by Rachel Reid
Yeah, so nice that millionaire superstar had a good night. Sheesh.
The Admirals were playing in New Jersey tonight, the paper said. As Kip walked the two blocks from the train station to Straw+Berry, he thought about the last time he had been to an Admirals game. Must have been at least eight years ago. No, longer, because he’d never seen Hunter play except on television.
Jesus, am I just going to think about Scott Hunter all the time now?
He yawned as he took his key out and unlocked the door to the shop. He needed to find a job with a later start. Getting up before five to be at work before six was ridiculous. Especially for minimum wage.
The morning went the same as most weekdays: steady rush from about seven until nine, and then a bit of quiet before the customers Maria had dubbed the “yoga moms” started to trickle in.
“Your boyfriend had a good night last night,” Maria said as she restocked the orange bowl.
“What the hell are you talking about?”
“Scott Hunter. Scored, like, a million goals or something.”
“Three goals,” Kip corrected her, “and two assists.”
“Oh, sorry. Didn’t realize you were such a hard-core fan.”
“I’m not! I read the paper on the way here. It’s, like, big news or whatever.”
“Oh my god! You are mad crushing on him right now! You went home last night and Google-image-searched Scott Hunter, didn’t you?”
“No!” Yes.
“Whatever. You are such a fanboy. So cute.”
“I hate you.”
“You don’t.”
Maria stacked oranges and Kip swept the floor behind the counter even though it wasn’t that dirty. He just hated standing around doing nothing.
At a little past ten, the door opened and Kip was once again faced with Scott Hunter in sweaty workout clothes.
This time Maria was there to witness it. “Holy shit.”
Kip elbowed her as subtly as possible.
“Good morning again, Kip,” the man who was definitely Scott Hunter said.
“Good morning, um... Jesus. You’re Scott Hunter, right?”
He looked amused. “I am.”
“That is so awesome,” Maria breathed.
“It’s, um,” Kip started, then switched courses. “Great game last night.”
“Thanks! Thought I might get another one of those blueberry smoothies. When something goes right in my game, I like to try to repeat what I did that day.”
“Right,” Kip said. Scott’s eyes were blue. They were so blue.
“So...another blueberry smoothie, please.”
“Right!” Kip broke out of his trance and got to work making the smoothie.
Scott Hunter was, once again, wearing an absurdly tight Under Armour jacket and sweatpants. His hair was damp and mussed, and his skin was slightly flushed from exercise. Kip Grady was, once again, wearing a fucking dumb apron and a ball cap with a goddamn strawberry on it. But at least he wasn’t hungover this time.
He handed the star athlete his smoothie and tried not to focus too closely on the way his lips wrapped around the straw. It was difficult because Scott was looking directly at him as he took his first sip. His lips curved up a bit when he noticed Kip staring.
“Thanks again, Kip,” he said. “Hopefully I’ll see you next game day.”
He raised the smoothie cup in a farewell salute, and then he left.
When Kip turned to Maria, her jaw was on the floor.
“‘Hopefully I’ll see you next game day’?” she said. “Are you kidding me?”
“What?”
“He’s completely into you, Grady!”
Kip turned as red as the strawberry on his hat. “Oh, come on. That’s not what he meant.”
“Sure it isn’t.”
“It isn’t! He’s just superstitious. He means he hopes it works and he has a great game tonight so he’ll be back again next game day! That’s it!”
“I know that’s what he was saying on the surface, idiot, but that’s not all he was saying.”
“He’s not even... Oh my god. I can’t believe I’m talking about this. Scott Hunter is not into dudes. And he’s definitely not into dudes who work at smoothie shops.”
“If you say so.”
“I’m going to go back there and chop the pineapple,” Kip grumbled.
“Better check to make sure we have lots of blueberries stocked,” Maria singsonged after him.
* * *
Kip stood in the living room of his best friend’s Tribeca apartment, admiring the view of the Hudson River. He couldn’t even imagine what a place like this would cost.
Living in New York City was expensive, but Kip had a super impressive strategy that allowed him to work a minimum-wage job and manage to file his student loan payments on time each month: He still lived with his parents.
Yes, he was twenty-five. Yes, he had graduated university when he was twenty-two. But the thing was, history majors weren’t exactly being snapped up on the job market.
Kip had dreams. Aspirations. He wanted to work at one of the museums. Maybe move on to work at one in Europe one day. Maybe write a book or two. Maybe host a popular television show where he traveled the world and presented different important historic sites to the home viewers. Maybe consult on historical movies in Hollywood...
Or maybe turn fruit and vegetables into drinkable mush for busy people on their way to jobs that were actually important.
The owner of the apartment in which he now stood, Elena, had a real job and a life that seemed very adult compared to Kip’s. She was a cybersecurity engineer for Equinox Tech, one of the fastest-growing IT companies in the country. Kip did not know what exactly a cybersecurity engineer was, but it seemed to pay very well and it sounded impressive.
Elena was, hands down, the smartest person Kip knew. Besides being brilliant and funny, she was also stunningly beautiful—an unusual combination of her father’s Norwegian height and bone structure, and her mother’s Lebanese dark hair and olive skin.
Kip’s friendship with her back in high school had helped him realize that he wasn’t sexually interested in women. Because if he wasn’t interested in her, well...
Anyway, Elena had probably known he was gay before he did. She knew everything before he did.
“You need a roommate?” Kip asked, turning away from the windows.
“No,” she said. “Not ever.”
They settled themselves on her couch to eat Szechuan food (Elena did not cook). Kip had barely taken a bite before Elena casually said, “So. Who is he?”
Noodles slipped from Kip’s chopsticks, sliding back into the box they came from. “What? Who? What do you mean?”
“You’ve had a dreamy look on your face all night. Who are you thinking about?”
Kip’s face flushed. He poked at the noodles with his chopsticks. “No one.”
“Christopher.” Elena liked to use his real name when he was exhausting her.
“You’ll laugh.”
“That doesn’t sound like me.”
Kip smiled at that. “It’s just... You know Scott Hunter?”
“Do I know Scott Hunter? Not personally, no.”
“You’ve heard of him, though.”
“Yes.”
“Okay. So he’s been coming by the shop.”
“The smoothie shop?”
“Yeah. The past couple of days. For luck, he says, because he played so well after he got a smoothie yesterday morning. So he came in today and got another one because they are playing again tonight.”
“Okay.”
“He’s just... He’s really hot, is all.”
Elena’s lips twitched a bit, but she didn’t laugh. “That’s exciting.”
“Yeah.”
They co
ntinued to eat in silence. And Kip, who apparently could not be cool about this, lasted all of a minute before he blurted out, “He knows my name.”
Elena raised an eyebrow.
“He said, ‘Good morning, Kip,’ when he came in today.” Kip tried, but failed, to keep the dopey grin off his face.
“That must have been a thrill.”
“Yeah, and, uh, he said he hopes to see me again. You know, like, if the smoothie works, or whatever.”
“The magic hockey smoothie?”
“Stop making fun of me.”
“I’m not! And I’ll tell you what else: We are watching that hockey game tonight.”
* * *
Kip was embarrassingly nervous watching the hockey game. Every hit Scott took, Kip flinched. Every shot Scott launched at the net, Kip held his breath. He wanted this game to go well for Hunter, and there was no point in kidding himself about why.
At the end of the first period, the score was tied 1–1. Scott stopped on his way into the dressing room for a quick interview. He pulled his helmet off, and his damp hair stuck out in all directions. Kip’s heart fluttered. Scott was drenched in sweat, even more so than when he came into the shop after his runs. Kip could see the glisten of it down Scott’s neck, into the red collar of his jersey.
Scott was saying words about strong defense and working as a team. His beautiful mouth hovered above the microphone, his blue eyes looking neither at the camera nor at the man interviewing him. It was like he was barely present at this interview, already wherever he’d rather be at that moment.
“He’s definitely attractive,” Elena said.
“Yeah...” Kip breathed.
The game stayed close for the second period. It wasn’t until the third period, when Scott scored two goals and assisted on one more, that the Admirals silenced the fans in the Newark arena. Kip was giddy.
“God, he’s incredible. That last goal, he probably shot that puck a hundred miles an hour, but it looked like slow motion.”
“He’s got talented hands,” Elena agreed, with a quirk of her lips.
She picked up her phone and typed something. “Next game is Saturday night at home against Tampa Bay,” she said. “Are you working on Saturday?”
Kip groaned. “Fuck! I need to be—I’ve gotta switch shifts! Who’s working Saturday?”
He picked up his own phone and texted Maria. Are you working Saturday?
The response came a minute later. Yes?
Kip: Can I switch with you?
Maria: Why?
Kip: I’m scheduled for Friday. Let’s swap. Please?
Maria: Is this about Scott Hunter?!
Kip felt dumb, but he still typed, Maybe.
Maria: Jesus, Kip.
Kip: PLEASE?!
Maria: Fine.
There was a pause, and she added, You’re working with Jeff.
Ugh. Jeff was the worst. Just really lazy and basically stoned all the time. Kip couldn’t even believe he still worked there.
But it would be worth it, because when the game ended, the score was 6–2 for the Admirals. Which meant Scott was going to be coming in on Saturday for sure.
Probably for sure.
Almost certainly for sure.
Don’t miss
Game Changer by Rachel Reid,
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Copyright © 2018 by Rachel Reid
About the Author
Rachel Reid has always lived in Nova Scotia, Canada, and will likely continue to do so. She has two boring degrees and two interesting sons. She has been a hockey fan since childhood, but sadly never made it to the NHL herself. She enjoys books about hot men doing hot things, and cool ladies being awesome.
You can follow Rachel on Twitter @akarachelreid if you like thirsty posts about hockey players, and on Goodreads, if you want to follow the mountain of books she is always reading. Her website and blog, where she writes more things, is www.rachelreidwrites.com.
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ISBN-13: 9781488051241
Heated Rivalry
Copyright © 2019 by Rachelle Goguen
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All characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of the author and have no relation whatsoever to anyone bearing the same name or names. They are not even distantly inspired by any individual known or unknown to the author, and all incidents are pure invention.
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