by Toni Aleo
“There are,” he says simply. “You don’t like me, and I don’t get it. I know I’m an asshole sometimes, but I feel like you’ve had it out for me since you got here.”
“That’s untrue,” I say, looking up at him. “I’m treating all of you the same. I’m even hard on my future brother-in-law. I will not kiss your ass, Hoenes.”
“Not saying you have to, but you’re holding me to a standard I may not be able to rise to and—”
“That’s bullshit,” I say, and I lean toward him. “The standard I am holding you to is one you’re already at. You just have to believe in yourself, in your play, and in your team. I can’t make you do that. It’s all on you.”
“I do believe in myself,” he snaps, and he’s wearing his frustration like armor.
“Then show me.”
“Maybe if you didn’t ride me so hard—”
“I wouldn’t ride you so hard if I didn’t care.” His eyes widen a bit. I don’t know why I said that. Not only did I say I cared, but now I’m thinking of riding him. His hands on my hips and him so fucking deep inside me. I’ve never felt the sensation, but I’m sure it’s fantastic. Problem is, this is a serious moment, and my mind is all over the place. He makes me feel funny. Makes my skin tingle and my pussy throb. He’s just so big, and he wants this so badly. I know he does. I can feel it, see it, and I want him to make it. I take in a deep breath, shaking my head as the heat courses through me. “I know there is more in you. I want it.”
When I meet his gaze, his eyes are intense, staring down at me. “I will work and get to where you want me to be.”
I wasn’t expecting that. I nod. “Thank you.” He nods too, and I wait for him to skate off, but he stands there. His eyes haven’t left mine, and I’m starting to feel self-conscious. “Something else you want to say?”
I swear his eyes drop to my lips, but surely not. “Yeah, but I don’t know how it will be perceived.”
I cock a brow as my heart races. “What do you mean?”
He shakes his head. “Nothing.”
“Well, it has to be something.”
He swallows hard and then says, “You’re really passionate about hockey.”
I blink. My heart is still pounding in my chest. “Yeah, I am.”
“Then why did you quit playing?”
“Because I wanted to coach.”
“Why?”
“I feel I have a talent when it comes to play-making. I love scoring and working for the win, but I love helping others chase that feeling more. It makes me feel good.”
Silence stretches between us, and the way he is looking at me has my body burning. It seems as if his eyes are saying so much, but I don’t know what. I don’t know if I’m imagining it, but I feel like he’s undressing me with them. It wouldn’t make sense, though. It’s obvious he thinks I’m a bitch. Hell, I might be one, but I don’t want to be. I want to be a good coach; I want to be like my dad was, hard but uplifting. “I am aware of my faults as a coach. They have been brought to my attention, and I promise I’ll work on them. I am sorry if you felt disrespected or that I don’t like you or anything like that. That’s not the case at all.”
His eyes soften as our gazes stay locked. “I didn’t see you being apologetic.”
“It’s actually quite hard, so know I care if I am.”
Boon looks away, fighting a grin. “So you do feel one way or another.”
His gaze moves back to mine, and I have to swallow. “Sure.”
“Okay, I’ll continue working on what you’re asking for,” he says then, and heat rolls over us like a tide.
“That’s all I can ask.”
He runs his tongue along his lips, and my heart flutters in my chest. Am I hard on him because I want him? Is this one of those playground things, where if you’re mean to the opposite sex, it means you like them? If so, that’s pathetic. But I wouldn’t be surprised. I don’t know how to be a normal girl. A flirtatious one who is confident that a guy could want me. I want to reach out, cup his jaw, and tell him that I think he is a fantastic player. That I do care, and please God, take me right here. But I’m sure he wouldn’t want me. How could he when he is so gorgeous, so big, and so strong. Between his scar and his beard, he’s just so damn rugged.
“How did you get that scar?”
Well, damn. Talk about out of left field, Posey.
For the love of God.
Even Boon is taken aback by my question. “What?”
I stumble over my words. “Your scar? You have a scar. How did you get that?”
His lips curve ever so slightly, sending jolts straight to my center. He looks down bashfully. “I got into a fight when I was younger, and this guy sliced my face with a beer bottle.”
I take in a sharp breath. “Why?”
His eyes meet mine once more. “Maybe I’ll tell you the story over some nachos and beer.”
I just blink. “Sorry, what?”
Boon looks away once more. “Man, you’re hard to read.”
His words confuse me. “Huh?”
When his gaze meets mine, he grins. “Have a good day, Coach.”
I watch as he skates toward the locker room, and I really have no clue what just happened here.
But I think he might have been trying to ask me out…
Laughter bubbles at the base of my throat, and I slap my hand over my mouth.
Surely not.
Or did he?
Oh.
Oh my.
Chapter Nine
Boon
The top of my beer rests against my lips as I “watch” the Lakers game. Wes sits beside me, eating a steak. I want to say the game has my attention, but just as they’ve been for the last week or so, my thoughts are solely on Posey. I honestly don’t know what is wrong with me. It’s obvious she doesn’t want a damn thing to do with me, but I want her. Oh fuck, I want her. Bad. When she yells at me, not only does it piss me off, it turns me on like no other. I love how she skates, how she directs plays, and I am obsessed with her lips. They’re basically weapons of torture. She uses her words to slice me up, and all I can think is, damn, wouldn’t it be great to be on the receiving end of those lips?
Our talk this afternoon was much needed. I haven’t felt confident about my play lately, and it’s mostly because no one has ever picked it apart the way she does. After that stint where she blocked every pass I made—which, by the way, if it hadn’t stung my pride, I would have been amazed by her—I needed her to look me in the eyes and tell me it wasn’t personal. I know it’s not. I want it to be, though. I want her to want me. To want me to be better. To see me as more than a player who isn’t doing what she wants. Which I feel is a whole bunch of horseshit—I am doing it, and I’m doing it well; she just wants more.
And I do too—like her, downright naked.
She’s a damn distraction.
I run my lips along the top of my beer as Wes yells at the TV. “That’s a bullshit call, totally charging.”
I nod, even though I have no clue what’s going on. I hadn’t planned on coming out. It’s a Thursday night. I’m tired and I want to sleep, but we have no food and I’m not buying any. Not when we are about to go on a road trip. So free food at Brooks House it is. If I were eating. I’m too busy being lost in my own thoughts.
From across the bar, I hear, “You’re crazy. He was faking.”
I look over the bar to see her. Posey is sitting with another girl, a glass of wine in her hand and a plate of nachos in front of her. She’s wearing the sweats from earlier, all Assassins gear. Her hair is in a high ponytail, while her face is free of makeup. Her eyes settle on me as her lips curve. “You know it’s true.”
Wes scoffs beside me. “Please don’t tell me you’re an expert in basketball too.”
Her face lights up. “What can I say? I love sports.”
“Why aren’t you married? Or scooped up?” he asks, and I think that’s a wonderful question.
“Who says I’m not?” sh
e says, and I don’t miss the way her eyes meet mine. My stomach, it flips, it flops, and I’m pretty sure it blows up. Man, I haven’t felt like this since I first met Julia. That giddy feeling that makes you really stupid.
“Are you?”
See, I say stupid things when I get like this. I just asked my coach if she’s with someone. The same coach I sorta asked out earlier and she totally blew me off. I don’t know what I am thinking here. I can’t get involved with her. That would be a terrible idea. If it didn’t work out, or she continued to blow me off, it would make everything weird. Problem is, I don’t give a fuck about any of that, and I want her. I want her bad. I suspect I may be a glutton for punishment.
I sense her friend look at me and then back to Posey, grinning hard. Posey doesn’t answer at first, her eyes staying locked with mine. “I’m not.”
The friend giggles softly, and then they lean into each other. I feel like I’m in high school at the lunch table. Maybe I should pass her a note. Knowing my luck, however, she’d toss it at my head and tell me to take a hike. Damn, if she isn’t really pretty, though. Her lashes kiss her cheeks before she looks back at me. I realize I’m staring, so I quickly avert my eyes. I take a long pull of my beer. I should leave. This is destined to be a shitshow.
But then I say, “I gotta tell you something.”
Wes doesn’t even look at me. “You don’t.”
“I don’t?”
He looks at me then, mischief in those blue eyes. “I know I’m the hotter one in our bromance. And I know it’s hard, but I promise we are stronger together.”
I just blink. “What the hell is wrong with you?”
He laughs, his whole body making the motion as he looks back at the TV. “I know what you want to say, Boon. You may be an idiot and are trying to fight it, really hard, but I’ve known from the top how you feel about her.”
For someone I’ve only been friends with a little while, Wes sure does know me inside and out. “Do I act on it?”
He still won’t look at me, and while I’m trying really hard not to make it obvious, I’m watching her. I don’t know if I’m succeeding at being subtle, though. They sure are whispering and giggling a lot. It’s moments like these that I think she digs me, but then she blows me off when I offer an abundance of nachos and beer and a hell of a story.
“Depends. Do you think it would amount to anything, or would it cause trouble?”
I think for a moment. “What if the answer is both?”
He nods slowly. “That’s a pickle, my friend.”
“I know,” I say, and then I watch as Posey and the friend hug. She waves before she heads off, leaving Posey there alone. She leans back in the high-back chair, and she keeps her eyes on the TV. She reaches for her glass of water and uses her tongue to get the straw. The thoughts that are going through my mind are nothing but dirty. “I don’t know what to do.”
“What do you want to do?”
I don’t even hesitate. “I want to go over there and get to know her.”
He looks at me and smiles. One of those proud-father ones. Not that I got them when I was growing up, but I saw other boys get them a lot. “Go.”
“You don’t think I’m stupid?”
“I’ve watched you mope and be all butthurt over your ex. Now you’re interested in one hell of a female who I think challenges you mentally and physically. I’m all for it.”
I swallow nervously as I move my gaze across the bar to where she is. She’s completely unaffected by anything that is happening. She’s watching the game, enjoying her evening.
And I want to be beside her.
“Okay, go.”
He makes a face. “Me? No. You go. I’m eating.”
I shake my head. “No, take your plate and go outside. I don’t want her to feel uncomfortable because you’re across the bar staring at us.”
“But how am I supposed to watch the show?” I glare, and he gets up quickly. “Good luck.”
Once he’s away from me, I lick my lips and run my hands down the front of my shirt. I fix my ball cap and then run my hand over my mouth and jaw to make sure I don’t have any food stuck to me. I’m not sure how this is going to go, but I’m committing. I get up, taking my beer with me, and head over to where she is sitting. She doesn’t look at me until I sit down. I tip my beer to her nachos. “If I pay for those, can we share?”
She quirks her lips. “You don’t have to pay for them. We can share.”
“Cool.” I take a big cheesy one and stuff it in my mouth. Around the bite, I say, “I decided since they were there and I have a beer, I could tell you about my scar.”
“I don’t have a beer, though,” she says, leaning back in the chair so she is facing me. “Should I order one?”
“You drink beer?”
“I do.”
I don’t know why her answer surprises me.
She moves to hold up her hand to call the bartender over, but I grab her wrist, bringing it back down to the bar. The heat from her skin jolts up my hand, and when she looks back at me, I’m breathless at the way her mouth parts. With a shaky voice, I say, “I got you.” I release her hand and order her a beer. The one I’m drinking. “It’s real hoppy. Is that okay?”
“Yeah. I usually go on craft beer tours with my dad,” she says before bringing the beer to her lips. I watch as she takes a hearty swig and then smiles at me. “It’s good.”
Why am I proud of myself?
Because you bought the girl you’ve been crushing on for over a week a beer.
Great, now I’m talking to myself.
I clear my throat. “I was eighteen when this happened,” I say then, meeting her gaze and running my finger along the jagged scar. “This dude decided he was going to slap my mom’s ass at a bar, and I lost my cool. She was a bartender there, so she was used to it, but it pissed me the hell off and I pushed him. He broke a bottle and stabbed me with it.”
Her eyes widen. “Jesus. That’s intense.”
“Yeah, but you should have seen him. I broke his nose, his jaw, and his wrist. Then my mom kicked my ass.” She grins as I chuckle lightly. “She’s a tough chick.”
“Does she live here?”
“No, back in Chicago.”
“Is that where you’re from?”
“Born and raised.”
She nods. “I’ve only lived here. I love it. Do you?”
“I do,” I say before taking a long pull of my beer. “I like it a lot. I’m trying to get her to move here, but she is set in her ways. She lives in a little community of thriving over-fifty-year-olds. They play card games and have ice cream socials. She loves it.”
“I would too. I love card games and ice cream.”
I laugh. “Me too. I kick ass at rummy.”
She scoffs. “You couldn’t kick my ass.”
I eye her, and I love how confident she is. “Is that a challenge, Posey Adler?”
“I think it is,” she says, leaning on the bar. “Hey, Paulie, can you hand me that deck of cards?”
“Sure thing, Posey.”
Once they’re in her hands, she shuffles them like a damn dealer in Las Vegas. She grins at my wide eyes. “This is all we played when we would travel for hockey.”
“Funny. Us too.”
She looks up at me through her lashes, and my heart skips a fucking beat. I swear, it does.
She deals the cards, and we get started. We discuss travel hockey, and it surprises me that we ran in the same circles but never saw each other. Even with her being in the female league, I feel I should have met her. The first game, she wins. But the second, I do. As she deals the third, she gives me a sneaky little look. “I let you win that.”
I scoff. “You don’t let anyone win anything.” She chuckles softly, and I ask, “Who was that girl here with you?”
Her eyes cut to mine, and a look comes across her face. Almost like disappointment. It’s odd, but she answers, “My cousin Ally.”
I lay down a card. “Oh,
okay. That’s cool.”
She is still staring at me with that expression on her face. “Why? Interested?”
I jerk my head back, and then I shake it. “No, not at all.”
“Oh.” She looks away quickly.
I’m confused. Does she not know I’m interested in her?
She lays down a card, but before I can do the same, someone calls her name.
“Posey, why are you ignoring my calls?”
I look up at Aiden’s little sister; I forget her name. Wes is digging her, though, and I don’t blame him. She’s real pretty. I look at Posey, and I can tell she clearly does not want to see this girl. “Stella, I’m sorry. I’ve been incredibly busy.”
Stella leans on the bar. “Listen, I was calling to apologize—”
Posey shakes her head. “Really, you don’t have to do that.”
“I do,” she insists, and I look between them. “I was trying to get it out of him why you came up there, and he finally told me. I dumped his ass right then. I’m sorry. I never knew you felt like that, or I wouldn’t have been with him. Please don’t hate me.”
I glance over at Posey, and I can tell she wants to die. “I don’t, Stella. But I really don’t want to talk about this.”
“I can’t believe he did that to you. He acted like it was normal to sleep with a girl and call her beautiful and for it not to mean anything. I called him a jackass and even tried to hit him with my car for you.”
Posey covers her face, and I guess then Stella realizes I’m there. “Oh, are y’all together? Oh my God, you are. I’m so sorry, Posey. I wouldn’t have brought this up if I’d realized you’re on a date.”
Through her hands, she mutters, “It’s not a date. We’re just playing cards and drinking beer.”
Well, nice to know where I stand. Stella looks over at me and then back to Posey. “I’m real, real sorry.”
Posey just groans. “Really, it’s fine. I’m good, Stella.”
Stella reaches out, taking Posey’s wrist in her hands. “He’s a jackass.”
“He is, but can we not talk about this?” she practically begs, and it seems Stella gets the hint.