Hooked: A Hockey Romance

by June Winters

  I grinned. “Yeah, that's pretty much all true. She's got a point.”

  “Blah. You're gross.”

  “Yeah? Too bad, because you're cute.”

  “I thought I was a pain?”

  “Maybe I like pain.”

  “Wow,” she laughed. “Good to know, but you'll have to find your pain elsewhere. I've got a boyfriend … so you can stop flirting with me now.”

  I lowered my foot on the gas and opened the engine up a little as I merged onto the highway. I'd spent enough time on defense with her—it was time to go on the attack.

  “Ah, a boyfriend. So was I right? Is he the one who forgot to pick you up and left you to freeze in the rain?”

  She deflated in her seat like a balloon with a slow leak, and she made a noise like one, too. She stared out her window quietly.

  “Just a lucky guess.” I shrugged, and added whimsically: “Well, who knows—maybe he's busy with other things. Won't happen again, I'm sure.”

  I hadn't meant it. I knew that wasn't the case. It never was. Guys don't just forget to pick a girl like her up—either he was already fucking around on her, or he is so busy he forgot. In which case, he's probably already made a bad habit of neglecting her.

  Either way, it was bad for him, and good for me.

  “No,” she said quietly. “I don't think he forgot.”

  “No?”

  “He didn't want me to do this—the try-outs, I mean.”

  “Why not?”

  “I don't wanna talk about it.” She sighed. “God, I hope he didn't stand me up on purpose … he can be spiteful like that.”

  I bit my tongue. I could tell she had more to say.

  “Me and Todd—we were actually at the game last week. When you guys played against Florida.”

  “Yeah?” I discreetly ground my teeth, remembering how I'd blown the game tying goal. “Not my most pleasant memory.”

  “The point is, when you missed that shot, Todd jumped up and cheered and laughed in my face. Everyone around us, all the Blizzard fans, gave us dirty stares. I was mortified.”

  “Is he a Florida fan?” I asked, my eyes narrowing at her.

  “No.”

  “I'm not following you, then.”

  “Nevermind. The point is, he can be mean-spirited about stuff.” Honor laughed softly. “I really thought you were going to score that goal. You had the goalie beat.”

  “Yeah. Me too.” I could've, and would've, left it at that with anybody else. But I kept talking. “Three years ago? That goal was automatic for me.”

  Honor caught my eye. “What happened three years ago?”

  “I got traded.”

  “Why?”

  My fingers tightened like a vise on the steering wheel. “Eh. I don't wanna talk about it.”

  “I understand,” Honor said quietly.

  And then a funny thing happened: the two of us fell silent and drove the rest of the way listening to the sound of the road instead, the patter of rainfall, and the swip-swoop of the car's wipers. I guess we didn't feel the need to talk anymore. But it wasn't uncomfortable. It was almost like being silent together was more enjoyable.

  “Sorry to make you drive all the way out here,” she said.

  “I don't mind.”

  “Do you have a long drive back home?”

  “I live downtown, at a hotel, actually. Right by the arena.”

  “A hotel?” she asked. “Isn't that a lot of money?”

  I looked at her and gave a chuckle.

  “Oh. Right,” she said quietly. “I guess that wouldn't be a problem. But, you know, you could really save some money by getting your own place.”

  I smiled. “Yeah. That's true. But then, I wouldn't live on the 35th floor and get to see the sun set behind the mountains every evening, you know?”

  She thought that one over. “Hm. That does sound nice.”

  I took the highway exit to her neighborhood, and she guided me to her building. I bet she shared that apartment with her moron of a boyfriend.

  I pulled up to the curb outside her apartment. “This it?”

  “Yes. Thank you, Hunter,” she said softly. “I really appreciate it. Sorry I was a pain.”

  “You weren't a pain.” I kept my fist wrapped over the stick-shift knob. Her knees weren't pointing away from me anymore—they were pointing towards me, and only inches from my hand.

  Ugh. Seeing her bare flesh so close to my hand—the sight ignited an uncontrollable desire inside me. A carnal hunger demanded that I slip my hand off the shifter and over to her knee. My finger-tips would softly glide up the inside of her lovely legs, inching up her bare thighs, until I made her mine.

  Yeah, I knew she had a boyfriend. Didn't seem like he was worth very much, though, and he certainly wasn't her knight in shining armor tonight.

  But then again? This chick? She seemed different, after all. All concerned about breaking the rules that no one else gave a fuck about. She didn't even know what a Maserati was, and wasn't at all impressed once she found out how much I paid for it.

  Hm.

  For the first time in a long time? I found the strength to resist that animal urge—this time, anyway. But I can't make any promises for the future.

  She reached for the door handle, and started to pull, but stopped just shy. She turned back to me. “Sorry—one last thing.”

  “Shoot.”

  “You said you would've scored that goal three years ago. This is probably a dumb question to ask you, and I'm sure you've already thought of it. But I wanted to ask you anyway.”

  “Go on.”

  “Did you happen to change sticks around that time, three years ago?”

  I knew exactly what she was getting at, and I'd already thought of it myself, but I was still damned impressed that she'd thought of it.

  “Yeah. I switched to a stick with a bigger curve in the blade. The bigger curve makes for a better forehand shot, but a worse backhand.”

  “I know that.” She smiled. “So, sounds like that's why you've been missing that shot for three years?” She looked so cute, trying to hide how proud she felt at that moment. She thought she'd figured out my problem—but it wasn't that easy. Things never were.

  I shrugged. “Part of the problem, sure. But I can't just switch back like that.”

  “Why not?”

  “When Colorado traded for me, they made me captain and told me they expected me to lead our offense in scoring. Sure, if I go back to my old stick, I might score that one—but I'll score 5 or even 10 less goals a year total.”

  Her face crumpled with defeat. “Oh …”

  “But hey. Most people wouldn't immediately make that connection. So how big a hockey fan are you, Honor? Did you play in a women's league?”

  “Me? Oh, no, but all my older brothers played hockey growing up. And the only reason I thought to ask you that was because my brother Derek had the same problem. He couldn't figure out for the longest time why his backhand shot wasn't nearly as good as it used to be—until he went back to his old stick with the flatter blade.”

  “Sounds about right.”

  “Who knows? Maybe you could just try your old stick again, Rockwell. You never know.” She popped her door open and dangled a leg out. “Don't get me in trouble over this ride, please?”

  “I won't.” I winked at her. “It'll be our little secret.”

  She held up a stern finger. “And no more flirting with me, either. I'm serious.” Then she shut the car door.

  I didn't drive off until I made sure she got through the door safely. Not that I minded staying and watching those legs as she ran up to her building.

  Man. She's really cute.

  Something about her really was different from the others.

  Chapter 6:

  Done

  Honor

  It was past 10 when I finally made it home, thanks to Todd. I was still in a bad mood—but nowhere near as bad as it could've been, if Hunter hadn't given me a ride home and I was s
till waiting out that freezing cold rain.

  Todd sat on the couch, lit by the glow of the television, immersed in his games. I stepped right in front of the TV and turned it off.

  “Hey!” Todd yelled. “What'd you do that for!”

  “I tried calling you all night, Todd! You left me stranded out there! In a new city! In the freezing rain!”

  “Yeah, well, uh.” Todd scratched his head. “So … did you get the job?”

  “I did.”

  “Oh. Great. Good for you.”

  “Aren't you going to say you're sorry? Don't you have some excuse why you didn't hear your phone?”

  “Uh—well, I turned my ringer off? That's why I didn't hear it, anyway.”

  My eyes bulged. “Why'd you do that? I told you I'd call you when I needed a ride home.”

  “I dunno. I guess I figured, hey—you want to be so independent. So right on, girl. Live your life. Find your own way home.”

  Stunned, my jaw dropped. “Are you saying you left me out there on purpose? To teach me a lesson?”

  “No, I just sort of …”

  “Ignored me intentionally.”

  “Yeah. I guess.” Todd shrugged. “Hey, you found your way home, didn't you?”

  “Yeah. I did. Thanks to Hunter Rockwell.”

  Todd's eyes suddenly narrowed with rage. “Wait, what? The—the hockey player? The one you have a crush on?”

  “Yup! Same one, Todd. Thanks to you.”

  His nostrils flared. “Wow. See—see, this is exactly why I didn't want you to try out for that job. You're there for one night, just auditioning for the job, and you're already turning into a jersey-chasing wh—” Todd bit his tongue before he could finish saying it.

  My voice dropped an octave. “What were you going to say?”

  “Nothing.” Todd rolled his eyes. “A jersey-chaser, I guess.”

  “I am not a jersey-chaser. And I am certainly not a whore, which is what you were about to say.”

  Todd didn't deny it. I ran to our bedroom. I didn't know what the future held with Todd, but I knew I couldn't stay here tonight.

  Todd followed me into the bedroom, snickering in the doorway as I frantically stuffed clothes into a bag.

  “Okay, Honor. Calm down. Think this through. And, realize, that this never would've happened, if you hadn't done something I specifically asked you not to do.”

  “Oh my God,” I laughed. “You just keep digging your hole deeper! It's like you've been on a mission to say and do the wrong thing for a week.”

  “You rode in a car with Hunter Rockwell! What if I picked up one of those puck sluts, or whatever they're called, and gave them a ride home? I mean, how am I supposed to ever trust you again?”

  “Puck sluts,” I grumbled. “So now I'm a jersey-chasing whore and a puck slut. Whatever that means. You know what? You don't have to worry about trusting me anymore.”

  “What's that supposed to mean?”

  “It means we're over, Todd. I can't do this anymore! Moving out here with you was such a mistake.”

  “Fine, Honor! Run on home to Mommy and Daddy and all your big brothers, then!” Todd taunted as I rushed past him, bag in hand. “Send 'em my regards!”

  I slammed the apartment door and called a cab.

  ***

  I checked myself into a $30 a day hotel and called Derek.

  “Hey butthead!” he answered.

  It was always our 'inside joke' that we insulted each other in greeting.

  “Hey Derek,” I answered with a sniffle—and he knew immediately something wasn't right.

  “What's wrong, sis?”

  “I just broke up with Todd.”

  “What? Why?”

  I gave him the run-down—that Todd hadn't picked me up from a job interview, which meant I had to accept a ride from a male co-worker, and then Todd got angry over it, and he called me some very degrading words. I told Derek that Todd was an ass in general who didn't care about me, and moving to a new city and living with him, made that painfully clear.

  Derek was seething. “Fuck it. I can drive down to Denver tomorrow. I just gotta make some calls, get my shift covered tomorrow, and then I'll head on down. I'll tune Toddy-boy right up and teach his dumb ass a lesson. Then I'll help you pack your shit and bring you back home.”

  “No … no …” I shook my head. “Thanks, but I don't want you to 'tune' him up. And I don't wanna move back home, either. I want to make it here, Derek. I want to stand on my own two feet for once.”

  “Well … call me if you change your mind.” Derek sighed. “So, what was this job you applied for?”

  I closed my eyes. “An ice girl. You know, like at a hock—”

  “You tried out to be an ice girl? In the NHL? Don't you know what goes on between those girls and the players?”

  I sighed. “Derek—please! I just went through this with Todd, okay? I'm smart, I'm not going to get into any trouble. Just please don't tell Mom and Dad.”

  “Jesus, Honor.” He went silent for a moment or two. “I won't tell them that you tried out. But if you get offered that job, you better turn it down.”

  He didn't even realize I'd already accepted it.

  “… I will,” I lied.

  Chapter 7:

  New Girl

  Rockwell

  One week later.

  “I want this one, boys. I want this one bad,” I told my teammates in the dressing room before we took to the ice.

  We'd spent the last week on the road—games against St. Louis, Minnesota, and Chicago. A victory in St. Louis, an overtime loss in Minnesota, and a huge victory in Chicago gave our team five out of a possible six points. And, more importantly, those games got us within shooting distance of the playoffs. If we won tonight? We'd slide into playoff position, with only four games left in the season.

  Tonight, we were finally back home in Colorado. Our opponent? My old team, the Boston Bears, led by their captain, my former best friend and roommate—and all around shitbag—Chris Cunningham.

  “I hate these guys. We win, and I'm buying dinner and drinks for everyone.”

  The boys liked the sound of that—they ooh'ed and aah'ed. This might be a room full of millionaires, but it's still a bunch of guys that love a free meal and booze.

  “And who knows, if one of you happens to lay out Cunningham with a good hit, I'll throw in a grand.”

  Iggy Morrow, our resident defensive specialist and open-ice hitter, shook his head. “I wish—I'd love to hit that little shit. The mouth on that guy? Jesus, it's always running! But he's too damn slippery. Some guys you just can't seem to hit, and he's one of 'em. Worse part is how he acts like he wants to fight, but he never, ever, drops the gloves.”

  I ground my fist into my palm. “That's him, alright.”

  Iggy stroked his chin thoughtfully. “So, uh—let that be a warning for you rookies. If Cunningham starts chirping about how he wants to drop the gloves, don't, unless he drops them first. Otherwise he'll just bait you into a penalty.”

  The rookies nodded.

  “Hey Rockwell. You ever gonna tell us what the hell Cunningham did to piss you off so damn bad?” First line sniper and my left winger, Vinny DeMarco, asked while he wrapped the blade of his stick with cloth tape.

  “Nah. Doesn't matter anyway,” I answered curtly.

  But Vinny always has to push the envelope. With his eyes locked on his tape-job, he kept rambling. “I could've sworn that you and Cunningham were tight back in your Boston days. Anytime we played against you guys, you two seemed real buddy-buddy on the ice, you know, good pals, and—”

  “Fuck, Vinny,” I growled. “I said it doesn't matter.”

  “Alright. Sheesh.” Vinny rolled his eyes.

  The door swung open and Coach charged into the dressing room to rally his troops. “Game time, boys. Let's do this.”

  ***

  First five minutes of the game.

  “I'm open, Vinny!” I shouted, tapping my stick blade on the ice.
“Slot, slot!”

  Vinny heard and sent a no-look pass from the corner to me—in the slot. As the puck arrived, I dropped to my knee and leaned into the shot. The puck rocketed off my stick the second it arrived, a laser placed right where I wanted it—glove side high. Which just so happened to be the Boston goalie's weakness.

  But the goalie—my old teammate—slid across the crease with his glove held high. He never even saw my shot. But he didn't need to; the puck blasted into the trapper of his glove perfectly. His arm bent back with the sudden impact of my shot, and he looked as surprised as everyone else did when he saw the puck still resting in his glove.

  That lucky fucker.

  The Colorado crowd groaned. Taking an early lead there would've been huge, and everyone knew it.

  I shook my head as I skated back to the bench. So damn close.

  With the play stoppage on the ice, it was time for a TV timeout—and that meant it was time for the ice girls to come out and sweep the ice. I looked for Honor. I knew it was her first night in front of the crowd.

  Vinny elbowed me. “Who ya lookin' for, captain?”

  “Just watching, Vinny.”

  “Yeahh, right.”

  Me and my line-mates were still gliding our way back to the bench as the first group of girls weaved through us. A sweet, fruity-smelling trail of perfume wafted behind them as they skated past, waving and smiling at the crowd.

  Vinny drew a long whiff through his nostrils and elbowed me again. “I never get sick of that smell.”

  That's when I spotted Honor, on the far side of the rink, skating with Madison and Cora. Actually, I didn't know how I'd missed her. A golden glow adorned her—her smile, her upright skating posture, really, her entire presence. Normally the new girls seem a little nervous at their first game, but Honor looked like a natural on the ice.

  Some of the other girls' strides looked more like they were trying to walk on the ice, rather than skate on it. But damn. Honor could really move. Hell, her stride was like ballet in motion. Smooth, effortless, elegant—yet deceptively powerful. She'd obviously spent a lot of time on the ice in her life.

  I leaned up against the bench, waiting and watching for the moment she'd pass by. I wanted to say something to her. Welcome her. Say hi. Something. Make eye contact, at least—give her a wink.