8. Cassidy
Cassidy
The cold air hits my nose as soon as we step through the curtain.
I pause on the stairs to take a video panning around the stadium.
“Wait until the season starts,” Celeste says. “This place will be packed.”
I slip my phone back into my purse and hold onto the railing as we descend into the stadium. “What’s the difference between preseason and the actual season?”
“Preseason is like a bunch of practice games. New players get to try out for specific positions, and the coach gets to evaluate his players. Not every player will make the big club.”
“The big club...?”
“You know, the NHL. Coaches want only the best players to start the game.” She smiles. “Trent’s really good, Cass. Wait until you see what he can do.”
“Good. I hope his old team regrets trading him.”
She chews her bottom lip. “I’m worried about that game. They’ll have to play each other at some point, and I have a feeling it’s going to be ugly.”
My stomach sours at the thought of him playing against his asshole ex-best friend.
We take our seats in front of the glass, and I snap some pictures while we wait for the warmup to start.
“I can’t believe you’ve never been to a hockey game before.” Celeste nudges me with her shoulder. “I’m excited to pop your cherry.”
“I’m glad you’re my first.” I smile. “It feels good to get out and try something new. Being a writer, I tend to be holed up in my apartment a lot.”
“How’s the new story coming along?”
“I have the basics of the beginning down.” I take a swig of my soda. “I’m excited to dive into the hockey aspect. I love researching new topics to write about.”
She flips her auburn hair over her shoulder. “Just make sure the hockey player’s PR agent is super-hot.”
I toss my head back as I laugh. “Don’t worry, I got you.”
Music blares over the loudspeakers, and colored lights swirl over the ice from above.
Butterflies swarm my belly. It’ll be interesting to see Trenton in his element.
I’m excited to see this side of him. I need to crack him open and dive inside to learn more about him if I’m going to do his character justice.
Watching him play seems like the perfect place to start.
The announcer introduces the Goldfinches, and soon they’re gliding over the ice, circling each other like a frenzy of sharks in the water. I take out my phone and record them, searching for Trenton.
“There he is.” Celeste points to the number one on his black and yellow jersey. “Normally, we’ll sit behind his goal, but I wanted you to have a full view of the rink today.”
Trenton might be two-hundred-pounds, but he flies over the ice like he’s featherlight. His gear is slightly different than the other players, with large pads over his legs and a cage over his face instead of a clear shield. I zoom in to record him as he skates around.
He makes his way around the perimeter of the rink, but slows down as he approaches where we’re sitting.
“Let’s go, Ward!” Celeste shouts.
I can’t make out his expression through the face mask, but his eyes find mine and he shoots me a wink before skating away.
Celeste leans in. “Tell me you got that on video.”
I glance down at my phone and fight the smile tugging at my lips.
“Make sure you post that.” She sits back against her seat with a devilish smile. “Puck bunnies will eat that shit up.”
“Puck bunnies?”
“Every sport has them. Jersey chasers, buckle bunnies, cleat chasers. They’re like groupies who just want to say they fucked a professional athlete.”
“Ah. Got it.” I open the notes app on my phone and type that in for future reference.
“Trent has a huge fanbase. He does volunteer work and donates to charities. He’s a great role model to kids. You should see him with them.” Her eyes light up. “In fact, you should attend some events with him. I’ll set it up soon and email you the dates.”
I chuckle. “Does your brain ever stop thinking about work?”
“Literally never.”
Some of the players bend down to stretch their legs, moving from side to side. Others are stick-handling a puck pretend to push an imaginary hockey puck, moving their stick back and forth.
But my eyes fixate on Trenton because he’s kneeling on the ice with his legs spread wide, performing what I can only imagine is a sexual maneuver as he humps the air.
My mouth falls open. “What the hell is he doing?”
Celeste cackles. “He’s a goalie, so he needs to make sure his groin is stretched for optimal mobility. He’s in a squat position for most of the game.”
“Damn,” I murmur. I press record and shamelessly stare as he swirls his knees in circles and continues to gyrate on the ice. It’s physically impossible to think of anything other than Trenton having sex while he’s moving like this. And in my head, I’m underneath him.
That makes two times now that Trenton has made me wet without even trying.
This is going to be a problem.
When Trenton finishes his stretches, he heads to the net and goes through a series of repetitive movements that look like he’s blocking an imaginary puck from the goal.
One of the players on the opposing team from New York skates to the red line in the center of the rink, spraying ice as he skids to a stop.
I can’t make out what he says over the music, but several of Trenton’s teammates glance back at him to wait for his reaction.
Trenton shakes his head and continues practicing, but one of his teammates—Krum, number sixteen—skates to the line to meet the opposing player.
Words are exchanged, and judging by their body language, they aren’t having a friendly chat.
Then, Krum skates around to the goal and pats Trenton on the pads before skating away.
“Wow.”
I glance at Celeste. “What just happened there?”
“That asshole on the other team must’ve been trash talking Trenton.” She points to his teammate wearing number eighteen. “But he stuck up for him. That’s promising. We need this new team to accept him.”
The corners of my lips tug into a frown. “Does he get that a lot, people being mean to him?”
“Chirping is part of the game. But Trenton stays out of fights. You’re not supposed to touch the other team’s goalie, so everyone usually respects that.”
“Fights?”
Celeste nods. “They’re allowed to fight every now and then in hockey. You’ll see.”
“Sports are so weird.”
She laughs. “You’re going to learn so much, my little grasshopper.”
After sixteen minutes of warming up, both teams head back into their locker rooms until the game starts.
Trenton doesn’t play for the entire game, which is typical for a starter during the preseason according to Celeste, but I eat up every second he’s on that ice.
The agility, the talent, the speed in which he blocks each shot...
it’s impressive. My shoulders jerk up to my ears every time the puck slams into the wall with crazy force, and I wonder how much of it Trenton feels through his padding and gloves.
The team wins 2-0 and I give that asshole on the opposing team a mental middle finger.
“So, what did you think of your first game?” Celeste asks.
“It was fun. I had no idea what was going on half the time but I got excited when they scored a point.”
Celeste laughs. “It’s called a goal. We have to teach you some hockey lingo.”
On our way out of the stadium, someone shouts my name. I turn around and the bright flash of a camera blinds me.
“Cassidy, why aren’t you wearing Ward’s jersey?”
“Is this just a PR stunt?”
“How is Trenton feeling on the new team?”
Celeste wraps her arm around my shoulders and guides me outside. “Don’t say anything. Let’s go.”
Several men chase after us as we scurry through the parking lot, and they continue snapping pictures of us until we drive away.
I blink several times and glance at Celeste in the driver’s seat. “Jesus.”
“Just wait until the season starts.” She says it like I’m supposed to be excited about it. “I’ll prepare some answers for you so you’re not thrown off when you’re approached by reporters.”
“One of them asked if we were fake dating. Do you think this is going to be believable?”
She flips her blinker on. “You two have to go on a date. Get out there in public. The more they see you together, the more they’ll buy it.”
I let my head fall back against the headrest while Celeste tells Siri a list of tasks she needs to be reminded of. And a small shiver of anticipation shimmies down my spine at the thought of going on a date with Trenton.
Those goalie exercises are really messing with my head.
It’s late when a light knock taps against my door.
Excitement squeezes my stomach. I was hoping Trenton would stop by when he got back from the game, but I wasn’t holding my breath.
I step back and wave him inside with the wine glass in my hand. “Hey, great game.”
“Thanks.” He shoves his hands into his pockets and I try not to stare too intently at the bulge outlined in his sweatpants. “Celeste said the reporters were hassling you. I just wanted to make sure you were okay.”
I wave a dismissive hand. “It wasn’t a big deal. It did get me thinking though. One of them asked if our relationship was a PR stunt, so we need to make this believable.”
He tilts his head. “What do you have in mind?”
I dart across the room and swipe the notebook off my desk. “I’ve been making a list of all the things we need to do to make this look legit.” I flip open to the page and hand it to him. “These are the basics, but you can add anything you think might help.”
Trenton’s eyes move over the short list.
1. Go on a date
2. Hold hands in public
3. Post pictures on social media
4. Kiss
“These are the things real couples do, so we should be doing them too.”
He nods. “Okay.”
“Hey, what did that guy from the other team say to you during warmups?”
Trenton lifts his hand and rubs the back of his neck. “Ah, nothing. Just talking shit.”
“What did he say?”
His eyes bounce around the room until they finally settle on mine. “He said, You must love losing—you lost your girl and your team.”
My lips pull down into a frown. “What an asshole.”
“It’s all part of the game. Players are going to try to get into my head.” He shrugs. “Obviously it didn’t work because my team won.”
“Celeste said you’re allowed to fight during the game. I think you should beat someone’s ass and teach them a lesson.” I slap my bicep. “Or just send him my way and I’ll show him what’s up.”
He chuckles. “You’re my bodyguard now?”
I lift my chin. “If I have to be. Nobody talks about my boyfriend like that.”
He shakes his head. “Nothing anyone says could ever be worth getting into a fight. That’s all part of the show for the crowd. I just want to play.”
“Oh! That reminds me.” I bite my lip to conceal my smile as I unlock my phone and pull up the TikTok video I created earlier. “You’re going viral.”
I may or may not have posted the video I took of him performing his goalie warmups.
The corner of his mouth twitches as he watches himself hump the ice. “The song is a nice touch.”
I grin. “I thought so.”
Pony by Ginuwine, of course.
“Leave it to the romance author to turn my stretches into a sexual thing.”
I scoff, feigning offense. “Are you calling me a pervert?”
“If the shoe fits.”
“You’re the one gyrating like an exotic male dancer, okay? You can’t blame a girl for noticing.” I take a sip of wine. “Now the real question is: Do you have the size to back it up, or do you rely on the motion of your ocean?”
He eyes my wine glass and his lips curve into a smirk. “Feeling flirty, are we?”
I hike a nonchalant shoulder. “I’m just saying, you look like you’ve got skills.”
He leans down and his lips brush against my ear. “Cassidy Quinn, you have no idea.”
I stand there for several minutes after he walks out of my apartment.
That makes three.
Three times this man has caused me to change my underwear.
I’ve gotta up my game.