Blindsided: A Moo U Hockey Romance

by Victoria Denault

  “Why on earth would you do that?” I ask before I can stop myself. Honestly it’s to my benefit because I’m almost one hundred percent sure we lost this. If we come in under fifty we will be able to attend the next Sunday, so I should just shut up.

  “Tell me I have bad business sense, I don’t care. I’m just trying to be fair.” Tate shrugs. “I bet we beat you by more than that anyway. Now just tell me your sales.”

  “Okay, I agree to the fifty buck rule,” I mutter and take a deep breath and close my eyes and spit it out. “Four hundred and forty-four dollars and fifty cents.”

  I keep my eyes shut and wait for the laughter, the judgement, the hoots of victory. But there’s nothing but the rustle of the fall wind through the nearby pussy willows. I open my left eye.

  Tate is staring at me with his mouth hanging open. “Say that again?”

  I give him the total again. He shakes his head. “Damn it…is it too late to reconsider that fifty dollar thing?”

  “Yes. Why? What’s your total?”

  “Four hundred and sixty-six dollars.”

  A twenty-two dollar difference.

  Tate shrugs. “Okay, well, see you next Sunday then. I have to take a load of stuff back to the farm while Jace takes the dunk tank back to his buddy.”

  He turns and walks over to his truck, which Louise has loaded with stuff. She gets in the passenger seat and he hops behind the wheel and I’m still staring as they drive away, the tall grass scratching at my jeans in the cool wind. What the hell just happened? I should be relieved. I should be thrilled, but something isn’t sitting right.

  He lost his mind over a beer pong tie but he’s giving us a fifty buck buffer?

  I walk back to the booth to grab the last box of stuff. Raquel is still there and she sighs in typical Raquel fashion—loudly and dramatically. “Where is my cousin? I have to give him the sales figures.”

  “He left,” I mutter and then her words hit me. “You have to give him what?”

  Raquel looks annoyed. “The sales figures. The jerk left? Why am I even here? He said he needed me to run the stupid booth and count up the sales as fast as possible as soon as it closes and the brat didn’t even wait for them? I swear he is so annoying.”

  “Tate didn’t have the sales figures?” I find myself saying—out loud—in shock.

  Raquel turns and glares at me. She’s been doing it since she was born, so I’m used to it. “Not all of them. I counted the cash but I forgot to count the sales we made through cards. And mind your own business.”

  This is my business, I think but I don’t say it to her. I just turn and march over to my car with a new fire building inside me. That asshole had to have known he didn’t have all the sales. That means he beat me and purposely let me think we tied. Why? There must be a nefarious reason for this because Tate Adler is not about to let a Todd—any Todd, but especially me—get a free pass on something.

  Daisy is standing at the trunk of our car pushing it closed because it’s packed full already. “That’ll have to go in Uncle Bobby’s truck.”

  I nod and hand it to her. “You’ll have to go with him too. I need the car for an errand.”

  She looks confused but doesn’t argue which is great because I want to figure out what he’s doing before I let her in on it. Despite the nickname Tate uses exclusively for me, Daisy is actually much more of a firecracker than I am. She tends to shoot first and ask questions later. She’ll just flip out on him and make the situation worse. I want to know what he’s up to so I can plan the appropriate revenge successfully. I jump in our car and am out of the parking lot before I even click my seatbelt. The drive to his farm is the same as the drive to mine so, despite wanting to get there as soon as possible, I take a small detour around the town center so Bobby’s truck doesn’t follow me the whole way there. If Daisy figures out I’m on my way to the Adler farm, she’ll show up there too.

  When I turn onto our road, the sun is low in the sky and the road is empty. It looks really beautiful this time of year when the trees are starting to show little patches of color here and there and light is so golden it almost makes the road glitter. I love this time of year most of all in Vermont but I don’t let myself enjoy it right now because there’s a growing knot twisting in my belly with Tate Adler’s name on it.

  I drive right past our open farm gates and hook a left onto the Adler’s property. There’re two ways in. The main one that everyone uses and this little, blink-and-you-will-miss-it dirt lane that hooks around the back of their barn. It used to be fenced off, but last year a tree crushed the old, rickety wooden gate when it fell in a windstorm. They never fixed it and despite the tall, unmown grass at the foot of the lane, I turn onto it. I want to avoid alerting every Adler in the place I’m on their land. I park my car halfway up the lane and walk the rest of the way toward the barn. As I crest the small hill, the lake gleams ahead, all serene and sparkling. The farmhouse is to my left and beyond that, the orchards. My right has the barn. Well, what’s left of it, which is three walls. I don’t have much of a plan in place except to sneak around the Adler Farm like a member of the Scooby gang until I find my villain, Tate.

  I don’t have to go far as he’s on the main drive on the opposite side of the barn, unloading market stuff from the back of his truck. There are about six other cars peppering the drive and I can hear the murmur of voices and I realize their farm is open for apple picking today. That means his father and George are in the orchard handling the customers. I steal around the side of the barn and as he turns to haul something into it, I block his way. He jumps like a scream queen in a horror movie and drops the box he’s holding. I would laugh if I wasn’t hyper focused on exposing his lies.

  “Why did you let us win?”

  Tate blinks repeatedly and regains his composure. “What are you doing here?”

  “Raquel was looking for you because you forgot to count the receipts from people who paid electronically,” I say flatly. “Which means you won. We didn’t. You lied and said we did.”

  I stare at him with laser focus waiting—hoping—to see some look of shock which should be quickly replaced by excitement that he beat us. He won. He gets the booth to himself next week. But instead he just blinks those eyes the color of wet moss, all dark and lush, and shrugs. “Raquel doesn’t know what she’s talking about. And honestly, neither do you. You didn’t win. We tied. Big difference.”

  He bends to pick up the box he dropped and walks around me toward a small, aluminum storage shed beside the barn. I follow so close behind I almost clip his heels with the toes of my Converse.

  “Go home Maggie.”

  “No,” I reply. “I want to know why you’re lying.”

  “We tied. Let it go,” Tate barks. “You know if my grandfather sees you here, he’ll call the cops or get out his shotgun. Or both.”

  “You didn’t count all the money,” I repeat and he opens the shed door aggressively and drops the box inside. “What are you up to? I’m not an idiot. I know you aren’t letting us win out of the goodness of your heart. You’d kick a puppy if you thought it was mine. So I don’t get it. And whatever your reason I’m here to tell you that I don’t want your charity.”

  “For the love of all things hockey, woman, stop talking,” he huffs and his eyes dart over my shoulder, and then he’s suddenly hooking my arm and hauling me into the dilapidated barn. I open my mouth but as a startled squeak starts to escape, his big hand clamps down over it.

  The forced silence allows me to hear the rumble of a car coming up the drive.

  My back is pressed up against the side of the barn just left of the door, and Tate’s very large body is pressed against me. He changed after his dunking into a pair of school logo sweats and a T-shirt with the hockey logo on it. The fabric of both are supple and thin so I feel every part of him. Every hard curve, bump and twist of his athletic body. I stop breathing but I don’t know if it’s out of shock or fear or something else. The swirl of emotion in my belly
is definitely…something else.

  A car door opens and closes and then I hear Jace’s voice. “Tate! Where you at?” Tate doesn’t answer. He doesn’t move. I think he’s staring at me, but there’re too many shadows to know for sure. Jace calls his name one more time and then I hear the distinct slam of their porch door. Tate’s hand over my mouth instantly loosens, but he doesn’t move it away from my lips. Instead he leans closer to me and whispers. “You really need to learn not to make mountains out of molehills, Magnolia.”

  I bite his palm.

  Not exactly gently but not enough to draw blood or anything. So when he jumps back wincing and cursing in a stage whisper I roll my eyes at his dramatics and put my hands on my hips.

  “Tell me what the hell you think you’re doing lying about the bet results, and I’ll decide if it’s a mountain or a molehill,” I reply.

  “You are the biggest pain my ass has ever experienced, you know that? And I once took a slap shot to the ass, so that’s saying something,” He runs a hand through his hair and curses under his breath again before turning back to me. “Yeah. I lied about the cash we made and technically, I guess my farm won the bet. But you did something nice for me so I was just returning the favor. I didn’t want to owe you. The end. Now go home.”

  “I have never done anything nice for you!” I declare like he just accused me of some kind of act of treason. In a way, he kind of did.

  “You stopped that client from revealing my job in front of everyone,” Tate replies. “I saw the whole damn thing, so don’t pretend it didn’t happen.”

  “That? That wasn’t about you. That was me being selfish,” I say casually and shrug.. “I don’t want your charity.”

  “And I don’t want your charity,” Tate barks back. “I could have run my own interference and gotten her off the subject myself. I never asked for your help.”

  “You were too busy trying to keep your pants on to help yourself,” I scoff. “You won the bet and we won’t be at the market next week.”

  I start toward the barn door, and he grabs my arm again. I spin and shove him. “Do not manhandle me!”

  There are supplies—timber planks piled up and a couple tool boxes—on the floor behind him and my shove makes him take a step back, which causes him to trip on the pile of stuff and he starts to fall backward. I lunge forward and grab him. He didn’t need my help and was already righting himself so my yanking causes him to lurch forward, and the next thing I know we’re chest-to-chest again. And that warm, electric feeling I would love if it was caused by anyone else in the world is swirling in my belly again. I try to take a step back but his hand is suddenly around my waist holding me in place.

  “You just can’t stop saving me, can you?” he asks but his voice is low and gruff and filled with a husky tone I haven’t heard before.

  “If you impale yourself on a plank I can’t…my leverage…”

  God, he’s strong. Solid. Warm.

  “Did you forget how to form a sentence?”

  His hand slips lower. Oh God. I like it.

  “I’m not taking your charity. The end,” I say, acting like I don’t feel the hand that is firmly palming my ass now. I want to applaud myself for sounding so unaffected. My pulse is racing, my blood is heated, my girl parts are dancing—and my hands are slipping down his chest, fingertips riding over every ripple of toned flesh under his T-shirt.

  “Fine. You lost today.” He tilts his head just the slightest bit to the left and inches a millimeter closer. He has a good neck. I’ve never said that about a guy before but I’m staring at his, and it’s long and thick and perfectly tan.

  I find myself leaning into him, moving closer to his neck. It’s pure and utter insanity. He’s done it. Tate Adler has caused me to lose my mind. He tilts his head further the closer I get and then I feel his breath ghost my own neck and then his lips skim the shell of my ear. “You and your family better not be anywhere near the booth next Sunday. You lost. I won.”

  “Exactly,” I whisper. “So stop being nice to me.”

  “Fine…if you tell me the truth.” His lips skim along my jaw, the graze of his stubble creating ripples of heat on my skin. The desire igniting in me could probably light this barn on fire. Again. “Why did you really do it? Stop that woman from exposing my job today?”

  “Because you had this look on your face of pure panic and impending doom. The look of someone who could see their world crumbling. Your face looked like Daisy’s did when we woke up and found our dad collapsed on the kitchen floor after his stroke,” I confess. “No one should feel the way that look says they feel. Even you.”

  His lips stop moving. Now they’re just pressed to my cheek ever so lightly and I want to press my skin against them but I don’t. Then he speaks, his lips still against my skin so its muffled but I not only hear but feel every word. “Thank you. And I’m sorry about your dad. That you went through that.”

  “We hate each other,” I remind myself as much as him, but the whisper is so breathless and weak I don’t think my brain, or his, really hears it.

  “Uh-huh.”

  And then his lips slide across my cheek to brush mine and I swear to God I see stars. My hands slip around his neck and into his hair and I open my mouth just a little. Mostly out of shock at my own behavior. When he squeezes my ass—hard—my mouth opens wider and Tate’s tongue barges in.

  He’s pushing me now, hands still firmly planted on my ass so my body stays glued to his, and he walks me backward until I’m pressed up against that barn wall he had me up against earlier. Then his hand slips from my ass to the crook of my knee and as he tugs my bottom lip between his teeth, he pulls my leg up by my knee and grinds into me and I feel him, long, thick and so hard it makes a heated flush explode across my face, and even in the dusky barn he sees it and smirks.

  “Fuck you,” I pant at the smirk as he pushes into me again, grinding his length across my core in the most perfect way.

  “Is that want you want?” His voice is rough and hard and it’s the most sensuous thing I’ve ever heard. “Me to fuck you?”

  “Yes,” I answer before I can even think to stop myself. I grab the back of his neck and kiss him again because if he smirks at how much redder my face just got, I’ll die before he can give me what I want.

  Our hands move in a frantic dance to remove each other’s clothes. He gets my pants down to my ankles and I kick one leg free as I tug his shirt over his head and throw it behind him. He reaches up and tugs on my ponytail, tipping my head back and then he puts his mouth on my neck, just above my collarbone, and attacks it with just the right amount of bite and suck so that I feel it between my legs. My hands reach and shove his sweat pants down. Thank God they don’t require work because my brain is short circuiting and my hands are shaky and uncoordinated with need.

  He’s not wearing underwear. My eyes fall and land on his erection—thick, long and eager as it points toward me like a weather vane in a storm. I bite my bottom lip and make a noise in the back of my throat that I’ve never made before in my life. Tate smiles and bends down and for a panicked second, I think he’s going to pull his sweats up.

  “What are you doing?”

  He pulls something out of the pocket of the sweats and holds it up between us as he stands. “Protection.”

  “Of course you carry them everywhere you go.” I roll my eyes.

  He laughs and leans his whole body against mine again. “Only you would somehow make safe sex a character flaw.”

  He kisses me hard holding my chin for a moment and the pulls back. “Besides,” he looks down and I hear the distinct rip of a wrapper. “Borrowed these sweats from Patrick. He carries condoms everywhere.”

  He slides the condom on and then moves to kiss me again, his hand sliding down my side and around my hip as he pulls back just enough to speak. “Take your shirt off.”

  I want to tell him I don’t take orders from him except that I want to take my shirt off. So I do and before it even hits th
e ground he’s yanking the strap on my bralette down and moving those gifted lips to my left nipple and I groan so loud he has to clamp a hand over my mouth again.

  “Shh!” He commands, his words a gush of hot air against my breast. “They can’t find us.”

  I nod and snake my hands into his hair again, pushing him closer to my nipple which he gladly circles with his tongue over and over before moving to the other one. “Now do you promise to shut up so I can put this hand to better use?”

  I can’t answer because my mouth is covered so I bite his palm again. He yanks it away and unfortunately pulls his mouth from me too. “Don’t bite.”

  I smile. “Don’t talk.”

  I start to push his head down to my breasts again but now his other hand is in my underwear and without a lick of hesitation he slides two finger across my entrance and now it’s Tate who is making the strange noises. “You’re ready, Firecracker.”

  “So don’t keep me waiting,” I reply shamelessly wrapping a leg around his hip, opening myself up against his fingers, which slowly slide inside. “Oh God…”

  “If this is only happening once, I’m going to enjoy it. And so are you,” Tate whispers against my mouth before his tongue pushes its way inside again.

  Definitely only once, I agree in my head as his thumb makes slow circles against my clit. I dig my fingernails into his shoulders. And he breaks our kiss and our eyes connect. His gaze is heavy and heated but there’s a flicker of hesitation to it too, like he’s waiting for me to come to my senses. His fingers slip from me and, knowing with every fiber of my now-on-fire being that I am never going to stop this, I push him back a bit and then push my underwear down my legs and pull my left foot free.

  He’s watching me with a look of awe and lust.

  “Now or never. What’s it going to be?”

  Tate steps into me again, his wide hands cup my ass and he lifts me up off the ground. “Now. Then never,” he replies. “Hold on.”

  He pulls me off the wall and takes a couple steps to the left, where there’s an empty pen with a door with metal rails. Probably where they used to keep their cow when they had one. He presses me against the rails now, kissing me hard and deep, and I can feel his sheathed cock bump against my entrance. I grab the rail on either side of my head and wrap my legs loosely around his waist. I watch with baited breath as he grabs himself and rubs his tip against my slit. We both inhale loudly at the same time.