IMPACT: A Secret Baby Sports Romance

by Vivian Lux

  I sighed, shifted, and slipped my phone back to my hand. My thighs were sticking to the vinyl booth. I regretted wasting my favorite blue dress on this date. It wasn’t worth it.

  I looked down at my screen.

  Olivia: Have you used one of my lines?

  I pressed my lips together again, this time to hide the smile that desperately wanted to turn into laughter. Olivia Bryant, my best friend and fellow cubicle dweller at Cupid’s Arrow Dating Service, was a self-professed ‘female chauvinist pig.’ The kind of girl who watched Sex and the City and took Samantha as her own personal role model.

  Her current obsession was what she called, ‘pickup line equity.’

  “If men get to use corny, sleazy pickup lines, well then so do we!” she had crowed to me three nights ago as we shared a bottle of Pinot Grigio in my tiny kitchen. “From now on, I’m a female pickup artist. It’s the war of the sexes, baby, and sometimes you need to adopt enemy tactics to win.”

  Me: No!

  I typed back, not even bothering to hide my phone anymore.

  Me: I am not going to ask him if he has any wood for my beaver.

  Just typing those words made me blush like a mad woman.

  Three little dots that indicated she was typing hovered on the screen. I took a quick glance at my date to see if he noticed that I was paying him no attention at all.

  Olivia: That was my best one!

  She wrote back, with a string of frowny-faced emojis.

  Olivia: Okay, how about this. Tell him...

  Olivia: ‘I wish I was your car so you could fill me up.’

  I hid my laughter behind a cough, and reached for my wineglass. The only wine this sports bar had was a cheap white Zinfandel, but I wasn’t above downing half my glass at once.

  This blind date was officially a disaster, and we hadn’t even gotten our entrées yet.

  “Another glass of the Zin, hon?” Our waitress couldn’t have been more than eighteen years old, and she smacked her gum loudly as she talked.

  Dennis finally tore his eyes from the screen, and latched them firmly on her high, padded breasts.

  “I’ll take more of whatever you got,” he leered.

  We had barely started drinking, but his eyes already had a drunken sheen to them. I wonder how long he was here, pre-gaming, before I had showed up. A little tiny warning bell went off in the back of my head.

  The waitress rolled her eyes, but at the same time she jutted her chest out a little further. “I got whatever you want,” she flirted back clumsily.

  “Excuse me,” I interjected. This was getting gross. “Could you check on our meals?” I was debating leaving, but our orders had already been put in, and I had skipped lunch in an effort to fit into this blue dress.

  “Gonna be a sec,” the waitress snapped, popping her gum again. “Kitchen’s backed up. Can I get you more drinks?”

  I shook my head. This was ridiculous. “Excuse me,” I said, smiling apologetically. “I’m just going to run to the ladies’ room.”

  “Chicks and their small bladders,” Dennis grumbled for no reason.

  The waitress just laughed and leaned all the way over our table to collect the two empty pint glasses in front of him. He practically buried his face in her tits.

  I grabbed my phone and headed to the bathroom. At the corner of the bar, a small knot of men were watching the same game Dennis couldn't keep his eyes off of. My blood pressure was already spiking from Dennis’s jackass behavior, so I didn’t feel like us enduring another round of male chauvinist pigs. I decided to give them a wide berth.

  “What’s up, Blue?” one of the guys called out. “Come over here and say hello!”

  They were practically blocking the ladies’ room. “Excuse me!” I called out in my best no-nonsense voice. “I need to get by.”

  “What’s the hurry?” the blond one asked.

  “Don’t be a dick,” the third guy interjected.

  He swiveled around in his barstool and gave the first guy a shove. “Go ahead,” he told me. “My friends left their manners at home tonight.”

  For a second, my heart didn’t work. It was dark in the bar, dimly lit, but his eyes were even darker, almost black. His jaw was shadowed with a heavy, dark beard, but I could see the strength there, the determination. The way he looked directly into my eyes, never breaking eye contact, never dropping to check out my body, was so refreshing after a night of feeling like a piece of meat on display at the corner deli.

  “Thanks,” I murmured inaudibly. Then I rushed by them and into the bathroom.

  Once safely inside the stall, I whipped out my phone. A single ‘?’ was hanging there unanswered on the screen from Olivia, checking in about five minutes ago.

  I leaned against the wall of the stall.

  Me: How did you meet this guy again?

  I was doing my damnedest not to get pissed off at my best friend for setting me up with such a dud.

  She must have been waiting right by phone.

  Olivia: His dad is Romeo’s vet.

  Romeo was Olivia’s pit bull, the love of her life. He was more dependable than any man she’d ever met, and she told him that at least three or four times a day, with no qualms about who she said it in front of.

  Me: So, you don’t actually know him?

  Olivia: I know of him.

  There was a pause, and then my phone started ringing in my hand.

  She didn’t even wait for me to say hello. “Oh. Shit,” Olivia said by way of greeting.

  I nodded. “Yeah, ‘oh shit.’” I sighed. “He’s acting like a complete jackass. Barely said two words to me, then totally checked out the waitress.”

  Olivia growled something obscene.

  “This sucks,” I went on. “The date was bad enough. And what’s worse is, now I’m alone in a bathroom stall, telling my best friend all about it…” I wasn’t going to cry. Dear God, don’t let me cry.

  “Oh, Candy,” she sighed, using the nickname that only she was allowed to call me. “Don’t get discouraged.”

  “How can I not? This isn’t so much a dry spell as a full-blown drought.”

  “You’ve just got a keep looking, play the game.” She paused and lowered her voice meaningfully. “Have some fun, hmm?”

  “I don’t know, I’m starting to think that the guy for me, the soul mate, my one and only, whoever he is, has to be in someplace remote. Like at the base of Mount Everest, or maybe stuck somewhere in North Korea. I feel like I’ve dated the entire Chicago area already, and I don’t have much hope for the rest of America.”

  “Stop thinking that a guy has to be the one,” she chided me.

  It was a familiar refrain. Olivia believed in sex. Casual sex, freaky sex, sex without regret.

  Me? Well, I believed in love.

  I believed in love like in the fairytales. One person to complete you. Sure, that belief had taken a beating the longer I went without finding it, but I knew it was possible. I only had to look at my parents to know that it was true.

  Bill and Victoria Hunter made no sense as a couple. He was the straight-laced valedictorian of their small town high school. She was the passionate artist who skipped classes to work in the studios. When they got together in the last month of senior year, everyone thought it was just a fling before high school ended.

  That was thirty-four years ago.

  My parents were the very definition of the phrase, ‘opposites attract.’ But they complemented each other so completely that everyone, including their two daughters, could see that they were meant to be together. And I grew up knowing that their kind of love was out there, just waiting for me.

  I just had to find it first.

  “I’m just going to leave,” I sighed, rubbing my forehead. “I’ll give him some money for my burger, and get the hell out of here. Stop wasting both of our time.”

  Olivia clucked sympathetically. “I’ll bring you a box of bacon chocolate chip cookies from Lovely tomorrow,” she promised. “Sorr
y about this, Candy-girl.”

  “It’s not your fault,” I laughed ruefully. “Guess I can’t hold you responsible for the sins of every guy I try to go out with.”

  “Sure you can! What are friends for?” she chirped.

  I laughed. “Thanks for the talk. I feel less like I’m ready to pull a Lorena Bobbitt on the entire male species.”

  “Well, if you ever needed to, you know who to call. Love you, Candace.”

  I swallowed, oddly touched by her use of my full name. “Love you, Liv,” I said, then hung up the phone.

  I went to the sink, splashed some water on my face, and then immediately checked that I hadn’t made my eyeliner run. I bit my lip, straightened my shoulders, and pushed the door open again.

  The noise of the bar hit me like an aerial assault. Whatever had just happened on the TV seemed to be a good thing, because the whole bar was standing up and cheering, complete strangers slapping each other on the back. Once more I found myself mystified by the unifying power of men in gaudy clothes slapping sticks or balls around a field. Or, whatever the hell they played basketball on. A court, maybe? But this was a hockey game, so I guess it was a rink?

  Sports were a complete mystery to me.

  I hesitated only a moment before starting back to my table. The crowd was completely distracted by the screen, but I could still feel eyes on me.

  I snuck a quick peek behind me and accidentally locked eyes with the dark-eyed man sitting at the corner of the bar. He raised his glass silently in my direction.

  I wanted to turn around, take one more glimpse of those broad shoulders, and cut cheekbones, but I felt like that would be inviting the attention of his asshole friends. Sighing resignedly, I resolved to make my goodbyes with Dennis and go home to a threesome with Ben and Jerry.

  “There you are!” Dennis called as if I had been trekking across the Himalayas for a month. “Everything good?”

  Was this guy seriously just asking me if I had a successful trip to the ladies' room? I shook my head, “Hey, thanks for the nice time,” I lied. “But I think it’s time I head out.”

  His face fell, and something slightly dangerous glinted in his eyes. “But we haven’t even had dinner yet.”

  “You can have mine. Or wrap it up,” I said, throwing a twenty down on the table. “That should cover it.”

  Swift as snake, he reached out and snapped his fingers around my wrist.

  “Hey!” I cried out, looking down in shock.

  “Sit down,” he said. His mouth was smiling, but his voice was steel.

  I shook my head slowly. “No.”

  “No, sit down,” he said, still smiling. Though it was more like a dog baring its teeth. “Let’s get to know each other.”

  “I’ve learned all I want to know,” I said, “and you’re hurting my wrist.”

  He gave a sharp tug. I wobbled on my heels and fell forward, striking the corner of my ribs against the table. “Stop it!” I called out.

  “You shut up!” he hissed, looking around. “No need to get hysterical.”

  “If you don’t let go of me, I’m going to scream,” I told him, looking right into his eye.

  “You know, Olivia told me all about you,” he said coldly. “Where you live, where you work—”

  I jutted my chin out. “Olivia would never do that.”

  “You don’t know that. How would you know, you’ve barely talked to me! Why don’t you sit down, and we’ll talk about it.”

  “Let. Go. Of. My arm.” I was starting to feel panic close around my throat. All around us the crowd was laughing, joking, and yelling at the screen. Nobody, absolutely no one was paying attention.

  “Sit down,” Dennis repeated coldly.

  “Is there a problem here, ma’am?”

  Dennis and I both whirled at the sudden sound of a deep baritone voice.

  The dark eyed man from the corner of the bar was standing right next to me, so close I could feel the heat rising off of his arm. He held my glance for a beat, checking me over to make sure I was okay. When I lifted my chin, he gave me a slight, upward nod.

  Then he turned and leaned over the table, getting right in Dennis’s face. “Hey dickhead,” he snarled. “Get your fucking hands off of her.”

  Dennis sneered. “Why don’t you mind your own business…” Then he trailed off. “Holy shit. It’s you.”

  My savior seemed less than amused. “Yeah. It’s fucking me. Now let go.”

  As if by magic, Dennis’s fingers went limp. I snatched my hand away and went to work rubbing life back into my dead wrist. A bracelet of red welts was already rising to the surface of my skin.

  My dark-eyed rescuer pulled back and looked at me once more with that searching look. “Ma’am, were you trying to leave?”

  I swallowed. “I was,” I admitted.

  He looked between Dennis and me, as if waging an internal battle. Then he sighed. “I’ll walk you to the door,” he finally said. “And you,” he barked at Dennis. “You stay put. If you so much as sneeze, I'll rip your balls off and shove them down your throat.”

  “Okay,” Dennis said, as cowed and awestruck as a star-struck fan.

  I looked more closely at my knight in shining armor. He had the mouth of a sailor, the eyes of a gentleman, and it was clear Dennis recognized him.

  Who the hell was this guy?

  Chapter Two

  Ian

  The chick in the blue dress didn’t belong here. She was too classy, too elegant. The women who frequented Dobbs Sports Bar were fond of sweats and windbreakers, and had hard, black-rimmed eyes that they sneered at you with through rings of cigarette smoke.

  This woman was a vision, picking her way through this dive like some kind of mythical unicorn.

  So, of course, Brad had to be a fucking pig to her.

  “I was just trying to be friendly!” he protested, after she disappeared into the ladies’ room.

  I regarded him sidelong. I didn’t get it. He was a good dude, had a wicked sense of humor and a pretty decent job. I had no idea why he had to be such an almighty idiot around women.

  But that was the kind of shit guys just don’t talk about with each other. Instead, I punched him in the arm. “You weren’t friendly. You were an asshole.” I took a sip of my beer and continued. “You are an asshole. And you always will be an asshole.”

  My best friend raised his pint glass. “And cheers to you, too, buddy," he said, then downed a third of it in one great gulp.

  “Can’t blame a man for trying,” Jake piped up. He had just joined the team three months ago, and seemed to have decided that Bradley and I were his new best friends. He hung around us like some annoying kid brother, and neither Brad nor I could work up the energy to tell him to fuck off. Besides, he played a hell of a good defense, and—whatever; team camaraderie, sportsmanship, all that crap came into play whenever we thought about ditching him.

  So we drank with him. The beer helped make him slightly tolerable.

  “Strike that, you are both assholes,” I clarified.

  “Since when is Ian Carter the paragon of gentlemanly virtue?” Brad asked pointedly.

  “Don’t blow out your entire vocabulary in one sentence,” I growled at him from over the top of my glass. “You’ll use up all your words and have to start grunting.”

  He gave me the finger. Then all at once, the whole bar erupted in cheers.

  “Shit, what’d I miss?” I asked, straining to see the television from behind all the bobbing heads.

  “Penguins made a goal!” Brandon clapped.

  “I can’t believe you convinced me to do this on our off night,” I shouted at him over the noise of the bar. “I should be at home, thinking of anything but hockey right now.”

  “There’s nothing but hockey!” he yelled into my ear. “You know that!”

  It was true. Nothing but hockey, not since he and I had made a solemn pact that we would go all the way together. Now we had both achieved our dreams, playing for the Black
hawks.

  And things were looking really, really good this year.

  Enforcer is an unofficial role, not really sanctioned by the NHL. But every team had one. Their job is to keep the other team in line. The second someone tries to pull something dirty, the enforcer is on him.

  Sure, enforcers have a bad rep. Usually they're not good scorers, and are looked down on by other players as little more than goons and thugs.

  But not me. I'm a fighter, and I'm a scorer.

  Over the past four years, I had pulled off the Gordie Howe hat trick on three separate occasions; scoring a goal, assisting on a goal and getting into a fight all in the same game. I had earned my reputation as the "Blackhawks' Bully" for my down and dirty fighting style, willingness to play rough, and my absolute refusal to allow my team to get fucked with.

  The fans fucking loved me. My teammates fucking loved me. And this year we were going to take the Stanley Cup for the second time in a row.

  I was sure of it.

  I leaned back and tried to ignore the sound of Jake rambling on with excuses about the assist he had missed last game. Just when my irritation had reached critical mass, I saw something flutter out in the crowd, like a bird in a forest, flitting between the trees.

  It was the woman in the blue dress. And it looked like she was in trouble.

  Her date had her by the wrist, holding her fast when she clearly wanted to leave. “What the shit is this?” I wondered aloud.

  Brad looked in the direction I was glaring. “Date gone bad, I guess. That’s why I don’t mess with that shit.”

  “Yeah, I’m sure that’s precisely why you haven’t been out with a chick in months. Because of your aversion to the dating scene.” I rolled my eyes. Inwardly, I counted backwards from ten, reminding myself once again of Coach Randall’s warning. Don’t lose your temper, Ian. You don’t need any more distractions.

  “Stop it!” I heard the girl shout.

  In an instant I was off my stool and moving, all warnings forgotten. Brad’s shouts to keep calm and stay out of it were lost in the rush of blood thundering in my ears.

  The two seconds it took me to get to the table was all it took for me to get my blood up. I felt that eerie clarity, the slowed-down centeredness that comes right before I throw a punch. I relished the taste of bright copper in my mouth and the flush of heat in my face.