkward silence.

“Hey! Men’s curling team right? We just wanted to come say hi and introduce ourselves. We play for the women’s hockey team. I’m Liv and this is…”

“Charlie.” Luke’s voice interrupts Liv, and she moves her head back and forth between the two of us.

I told you he knows who I am.

Liv stops her eyes on me. “Charlie? I thought you hated that nickname.”

Luke’s deep rumble of a laugh causes my thighs to clench together but luckily Liv turns her attention back to him and doesn’t notice when I cross my legs to ease the pulsating happening there.

“By the way she’s blushing, I think she likes it. Don’t you, Charlie?”

Oh shit.

Luke’s voice is flirty and I can’t tell if he’s fucking with me or actually flirting with me.

His entire team, and Liv, turn their attention back to me. I tug my beanie over my ears and pretend to shiver.

“I’m not blushing. It’s cold as hell out here. It must be windburn.”

My eyes are on Luke and the sexy smirk he sends my way tells me he doesn’t believe my bullshit. And he shouldn’t. I don’t want anyone else to call me Charlie because he’s the first one to ever call me that. It’s sacred and would lose its appeal if everyone else started using that name.

Thankfully one of his teammates rescues me from myself and changes the conversation.

“Hey, I’m Brendan. You guys play tonight, right?”

Liv and Brendan start chatting about our matchup against Finland but I can hardly pay attention. I’m too distracted by the skip of the curling team. His eyes haven’t left mine and the look he’s wearing should send me sprinting in the opposite direction.

Because unlike every other time I’ve seen him, he’s not flanked by my older brother. He’s not wearing a mask of annoyance or looking anywhere else but at me like he normally does.

No, he’s looking directly at me.

And he looks like trouble.