Tomboy (a Hartigans romantic comedy)

by Flynn, Avery

  “Did you miss the words that just came out of my mouth?” she asked as she started to pace from one end of Zach’s all-but-empty room to the other, glad that he didn’t have any neighbors so she didn’t have to worry about being seen through the curtain-free window.

  “Just be careful,” Finn said, implying with his tone that she was some sort of delicate flower just because she didn’t have a pair of testicles. “Professional athletes aren’t known for monogamy.”

  Since when had she been looking for something serious? Why did everyone assume that just because she had ovaries getting married and having babies was part of the equation? Was that what having two X chromosomes automatically meant? Why did the entire world from the shitty internet trolls offering advice about how she should be more of a girlie-girl to her own brother feel it was their right to get in her business?

  “Who said monogamy is what I wanted?” she asked, righteous indignation fueling her march back and forth across Zach’s room. “Maybe I just wanted to get laid so well that I had multiple screaming orgasms that left me in a dick coma and happy. And you know what?” She spun around and looked at Zach still lounging in bed, the sheets tangled around his calves and his cock hard in his hand. “I got just that, and I’m about to get it again, not because I want him to put a ring on it, but because I like fucking him. It feels phenomenal.”

  Her breaths came in hard pants as she tried to slow her heart before it jumped out of her chest, which was not a medical possibility, but it totally felt like it could happen at any moment.

  “How did we end up in this conversation?” Finn asked, sounding completely grossed out.

  Despite being about to reach through the phone and knock him upside the head a minute before, she laughed. “You started it.”

  “A fact I’ll regret for the rest of my life,” he said. “And I thought Mom’s TMI was too much.”

  “Thanks again for covering for me,” she said and meant it. Her temper always had sparked up and gone out fast. “Talk to you later?”

  “Yeah, go ahead with”—he paused, making a gagging sound—“whatever.”

  She hit the end call button and strode over to the bed and the man in it who looked delicious enough to lick, which she had every intention of doing.

  “I realize technically it’s the day.” She stopped at the edge of the bed, her gaze going over him, memorizing the moment because it was not one that happened to a woman like her very often outside of the movies. “However, since both of us just woke up, I think the rule book gives us a little wiggle room for our one night only.”

  His arm shot out so fast, she barely had a second to let it register before he wrapped it around her waist and pulled her down onto the bed with him, managing to roll them both so she was on her back.

  He settled over her, bracing himself on his forearms, but letting his hips drop so he pressed against her core. “I’ve never been one for the rules, anyway.”

  “Your penalty minutes stats would agree,” she said, tracing her fingertips down his back to the hard globes of his ass.

  “Such a ballbuster.”

  Grinning up at him, she squeezed his butt, pulling him even closer to her so she could grind against him. “Always.”

  And before she could say anything else, he lowered his mouth to hers and round number six hundred and eighty-six commenced.

  …

  Zach hated wearing a suit just to get on the plane to fly to Vancouver. Coach, however, thought different. He figured it did something for team cohesion. All it did for Zach was make him feel even more tense than usual—just the kind of mindset he wanted when about to face down a team on a six-game winning streak.

  As the rest of his teammates filtered down the center aisle, joking and talking shit with one another, he put his best keep-walking vibe on and pulled out his phone. He was opening the text app before he even had a chance to think about it.

  Zach: On the plane.

  So fucking smooth, you’re like hot butter on a bagel, you doofus.

  Regret hit immediately. The last he’d seen Fallon, she was sashaying to her car, her steps a little wobbly after that last time he’d had her pressed up against the wall by his front door. They may have spent the night together, but talking beyond right there, harder, and yes please hadn’t happened. And now he was texting her with his location? Not a “had fun last night” or “let’s do it again” or just “wyd”? No. He’d gone full awkward nerd.

  His phone vibrated.

  LL: In the hospital staff break room.

  His pulse picked up, and he hunched over his phone. Well, about as much as he could, considering that even on the team plane the seats were cramped.

  Zach: We’ll be in Vancouver tonight.

  Her response came half a second after Stuckey, obviously impervious to Zach’s don’t-sit-by-me vibe, flopped down next to him. Zach made sure to angle his phone screen away from his younger defensive partner before reading Fallon’s message.

  LL: Have a good flight.

  Zach wasn’t smiling. He was grimacing in a weird way. At least that’s what he told himself when Stuckey, wearing his usual no-cares-in-the-world grin, elbowed him in the arm.

  “What’s up, man? You got another muffin lady?” Stuckey asked, taking up too much room with shoulders that made Zach’s seem narrow.

  Triple shit. He did not like anything that might allude to the slightest weakness being out there. “Who told you about that?”

  “Man, Fitzsimmons has no chill.” Stuckey shrugged and started scrolling through his phone. “He was ready to tell the front office, wanted them to sue for endangerment or something.”

  “Everything turned out fine.” He ground out the words. Defensive asshole? Him? Fuck, yeah.

  “Thanks to your lucky nurse.”

  As if he hadn’t just dropped a little bomb in Zach’s lap, Stuckey took the earbuds hanging around his neck and popped them into his ears.

  Tension strung him tight enough to make his traps burn; not even rolling his shoulders or neck did much to ease the sudden ache. He reached over and yanked out Stuckey’s buds. “What do you know about her?”

  “Dude, everyone knows about her.” He hit pause on the music blaring from the tiny white headphones. “Didn’t you see what Harbor City Nights posted on Insta? They are total stans.”

  He’d gotten a few notifications, but if the posts didn’t tag him, he had no clue what was going on. Kyle’s assistant was supposed to let him know if there was gossip swirling. “I hate social media.”

  “Well, it fucking has a hard-on for you and this girl.” Stuckey scrolled through his apps and pulled up Instagram. “Look, they have a ton of posts of you two at some Mexican restaurant, and you’re looking mighty cozy.”

  “Let me see that.” He snatched Stuckey’s phone.

  Fucking A. The pics weren’t the best—and it was creepy as fuck that someone was taking photos while they were on a non-date and not at a public event—but there was no missing it was him and Fallon. Sure, she was in a Nurses Rock T-shirt, but there was nothing else to identify her as a nurse.

  “How did you know she was a nurse?” he asked.

  “I swear you live under a rock.” Stuckey took his phone back and opened Tumblr. He hit on some hockey gossip account, and he started to read the post. “We are totally #TeamZuck and so are you, looking at our polls. The question is, do you ship it more for the way our new fav hockey hottie has been playing on the ice since he met his Lady Luck, or because even Harbor City’s most-hated needs the love of a good woman? We’ve got all the deets you need to know about ER nurse Fallon Hartigan, who snagged herself Zach Blackburn and helped turn around the Ice Knights’ losing streak.”

  Fallon was going to flay him alive and leave him for the buzzards. And he deserved it. All he’d wanted was to get his hockey mojo back, not force Fallon out into the court of public opinion. He knew firsthand how all those little nips and bites at the ankles could end up taking a chunk out of a person.
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  “Yeah, most of it’s pretty gooey, but you still don’t want your girl to look at it.” He shook his head. “Trolls, man.”

  Zach glared at the other man, who still seemed totally immune to the look that sent most people scattering. “She’s not my girl and why?”

  “Why isn’t she your girl?” Stuckey grinned at him, showing off every one of the dental-technician-made teeth in his mouth. “Because she obviously has taste.”

  “No,” he said, trying to remain calm when he was ready to take some nameless internet troll’s head off. “Why shouldn’t she look at it?”

  “Let me put it this way.” Stuckey grimaced. “My sisters are tough as shit, and some of the comments would make them cry. Lots of shit about her looks, that she needs a girl makeover.”

  Zach sucked in a deep breath, trying to remember the yoga instructor’s words about the power of mindful breathing, and unpeeled his fingers from the armrest he was gripping like it was a weirdly shaped stress ball. “Bunch of assholes.”

  Stuckey shrugged. “Pretty much.”

  A prickly nugget of guilt burrowed into his gut. Sure, everyone in the world got used, it was the way life worked. Even though it didn’t rise to the level of what his parents did to him, what was happening to Fallon was shitty. So what in the hell did he do about it? She was his Lady Luck, and without wins on the ice, he’d be fucked, and everyone would know exactly what his parents had done and what a total chump he’d been for not seeing it. How many times had he heard his old man, his favorite uncle, coaches, and hell, just about every man he’d ever looked up to with a few exceptions reinforce that real men didn’t cry, they didn’t accept defeat, and they didn’t get made fools of—by anyone, ever. Sure, part of him knew all that was bullshit, but his reflexive reactions were what they were.

  Still, there had to be something he could do to help Fallon. He needed to talk to Lucy. She’d know. As soon as he got back into town from this road trip, he’d get advice from his favorite shark in an ocean full of defenseless minnows, and everyone would come out fine. No harm. No foul. No secrets spilled.

  He sat back, the pain in his stomach dulling to an ache. “Thanks for the heads-up.”

  “No biggie.” Stuckey popped his earbuds back in as the plane started its taxi down the runway. “It’s what teammates do.”

  Zach let his eyes close as the plane picked up speed and lifted off the runway, and a single thought crystallized in his head. Maybe it was time to stop acting like everyone was there to fuck him over. Sure, some assholes were. But Stuckey wasn’t. The trainer wanted to go to the mattress for him. Peppers was always on his side.

  And Fallon? She kept her word, and he could trust that. He didn’t know how he knew it, but he did. And that was about as freaky as when he thought about the fact that he was hurtling through the sky in a metal tube.

  …

  Sitting between Gina and Tess for Paint and Sip night was definitely not the best place to text Zach, but if she was going to hold up her end of the bargain, she didn’t have a choice. She’d gotten off shift at the hospital with just enough time to get to Paint and Sip before Larry’s cutoff time. Another few minutes and Zach would be on the team bus heading to the arena for the game. She didn’t want to leave him hanging. So, as unobtrusively as possible, she held her phone close to her lap and shot off a quick text.

  LL: You ready to kick some ass?

  Her hands were only clammy because she didn’t feel like getting called out by Larry or busted by her besties. It wasn’t because she was texting Zach after she’d made such a boring fuck-up of things before his plane had taken off.

  In the staff break room.

  The level of stunning dialogue there was amazing. In her defense, she’d been nervous and not sure how to talk after the night they’d had together, which hadn’t meant anything. Really. Not a thing.

  Her phone vibrated.

  Zach: Literally kick ass?

  Checking her periphery to make sure that Gina and Tess were focused on following Larry’s directions on making the perfect sweeping stroke, she moved her phone so it was slightly under the table and responded.

  Fallon: Only if the occasion calls for it. Watch out for Exter. He’s a dirty player.

  Zach: I have seen a couple of hockey games in my life.

  She rolled her eyes. She could smell the testosterone from here.

  Fallon: You making jokes?

  Zach: Maybe.

  Fallon: I’ll laugh after your win, when you’re back to the hotel without a concussion and all the teeth you still have.

  Zach: Hey. I’m only missing one.

  Fallon: Keep it that way.

  Stop typing, thumbs! Why had she said that? What did she care if he was putting some dentist’s fourteen kids through college? He was just a guy, no matter if he did some wicked work with his tongue.

  Zach: You watching tonight?

  There was no need to ask what. When it was Ice Knights game night, there was only one option.

  Fallon: As soon as I get done painting this wilted lettuce.

  It seemed Larry had read an investigative post about the amount of food tossed out uneaten compared to the number of people going hungry in the United States, and instead of donating to the food pantry or volunteering at a shelter, he decided to make all of them paint wilted lettuce on a kitchen counter.

  Zach: Wilted lettuce? Is that the world’s worst euphemism?

  She snort-laughed before she could stop herself.

  Fallon: It’s Paint and Sip night with the girls & a long story.

  Zach: You’ll have to tell me after I get back.

  Which, according to the news—not that she was stalking or cared, just because the local sports talk radio station was playing on her drive to Paint and Sip—would be in the wee hours of the morning on Sunday.

  Fallon: I’ll tell you at the next fundraiser. Remember you promised to bring a few of your teammates to this one when you get back. Sunday at noon. Do. Not. Miss. It.

  Zach: I won’t. Have to go catch the team bus.

  Fallon: Go forth and kick ass!

  Before she could stare at the screen and reread the whole stream, she shoved her phone into the backpack between her feet, wondering why Larry had turned the air conditioning off.

  Tess leaned over. “Are you blushing?”

  “No.” Okay, her face was hot, and she was super pasty Irish and—shit, she was totally blushing.

  “You liar. You are blushing,” Gina said, holding up her plastic wineglass as if she was offering a toast at one of the weddings she planned. “Who were you texting? Was it Zach?”

  Fallon nodded because saying his name out loud felt different since she’d hollered it while his face was between her thighs. “Just part of our agreement. Plus, I needed to make sure he didn’t forget about the fundraiser when he gets back into town.”

  “I think you like him.” Tess’s eyes were big and round with excitement.

  “Nope,” she said, the single word coming out loud enough that half the class turned and looked at them.

  Gina waited for the gawkers to return to their still lives before saying, “I think you want to bang him.”

  Tess’s eyes narrowed, and then she gasped. “I think she already did.”

  “Spill!” they both whisper-screamed at the same time, earning a dirty look from Larry.

  Oh God. This was not how she wanted this to go, not that she wanted to have this conversation at all, but once the besties were on the trail, there was no knocking them off. The fastest way to end the inquisition was to give them all the answers—within reason. And quietly. Very quietly. Having this conversation end up on The Biscuit or somewhere else that had been all in her business lately was on the never-ever level of hellscapes she wanted to visit.

  “So,” she said, drawing the single-syllable word into four. “It happened.”

  “And?” Gina asked.

  “It was good.” Great. Amazing. She was still sore. “But it was just t
he one night.”

  Tess seemed to deflate on her chair. “Why?”

  For a million really good reasons that she couldn’t think up at the moment. “Because I’m me and he’s him. Plus he has some weird superstition that I’m bringing him luck on the ice.”

  Gina snorted. “Oh, you mean the same weird superstition that every hockey fan in Harbor City has?”

  “Did you know more than half of Americans say they’re at least a little superstitious?” Tess asked, her face getting that thoughtful, far-off look she got when discussing random factoids. “Really, though, I think it’s just a way of feeling like we’re in control.”

  Really? Because all it had done was open her up for a million comments from strangers on social media about her hair, what she wore, and a ton of other things. Basically, for being female in public.

  “Yeah, well I’m not anyone’s Lady Luck.” She picked up her brush and started slathering green paint in the approximate shape of a lettuce leaf. “I’m just playing along to help raise money for the clinic.”

  “So you’re using each other?”

  Something that felt a lot like guilt made her middle sag. “It’s not like that.”

  “So you’re friends doing each other a favor?” Tess asked.

  Yeah, her thoughts weren’t exactly friendly about Zach Blackburn. It used to be she wanted to bang him upside the head. Now she just imagined banging him. “Not exactly.”

  Tess cocked her head to one side and looked at Fallon as if she was the weird thing Larry had thought up for them to paint. “It’s gotta be one of those two.”

  Fallon shifted uneasily on her seat. Damn it. She hated it when other people were right. “I guess I’m using—”

  “Oh my God, stop looking like that.” Gina picked up Fallon’s wineglass and handed it to her. “This is medicinal. Drink it.” She waited for Fallon to down half of it before continuing. “You’re not a user. There’s just no way you could be. Just look at what you do for a living—you help save lives at the ER and then you volunteer at the clinic on top of that.”