Wrong Number, Right Grumpy Hockey Player (Wrong Number, Right Grump #14)

1. Nick

Nick

Sweat pours down the sides of my face and gathers at the base of my spine as I expel harsh breaths and execute a series of jumps.

I spring across the gym’s black mat floor, plant my feet into the ground, then squat and launch myself into the air twice more.

I travel the length of the gymnasium, evaluating my body position, testing my stability, my control, my propulsion.

All the while, I have one thought. I am…

Faster. Stronger. Powerful.

Those are the things I need to be in order to get through this one-year contract and find my way back east, back to where the heat doesn’t press down on a body on all sides, and I can be closer to everyone I know, love, and had to leave behind.

“Come on, Nick. One more, one more. Faster. Stronger. With more power.” I speak to my own reflection and ignore my vibrating phone on the bench press across the way. “The offers will come pouring in the second I can prove I’m an asset.”

The phone continues vibrating on the leather bench, its glossy screen alight with another notification.

“Cartsy, you gonna get that?” Marcus Romero Hernandez—whom everyone apparently calls Romeo—drops the weights he’s dead lifting and swipes at the sweat running along his brow. “It’s been going all morning.”

I scowl at him, then the phone. “I know. It’s just something I need to sort out later. The phone company gave me a recycled number, and it seems whoever had it before was Mr. Popular.”

I don’t say that Mr. Popular was providing a very specific set of services, judging by the colorful text messages and voice notes that keep coming through. No one needs to know or hear what these faceless women have been sending me.

“Maybe you should’ve left it in the locker room.” Marcus says, eyebrows lifting.

Maybe you should mind your own business.

“I’m waiting on a call.” They don’t need to know I’m looking to change agents and partner with somebody new. Someone who can take me through the next stages of my career and help me get back to where I belong.

Marcus’s mouth flattens into a thin line as he gestures between himself and another one of my new teammates, Shiloh Gagne. “Some of us focus a little differently.”

“Just put your earphones in, Shakespeare.”

The other players exchange a glance, and already I know I’m fucking it up.

This isn’t the kind of impression I want to make on guys who are probably going to play on my line for the next year.

I need to be able to skate and gel with them, both on and off the ice.

That’s the whole reason I came to train with them ahead of the season’s start.

“Sorry. It’s… been a lot. Changing teams. Moving countries.” I drag a hand over my face. “The move was something of a shock.”

“I get it,” Shiloh says, swinging a kettlebell between his legs. “Everyone says you didn’t want to leave the Turbos.”

Before I can answer, my phone starts vibrating again, so I snatch it up and catch a glimpse of another message. It’s a picture this time, a close-up of glistening pink flesh with a caption that reads: WHERE YOU BELONG.

Jesus. I punch a button and toss the phone back down like it bit me. The second I’m done in here, I’m going to get a brand new number so the incessant notifications and inappropriate messages can finally stop.

“Toronto’s home,” I say, rubbing my eyes as if it could clear the image burned into my retinas. “It’s the team I grew up cheering for. The team I dreamed of playing for. Hell, it was the only team I dreamed of playing for. I thought when I signed with the Turbos, I’d retire as one.”

“My dad did that.” Shiloh sets the kettlebell down and reaches for his water bottle.

“But most people don’t stay with one organization anymore, Cartsy.

Unless you’re like me and you’re the next franchise player management is going to build a team around, no one’s making that kind of promise to you. ”

“So the rumors are true,” I snicker. “You can really just about fit in a room alongside your inflated ego.”

He laughs, unbothered by the barb. “All I’m saying is if a long-term commitment is the kind of thing you’re looking for, you’re better off getting hitched to your girl.”

“What girl?”

“Whichever one is blowing up your goddamn phone,” Marcus mutters.

“There’s. No. Girl.” I grunt out each word as I leap across the mat and imagine myself sending the stupid thing flying down the ice surface just to see it smash against the boards.

Right on cue, it starts vibrating again, but Shiloh scoops it up.

My eyes go round as I nearly miss the landing, twisting my body to stop him even though he’s out of reach.

“Don’t!”

Then, he flashes the screen in my face, successfully unlocking it before he starts swiping.

“Goddamn it, Gagne.”

“No girl, huh? Well…” Shiloh’s eyebrows shoot upward as Marcus snorts. “Guess you were telling the truth. What the hell is this? You’ve got at least a dozen messages from different numbers. Big Daddy, come on over and—oh shit.”

“Those aren’t for me.” Heat climbs up my neck. “I told you. I got given a recycled number. I’m going to change it because whoever had it before me—”

Shiloh’s eyes glitter with mirth. “Whoever had it before you was a straight-up player. This guy must’ve been wheelin’ broads like an OG. And it looks like he was making bank while he did so.”

I groan. This is not the first impression I wanted to make.

Marcus crowds in around Shiloh’s shoulder, peering at the device for a moment before he turns away, shaking his head to try to cover up his laugh.

Fucking great.

“This one wants you to tie her down and wear a mask. Cartsy, are you into kinky shit? Someone here’s bound to be your speed. And if you ask me, finding someone to warm up your brand new bed might just be the thing you need to settle into Soltero Beach.” Shiloh laughs.

“I don’t need warming up. It’s a hundred fucking degrees outside. And for the record, rookie, I didn’t ask you.”

“I’m not a rookie anymore,” he shoots back, still scrolling and skimming. “God, how many of these women are asking you to send ‘em dick pics?”

“No way those are from real women,” Marcus says, returning to the weights. “No woman is messaging a rando asking for dick pics when she can get them sent them on the regular without ever having to ask.”

Shiloh rolls his eyes at me and sticks a thumb over his shoulder in Marcus’s direction.

“Romeo here gets himself engaged to the first woman who’ll have him and thinks he knows what all women want.

” Then he jiggles the phone at Marcus and keeps scrolling.

“These women are begging for them. Some are offering to pay for the pleasure of his company. So either Cartsy here inherited the number of a very talented man, or his signing bonus wasn’t big enough.

” He smirks at me. “You got a little side hustle giving the ladies what they want, Cartsy?”

“I don’t know if they’re real. I don’t care if they are or aren’t. I’m not giving them jack shit.” I reach over to take the phone back, but Shiloh turns away, still clutching the thing in his hand.

“If you don’t, I will.” He flashes me a mischievous smile and reaches for the waistband of his shorts, pulling it wide while angling the phone down into his pants.

“Oh, Christ, ‘Loh, cut it out.” Marcus snatches the phone off Shiloh before the other man can take any incriminating photos. “Why do you always have to be such an asshole?”

Then, he tosses the phone my way, and I catch it in both hands. The goddamn thing is vibrating again, and my sweaty hands can’t quite get a grip on it. I fumble it, and suddenly, everything moves in slow motion.

The phone drops to the floor with a clatter. In my peripheral vision, I see Shiloh’s shoulders hunch and he mouths an expletive while Marcus clamps his mouth shut and stares at the screen with me.

It’s alight with numbers. Not a phone number, but the amount of time the call’s been connected to the Private Number that rang.

Two seconds. Three seconds. Five.

Please be the agent. Please be the agent.

“Uh… Hello?” A female voice fills the silence. Then, there’s a breathy laugh in the heartbeat that follows. “Are you there?”

Something about her voice has me reaching for the phone as my new teammates bat at one another’s arms like high schoolers.

“Hello?” I say, bringing the phone to my ear.

“Tell her the first five minutes are free, but then it’s five bucks a minute!” Shiloh calls out as Marcus shushes him.

I stomp out of the main gym and push through the double doors into the hallway, straining to hear the woman on the other end of the line.

“Right. Hi. I wasn’t sure you’d pick up. I-I don’t really know how these things work. I didn’t know whether to call or text, but it felt like I should introduce myself properly, you know? By calling.” Then she laughs again, and the throaty sound of it shoots through my bloodstream.

But then her words register and my heart sinks. She’s not with the agency. She’s not about to connect me with someone who can help me map out the rest of my career. “Listen. Are you—”

“I don’t mean to ramble. Let me get this out before I lose my nerve. I’m not looking for, you know, the whole package. I don’t need, like, the total boyfriend experience or anything like that. What I need is a boyfriend. Just for the weekend. Next weekend, in fact.”

“You… what?”

“You do offer that sort of thing, right? Like, surely you need a break from sex sometimes? Oh, God, what do I know? It’s not like you’re some kind of sex machine. Forget what I said! This is so embarrassing.”

I can practically hear the woman cringing on the end of the line, which puzzles me. Every other message I’d received on this phone was from women who definitely knew what they wanted and weren’t shy about asking for it.

This woman is different.

She sounds… sweet. Maybe a little lonely. Certainly a lot nervous.

And suddenly I’m wondering just what the hell this woman is doing calling an escort for something she can get a friend to do for her.

“My friend said—” she huffs in a breath and releases it. “I was told you provide excellent service. No complaints. Five-star reviews across the board. I know because I’ve read them. Your website contains very detailed testimonials, I must say.”

What the actual f… “Look. I don’t—”

Then, she clears her throat and rushes on as if she didn’t even hear me.

“I’m offering you an easy job, and I’ll pay, okay?

I’ll pay triple your overnight rate. And you don’t even have to sleep with me, right?

All you have to do is play my supportive other half so my cheating loser ex can eat dirt.

” She laughs again, and my ears itch like I know the sound, but I just can’t place it.

“I would never make this kind of ask, but I opened my big mouth and got myself into this mess. And I’m new to the area, so I don’t have any other options.

You’re it. You’re plan A, B, and Z. So, please.

Come over tonight. Talk to me. See if we can make this work for a weekend. ”

“Uhh…” My head spins. “You’ve got—”

“—To send over the address? Yes. I’ll text it to you and see you at eight, okay? Thanks. Bye!”

“No!” I shout. “You’ve got the wrong number!”

But it’s too late.

She’s disconnected the call and the line’s already dead. A second later, a text alert pops up with an address and this time, I nearly do throw phone down.