Heartless Player: A College Hockey Romance : (Westfall U Series)

by R. C. Stephens

  “Hey, man.” Cole comes up and stands beside me. “How did training go?”

  “It sucked ass. They gave me a damn massage,” I say.

  “Was it a hot chick giving the massage?” he asks.

  “No, it was an old dude, and that isn’t the point. Anyways, it doesn’t matter. Coach said I have to take it slow. I have no choice,” I grumble.

  Cole follows my gaze and realizes I’m watching Rebel. He looks at me. “You can’t tell me you’re into her,” he says, wrinkling his nose.

  “No.” I shrug. “Of course I’m not.” But I seriously think I may be into her.

  “Okay, because like that would be totally messed up if you were,” he says.

  “I’m not,” I say, as if the thought of Rebel repels me, but then I pause. “Why would it be messed up?”

  Cole huffs and rolls his eyes but doesn’t give me an answer.

  I don’t see why it would be messed up anyway. She’s the most real person I’ve met in a while. When she talks to me it feels genuine. I wouldn’t just be a fuck that she could brag to her friends about.

  “I’m going to press,” Cole says and walks away.

  I wait for him to be on the other side of the gym and then make my way over to Rebel.

  “Hey,” I say to her. She’s wearing a tight black tank top and a pair of long leggings.

  “Hi. How did your therapy session go?” she asks.

  “Not well,” I say and tell her what happened.

  “Well, you can still continue to work your upper body. Keep yourself strong,” she says.

  “I’ve been working on that, but it isn’t the same.” I know I’m pouting like a little boy, but damn, I’ve had to be in peak condition since I was five. This is bullshit.

  “You’ve got to work with what you’ve got,” she says and then clears her throat and looks briefly down at her leg. I wish she would stop being so self-conscious. It’s clearly only a small part of who she is.

  “You’re right,” I say, feeling embarrassed about my reaction to my injury when she had to deal with losing a limb. “You got any exercises you can show me?”

  She stares at me with a blank look on her face. “Rebel?”

  “Sorry, what? Can you repeat that?” she asks with a shy smile.

  “Can you show me some exercises to increase upper body strength?” I ask.

  I’m wearing a sleeveless Nike shirt and a pair of basketball shorts. I watch her throat bob as her gaze sweeps over my body. She’s into me. I know when a girl gives me that look.

  “Sure. Follow me,” she says, and I follow her, allowing my gaze to drop to her fine ass as she makes her way over to a machine. She gets on and shows me what to do, paying attention to proper posture. She must only be around five foot five, but her arms are strong as I watch them work against the weights.

  I get on the machine next and she brings the bar close to me. With her standing this close I take in the scent of strawberries. I also take in her nice rack. Not too big, but not small either. I bet each breast would fit just perfectly in the palm…

  “Wolfe?” she asks with a questioning look, and I’m caught staring eye-level at her girls. “Shit, sorry,” I say. But I’m not really sorry.

  She blushes.

  A bunny named Tiffany saunters over to us. “Looking good, Wolfe,” she purrs.

  “Thanks, Tiffany,” I say, but I keep my eyes trained on Rebel.

  “I’m a kinesiology major too. If you need tips, I’m more than happy to be of assistance,” she says, standing really close to Rebel. Her words and seductive gaze carry so much insinuation, I’m surprised she isn’t trying to suck me off right here. Tiffany is a hot number in her sports bra top that presses her breasts together and doesn’t leave much to the imagination. Not that I need to imagine. I’ve had my face between her breasts before.

  Rebel takes a step back, and Tiffany runs her finger down my arm. It’s supposed to be a turn on but makes me cringe, like when my grade school teacher Ms. Humphrey would accidentally run her long red nails along the chalk board when she was erasing the board.

  “I’ll go help another player,” Rebel says, getting ready to walk away. For some reason, I think her use of the word player has a double meaning.

  Tiffany grins.

  Without thinking, I reach out and gently grasp Rebel’s arm. “If you don’t mind, I’d like your help.”

  Rebel’s throat bobs and she looks like she wants to bolt. Tiffany’s jaw drops.

  “Fine, I’ll catch you this weekend, Wolfe.” Tiffany winks before strutting off.

  “Sorry about that,” I say to Rebel.

  She watches me blankly and I wonder what she’s thinking. I hate that people just feel like they can push her around and she doesn’t retaliate.

  “It’s fine.” She finally waves me off.

  “Okay, so let’s get to work,” she says, sounding all professional. I follow her over to the dumbbells.

  She passes me two fifteen-pound weights. “Do those feel okay?”

  “Sure, but I can do more than fifteen pounds. My sister’s dog Fluffy weighs more than that.”

  “What kind of dog is Fluffy?” she asks.

  “She’s a Bichon Frise, but she’s a bit on the heavy side.” I grin.

  “I want you to focus on doing more reps not lifting something that will burn you out too soon,” she explains.

  “Got it,” I say.

  Rebel takes a light weight and shows me the exercise she wants me to do. She lifts the dumbbells over her head in a circular motion until they meet above and come down to shoulder level.

  I follow her.

  “Much lighter than Fluffy,” I say, lifting the weights.

  “Fine. We can change them out for something heavier on the next rep,” she says.

  She switches out my weights and I start counting. “Must be nice to have a dog. Growing up I always wanted a dog but…” She blushes.

  “What?” I ask.

  “I didn’t mean to say that. I’m talking too much,” she says.

  “I like talking to you,” I say, surprising myself. “Now, tell me what you wanted to say.”

  “It’s no big deal. Just the way I grew up, a dog wasn’t in the cards for me,” she says, and I see a heaviness cloud over her eyes.

  “That’s too bad. Fluffy drifted to my sister Cait the moment we got her, but she always made time for me too. Dogs are fun,” I say.

  “Yeah, maybe one day,” she says with a far-off look.

  “How many more of these do I got to do?” I ask, panting and out of breath.

  “That’s enough. Let’s change it up,” she says.

  One of her instructors comes over and she explains my goals and what plan she has recommended to me. The instructor praises her. She’s clearly passionate about her work.

  She walks away from me and I find myself watching her with interest. She’s hot, yeah, but there’s more to her. The guy who works at the Coffee Bean walks over to me, pauses, and crosses his arms in front of his chest. He’s just as tall as I am, but I’ve got an extra thirty pounds of muscle on him.

  “Rebel is a good person. She isn’t the type you sleep with and don’t talk to the next day,” he says, his tone carrying a warning.

  So my reputation has spread to the guys too. I had a feeling this guy was into her.

  “I know that,” I say, like it’s obvious.

  “Then leave her alone,” he says curtly.

  Got to hand it to the guy, he has balls.

  “Easy there, bud,” I say. “I don’t do well with people telling me what to do.”

  “You’re an asshole. Just leave Rebel alone,” he says and walks off.

  He isn’t wrong. I am an asshole, and I should definitely leave Rebel alone. If only I weren’t so drawn to her.

  Five

  Rebel

  Thursdays I have a full day of class, then I head home for an hour before starting my shift at the Firken. Since it isn’t too cold, I decide to walk hom
e from school instead of taking the bus. As I’m walking up Palmer Avenue, a car pulls up beside me. I don’t stop to see who it is and pray it isn’t a serial killer. When the car stops completely, my heart picks up pace and I’m forced to look.

  I see Wolfe in an old black Mustang. The car is loud, but it isn’t one of those cars that’s in good shape either. For some reason, it’s a car I wouldn’t have expected him to drive. A lot of the hockey players on Westfall’s hockey team come from money and have nice wheels.

  He leans over to crank the window down, proving that I was right about the age of the car.

  “Hey, Rebel. Can I give you a ride to wherever?” he asks. I stare at his amazing eyes first and then my gaze drops to his wide shoulders. He’s wearing a Westfall Dragons hockey sweatshirt, but the memory of him in that white sleeveless shirt from this morning, working his arms, comes to mind and I’m no longer cold. The way his muscles strained… yum.

  “Rebel?” he says, pulling me from my daydream.

  “Thanks, but I’m good,” I say, just as the wind picks up. It's going to snow soon, I can tell. I hold my jacket closed, since I didn’t zip it up, and feel a shiver move through me.

  “Come on. I promise I don’t bite. It’s freezing out there,” Wolfe says.

  “Why are you being nice to me? We aren’t friends.” The words spill from my mouth before I can lock them down.

  Mortification runs over me. He’s been nice every time we’ve bumped into each other. I shouldn’t believe rumors.

  “I thought we were becoming friends,” he answers, but his lower lip pushes out. “I don’t get what’s happening here. Girls are usually dying to get in my ride.”

  His words cause a flame to spark inside me. A burning damn flame. “Well, I’m sorry I’m not one of your floozy puck bunnies dying to get in your ride,” I say, imitating the way he said the word ride. “I’m just a simple girl used to walking home on her own, so you can take your big hockey player ego and move on.”

  “Dammit,” he hisses. “That is not what I meant.” He deflates. “I liked talking with you the other day. I’m not interested in you in that way. I genuinely want to be friends.”

  His admission stings like the time I went to the beach with my family and got stung by a jellyfish. A part of me wants to cry the whole way home too, but I won’t be that girl.

  “Fine.” I open the passenger door and get in. He has the heat blasting and it feels too good. I warm my hands against the vent. “But only because I’m cold.”

  He grins and looks at me like he thinks I’m cute. Obviously, in a friendly way.

  “Where do you live?” he asks.

  “I’m at 32 St. Clair Drive,” I say.

  “Oh, that’s just around the corner from my place,” he says and puts the Mustang into drive.

  “Cool,” I say, but I feel like I’m walking on eggshells because I don’t get why this guy wants to be my friend.

  “Got any plans tonight?” he asks me.

  “I’m working at the Firken,” I say drily.

  “How come I never see you there?” he asks.

  “’Cause I work in the back washing dishes. I usually don’t hang out in the front bar. Last time was an exception,” I say.

  He nods and something dark passes in his eyes.

  “I’m right here on the left,” I say, pointing to our little white house with brown aluminum siding.

  “Do you rent it with friends?” he asks.

  “No, I actually live here with my sister. I grew up in Westfall. It was my parents’ house,” I say.

  “Oh, sorry, didn’t mean to pry,” he says.

  “It’s fine.”

  “Are both your parents gone?” he asks.

  “I thought you said you didn’t mean to pry,” I answer.

  “I—shit, sorry.” He swipes a hand over his face like he’s embarrassed with himself.

  “It’s fine. I’m just joking,” I say and watch him exhale. “My mom took off when I was young and Dad died my senior year,” I say.

  “Sorry,” he says.

  “It’s fine,” I say, not wanting the conversation to continue.

  “So maybe I’ll see you at the Firken later,” he says.

  “Probably not. I don’t hang out front, but thanks for the ride.” I shift my backpack off my lap and get out of the car.

  “Anytime, Rebel. If you need a ride when the weather gets bad, just give me a call,” he says.

  “Sure, thanks,” I say, because I remember all the times I trudged to and from school in a snowstorm. With my leg, it can be a real bitch. Blossom has a car, but she isn’t always home. I have my driver’s license, but I don’t like to drive and it makes sense for Blossom to use the car since she can’t walk to work because it’s too far.

  He gives me a small wave and a smile and drives off. I realize I don’t have his number and I still don’t trust the guy. He has no good reason for wanting to be my friend. As I walk to the front door of my house, I see Preston’s bike parked right at the foot of the steps. I hope they’re both decent. I take the stairs slowly, using my right leg more than my left.

  I unlock the door and the wind blows it open. There’s no sign of Blossom or Preston. Maybe they’re upstairs going at it again. I don’t remember what it feels like to have a boyfriend because the last time I had one I was seventeen and wasn’t missing a limb.

  I place my backpack on the floor and hang my jacket on the hook by the door. My hands are freezing and I rub them together. I turn on the kettle for a cup of tea and see that Blossom has made her famous spaghetti and meatballs for dinner.

  Score.

  I’ll eat some before my shift tonight.

  I head over to the bathroom on the main floor, noticing the lights are on, but when I turn the knob on the door it’s unlocked, so I assume no one is in there. I open the door, needing to pee badly, when I see Preston hanging over the counter. He jumps up quickly and his nose is covered in white powder. I should slam the door closed, but I freeze.

  “Oh, damn. Rebel,” he says, wiping the powder from his nose.

  I stare down at the sink to see a white line of powder on the blue counter. My heart gallops.

  “Sorry.” I finally slam the door closed, but I know I saw too much. Holy shit. He’s doing cocaine in our house. On our bathroom counter.

  I stumble dizzily toward the stairs and take them faster than I should. I head to my bathroom and lock the door. When the door is secured, I let out a breath. The first thing I do is pee because my bladder is close to bursting. I hear water running from the other washroom and figure Blossom must be in the shower.

  Does she know Preston does drugs? I can’t believe she knows. She wouldn’t date a guy with a problem like that, not after Daddy.

  I wash my hands with warm water, dreading to have to go back downstairs, but I need to eat and get ready for work. This isn’t a problem. I can go back down there. Get some spaghetti and eat in my room. Only, I’m shaking from the inside out.

  “Rebel, go play outside,” Blossom says.

  “No, I don’t want to,” I whine. I hate when they tell me to go play outside by myself.

  “Don’t be a pain in the ass. Just go,” Blossom says, pushing me toward the door. She finds a ball on the floor and picks it up. “Here, play ball.”

  “Only if you come with me,” I say.

  “I got homework,” Blossom says.

  “So do I,” I say. I don’t have homework, though. Mrs. Paret doesn’t give our first grade class homework.

  Mama is cooking noodles on the stove and dancing to some song she has going on the radio. I go up to Mama. “Will you come outside and play with me?” I watch her long golden hair swaying across her back. She is so pretty.

  “I’m busy making you kids food so you got something to eat,” she says and sways her hips while stirring the noodles. I stand beside her and dance too.

  I turn around to show Blossom my moves, but she must have gone upstairs to her room.

&nb
sp; Papa walks through the door. “Good news,” he says, and he walks over to Mama and puts his hands around her waist and lifts her in the air. “I got the job at Pete’s. I’m going to be one of their full-time mechanics.”

  He places Mama down and she swirls around and kisses him on the lips and places her hands on his face. “That’s such good news, Earl.”

  Papa walks over to the fridge and cracks open a beer. He takes a seat at the kitchen table and I take a seat with him. “What did you do today, Rebel?” he asks, and I’m so surprised he’s noticed me because he usually doesn’t talk this much.

  “I went to school. Mrs. Paret taught us how to add, and I read a book—”

  I stop talking when Daddy pulls a small bag out of his jeans pocket. He dumps it on the kitchen table and then uses a straw to suck it up his nose.

  “Jesus, Earl, don’t do that in front of the child,” Mama yells, smacking him in the shoulder.

  “Stop that shit. Do you know how much this cost me?” Papa says, smacking her hands away.

  Mama flinches. When Papa finishes drinking up his nose, he has a wild look in his eyes. It scares me, so I run up to my room and slide under the bed. Papa becomes a monster sometimes, but under my bed is the safest place in the house. I once saw a movie about a kid who was scared of monsters under their bed, but I thought the kid had it all wrong because the monster isn’t under the bed, he’s my papa and he’s everywhere but here.

  I head into Blossom’s room and she’s still in the shower with the door locked. A part of me wants to break down the door and ask her what the hell she’s thinking getting mixed up with a guy like Preston. The other half of me wants to crawl under my bed and hide. Only, I think I’m too big for that now, and with my leg being the way it is, I’d probably get stuck.

  I take a few slow breaths. I will never cower again. I will face my fears head-on. Preston can’t pull that shit in my house. My house. I repeat it again and again. I make the rules now. Feeling equally shaky and determined, I head back downstairs.