by Teagan Kade
She arrived at the barrier and took off her helmet, her face red and fiery. “What?”
“Is that how you speak to your Coach, Walsh?”
“It’s Walsh now, is it?”
I looked around to make sure the conversation was private. “It sure as hell is. Now, what’s going on out there? You’re messy. You said you had this under control.”
Her tongue pressed the side of her cheek out. “I’m tired.”
I shook my head unable to deal with this right now. “Back out there,” I pointed, “and stop with this bullshit.”
She skated off without another word, my temples drumming. What the hell was she doing to me? What was I doing to her?
I was surprised when she knocked on my office door after practice, the rest of the players already leaving through the tunnel.
I waved her in and instructed her to close the door. “You want to see me?”
She was on the attack so fast even I, the supposedly un-shockable, was taken aback. “This has to stop. This babying and preferential treatment makes me look weak. How the hell is the team ever going to accept me if all you do is stand there like my father swaddling me in cotton wool every time one them skates close?” She was jabbing at me with her finger. It may as well have been a dagger.
I stood and placed my hands flat on my desk. “Need I remind you how you came home last night. You’re lucky I didn’t take you down to the ER.”
She laughed wildly. “For a couple of bruises? I’ve had worse injuries falling off my bike. You know it, I know it. I. Can. Handle. Myself. I can live with that for,” stabbing herself in the chest, “my dream.”
I simmered, sitting. “And this is what you want?”
She sat, the mood dropping. “Scott, I can win them over, but it has to be on my terms.” She’d modulated her tone completely. “Please, please let me handle it.”
I couldn’t argue with her. “On one condition: You promise you’ll come to me if you need help. None of this Rambo me-against-the-world shit, right?”
She nodded, albeit reluctantly. “Fine,” she said.
“Okay then.”
“Okay.”
But I knew as well as anyone I was being played.
And as they say, you can’t play a player.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
RAE
I looked down into my hand. There was a key there, a key Scott had given me to his apartment before he had to dash off to run errands.
I looked at it and didn’t know how to read into it. There’d been no mention from Scott of moving me on, where my supposed residence was up to in terms of repairs, and now this? I was tempted to ask him why he was giving me a key at all, but I held my tongue. After letting it get the better of me during practice, it was for the best.
That said, I did manage to get my point across. I assumed we left on amicable terms, though you know what they say about making assumptions…
Given the way he ran off, one could have theorized Scott had tried to put some distance between us, which was probably a good idea if I left the other BS out of it.
I brought my hands to my hips and tried to stretch out my back, which only amped the pain up to eleven.
A quick hunt through the medicine cabinet provided the sports rub Scott had used the other night. I placed them on the coffee table and went about running the water in the hot tub, a repeat of the other night.
I stripped off when the water was high enough — a surprisingly difficult process itself when you’ve been through the meatgrinder — and sank slowly into the water, the aches and pains immediately starting to dissipate under the heat.
Through instinct I looked to the doorway, but, of course, Scott wasn’t there. I’d left the door open not really thinking about it, perhaps hoping he would show.
And then what? I asked myself. He’d profess his undying love, scoop me from the tub and bang my brains out against the bedroom wall?
It was a nice fantasy, even if that’s all it could ever be.
I let my legs part slightly under the water. Heat rushed to fill the space, a heat of a different kind beckoning my touch in the absence of another hand.
I reached down and then scalded myself, allowing my legs to snap tightly back together.
Off limits, I reminded myself.
I attempted to close my eyes and shutter out the mental noise that had been infiltrating my thoughts ever since the other night with Scott, but this only reinforced them. I’d look into the darkness and see us together, feel us moving as one and the way he filled me.
The rumors were true in that respect, but the clichés ended there. He didn’t attempt to throw me out come daylight. He didn’t have me sign a non-disclosure agreement the way I’ve heard some of these guys do. No, all he did was make me feel welcome and warm. And me? I took that moment to lay down the law.
I brought my hands up to my head and shook it from side to side. “Uh,” I moan, “stop thinking, silly brain!”
I had turned into a pink prune by the time I got out of the tub, no Scott to hand me a towel or help me to the lounge, not that this practice provided quite the level of abuse the following one did thanks to Scott going bonkers every time one of the boys so much as looked in my direction.
My skating was the best it had ever been. I was at the top of my game.
So why did I feel like I was still trying to crawl out there?
I ran through the whole rub-slash-ice routine out in the lounge, but it wasn’t the same without Scott. For one, I needed an extra arm to reach certain places. Secondly, Scott had a softness to his touch I couldn’t seem to replicate no matter how much I tried. He was soft and yet firm at the same time. How was that even possible?
But that was Scott Bausch to a tee. I might be conflicted about what I read in the tabloids or saw on TV, but there was no denying what I saw with my own eyes when he was on the ice. One minute he could summon all hell, smashing guys into the glass. The next he’d dance like a prima donna out there, weaving his way through the defense, his stick a magic wand. That was the kind of duality you needed to be truly great at this game. That was what I knew I could bring if I simply applied myself… and Scott let me.
After half an hour or so I decided this simply wasn’t working. I put away the rub and ice packs, opening the fridge and staring into the white abyss. I wasn’t surprised to find it spartan in the extreme. There were a couple of bottles of San Pelligrino, unopened champagne, a six-pack of beers…
I nodded to myself. “The liquid diet, hey?”
The freezer was a little more promising. There must have been twenty or more microwave dinners in there. I selected the least likely to give me stomach problems and slung it into the microwave, settling down with it in the lounge.
I was about to dig into an awfully neon mac and cheese, when my cell started to brrrrrr its way across the coffee table.
I picked it up and checked the screen, but I didn’t recognize the number. I brought the phone to my ear. “Hello?”
A male voice replied. “Rae, ah, hi. It’s Cormac.”
“Cormac?” I repeated in surprise.
“Yeah, Coach gave me your number.” There was an awkward pause. “I thought I’d call and see if you wanted to come out for a drink maybe.”
My spine actually snapped me straight in surprise, because this was unexpected. My brain raced, my mouth trying to fill in the silence. “Ahhhhhh,” I started.
“My shout,” Cormac offered. “Just thought you’d like a friendly ear, is all.”
And he wasn’t wrong. I didn’t really feel up to going out, but hell, I figured this might provide some good insight into the team, a way to know them a little better if only through one player. It was in my best interests to respond to any kind of overture from the team, no matter who it was.
“Sure,” I said. “Can you give me half an hour to get ready?”
“Not a problem,” Cormac replied.
*
I thanked the Uber driver and stepped out
into the cold looking at the sports bar Cormac gave me the address to. It was the kind of quirky Seattle establishment you couldn’t quite tell was open or condemned, a quirky mish-mash of memorabilia inside, everything from Kurt Cobain’s guitar to Steve Largent’s jockstrap.
I found Cormac in a quiet corner waiting with two beers.
He rose to meet me, kissing me on the cheek and smelling surprisingly good.
I sniffed at his neck. “I didn’t take you for a cologne kind of guy?”
He smiled. “It’s ‘eau de perfume,’ actually — CK One.” His eyes took me in. He whistled. “And I didn’t take you for a catwalk model.”
I pinched a fingerful of the LBD I reserved for special occasions. “What, this old thing?”
Cormac gestured for me to sit down. I pulled myself up onto the stool and looked at the beer. “What makes you think I like beer?”
Cormac tapped the side of his head. “Call it intuition.”
The bar was bustling even though it was on the early side, several large screens around the room showing various sports: football, soccer, some of kind of windsurfing comp.
I took a quick swig of the bear. Cormac was right. I was a beer kind of girl, actually far preferred an icy cold beer to some overpriced cocktail heavy on the umbrellas. “So,” I said, “I’m here.”
“How do you think you’re adjusting?”
I laughed at that. “My spine could use some adjusting after those hits today.”
Cormac looked down into his beer pensively, smiling. “The boys have a new plaything, but boys don’t tend to play too nice no matter what the toy. You get that, right? You’ve got brothers?”
I shook my head, my hands around my beer. I put up my hand. “Single child.”
“Ah,” Cormac nodded knowingly.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” I laughed.
“That your old man probably wanted a son, got you a set of skates before you could even walk. Tell me I’m wrong.”
I couldn’t. He was spot on. “He actually had me crawling on the ice as a baby, sans skates. Thought it would help me build up a tolerance to the cold.”
Cormac almost spits out his beer. “Shit. You did it hardcore. And did it work?”
I showed him the goosebumps on my arm. “What do you think?”
As we continued to talk, I was struck by how natural and easy-going Cormac was. I didn’t feel uncomfortable or threatened by him in any way. On the contrary, he had me laughing and smiling, feeling more like myself than I had in weeks. It was a surprisingly nice feeling, actually, though I did question why I was here. Was he trying to make a move on me? Would it be so wrong if he was? He was an attractive guy but not really my type. Scott was my type, the one guy I couldn’t seem to scrub from my head no matter how much I tried.
“I want to make it clear to you I’m in your corner,” said Cormac seriously, his second beer gone. I was still making my way through my first.
“Why?” I asked.
He drew closer, lowering his voice. “I like to see barriers broken, is all.”
My eyebrows knitted together. “I don’t want to be someone’s pity case.”
“It’s not like that. I’m telling you I understand what it’s like to be on the outside.”
I waved that off. “Come on, you’re as all American as they come.”
He smiled. “All American… and gay.”
“You’re gay?!” I blurted.
Cormac laughed. “Go ahead, tell the whole bar.”
I brought my hand up to my mouth. “Sorry, sorry, but really? Seriously?”
“Sure, gay as a rainbow clutch, which is technically okay, but not really in our world, the hockey world.”
I was frantically trying to piece it all together. “So, you’re out? The others know?”
He shook his head solemnly. “No, I’m definitely still in the closet — deep in the closet. Hell, I’m basically in Narnia. I mean, I wish I could be, but I don’t know how the guys would react.”
I did, and knew it wouldn’t involve a welcome bouquet and bumper sticker. “What I’m trying to get to, Rae, is that I’m inclined to support the underdog.”
“You think I’m an underdog?”
He lifted one eyebrow in response, crossing his arms.
The beer had gone straight to my head, especially in this state of exhaustion. “Fine, fine, I’m the underdog, but I can’t really see a way I’m suddenly going to rise up here. You’ve seen what the others are like out there. They don’t want me on the ice. Two, three against one at times? I can’t take on that kind of muscle.”
“What if you could?” said Cormac cryptically, pulling close again.
“What are you getting at here?” I asked, finished off the dregs of my first beer.
“What if I could help you balance up the fight, so to speak.”
“You’re going to turn me into a six-foot-seven man with the strength of Hercules? I don’t think there’s anything in your rainbow clutch for that.”
He simply continued to smile. “Maybe not, but I do know these players inside and out, their game and techniques, their strengths,” he paused for dramatic effect, “and their weaknesses.”
I finally understood.
“So you see,” he continued, “you don’t have to be the underdog if you don’t want to be.”
I signaled the waitress over for another beer. “Tell me more.”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
RAE
Three beers down and Cormac was giving me everything — the keys to the kingdom. At times I was almost tempted to pull out my phone and make notes, but I doubt they’d make any kind of sense given how hard the beers had hit me.
That night also marked another first: we were the last ones left drinking, politely asked to leave by the barkeeper. I stumbled outside with Cormac, who’d basically drunk the bar dry. He held me steady while he, most impressively, whistled down a passing cab, his fingers in his mouth NYC-style.
I spun and faced him, teetering from foot to foot. “Thank you, Cormac. I had a great time.”
“So did I. If I wasn’t, you know…” he trailed off.
I ran my hands down my sides. “Oh, you’d be all over me, mister.” I channeled Zoolander. “Who can resist this kind of sexy, right?”
I might have made this statement a bit too loudly. An elderly couple passing by literally jumped back, tugging their labradoodle along with them.
Cormac laughed. “Rae, Rae, Rae. Rae-Rae. You are exactly what this team needs whether they know it or not.”
I prodded him in the chest and was surprised to find it basically made of concrete. “And now with your secret weapon talk, I’m good to go.”
“Don’t get too cocky now,” he warned. “Those boys can still knock you on your ass.”
I reached behind myself and slapped said posterior. “They can tryyyyy,” I slurred.
The taxi waiting beside us gave a blast of its horn, forcing another fit of laughter from me.
Cormac, ever the gent, opened the door for me, helping usher-slash-shove me inside and handing the driver a bunch of notes. “Keep the change.” He turned to me. “Good night,” he said, closing the door and with it the sounds of the city.
“Where to?” asked the driver.
“Home,” I smiled, spreading my arms across the back of the seat.
*
Getting up to Scott’s apartment proved a challenge. Getting my brand new key into the lock was like trying to do a Rubik’s cube… in the dark. Approximately fifteen minutes later I managed to get the door open and stumbled inside, searching with my arms out wide in the darkness and pretty darn sure I used to know where the light switches were.
Sans light, I somehow found my way into the hall and past Scott’s door. It was closed and I suddenly wondered if maybe he had someone in there with him, some peroxide blonde, a palette cleanser.
I pressed my ear against the door and listened intently but couldn’t hear anything.
Someone
tapped me on the shoulder. I screamed so loud it was a miracle the roof didn’t lift, spinning to find Scott standing there, or at least I hoped it was Scott.
My hands searched again, finding that firm upper chest I’d come to love and picture almost every waking hour. I was even more pleased to find it bare. “Scott?” I asked.
“Yes,” he replied cautiously. “Would I be correct in assuming you’ve been drinking?”
I gave the smallest of hiccups, my body betraying me. “A little? But don’t worry. I’m completely sober.”
A small laugh. “I have no doubt, but dare I ask what you were doing just now?”
I pointed to the door. “Oh, this? I, ah, was just checking you were asleep. I, um, didn’t want to wake you.”
Scott took a step forward, my hands still glued to his chest. “I’m not exactly sure that explains why you were creeping past my room.”
I couldn’t seem to find a logical answer for this given my room was at the other end of the apartment.
I noticed he was slowly walking me back until I hit the wall, another yelp of surprise shooting from my lips at this sudden turn of events.
He came closer until we were only inches apart. His breath was hot and heavy on my face, my hands compressed between us. “Do you need anything?” he asked, pressing forward until I could feel the steely outline of his cock. “Given I’m ‘up’ and all.”
And suddenly I was incredibly lucid and alert, my body waking up, signals sent left and right and down to engineering. “There is one thing…” I began.
Just like that, all of our ‘this will not happen’ talk went out the window.
My breath quickened as Scott’s lips pressed against mine. There was urgency there now, a forcefulness I wasn’t at all opposed to.
When our lips did break they came apart salty and warm. Scott placed his thumb on my lower lip, drawing it downwards towards my chin and smiling.
My heart fluttered afresh, heated sensation pooling between my legs.
Scott helped me out of jacket and dress, tossing the latter through the air like a flowery ghost. My panties followed, tearing in his haste to untangle them from my ankle, the cool air in direct juxtaposition to the wet warmth of my pussy.