The Penalty Box: A hockey sports romance novel (A Vancouver Wolves Hockey Romance Book 3)

by Odette Stone

  Ryan took it all in stride. “Charlie’s a good person. I like her.”

  Everyone seemed to like her. I didn’t know her. I thought about her in that lacy teddy. “She usually calls me on my shit.”

  Ryan laughed. “Undeserved?”

  I shook my head. “Nope. She calls it like she sees it. And she’s usually right.”

  Ryan’s look of amusement was evident. “That sounds like someone you’ve never dated.”

  “Married,” I corrected. “We’re getting married.”

  He tossed some money on the table. “I need to get home. Early practice tomorrow morning. Want me to give you a lift home?”

  I shook my head. “I’m going to call Charlie.”

  His eyebrows shot up. “I can drive you.”

  For some reason, I wanted to see her. “She won’t mind.”

  She would mind. It’d probably annoy the hell out of her, but that would not stop me.

  Ryan grinned as he patted me on the shoulder. “This is going to be so interesting.”

  “What is?”

  He shook his head. “Never mind. Say hi to Charlie for me.”

  I waited until he left before I ordered her a cab and then dialed her number.

  “Hello?” Her voice sounded sleepy.

  “Charlie, I need your help.”

  Her voice sounded more alert. “What?”

  “I need you to take a cab to where I am and drive my car home for me.”

  She didn’t even question that skewed logic. Wouldn’t it be simpler for me to take a cab home?

  Instead, she answered, “I’ll call a cab.”

  “There’s one on the way.”

  I waited outside for her cab to arrive. When she got out, I paid for her ride and then we walked without speaking to my Porsche. I watched as she got in the driver’s seat and then froze when she looked between us.

  “I forgot this is a standard. I only know how to drive an automatic.”

  “I’ll teach you.”

  She took forever to figure out how to adjust the seat before she turned back to me. “We could take an Uber.”

  “Foot on the clutch and the other foot on the brake.” I leaned forward and pushed the ignition button. The car reverberated with power beneath us.

  She clutched the steering wheel with both hands, showing white knuckles. “This is a mistake.”

  “You can do it.”

  “Your week will get way worse if I crash your car.”

  I reached over and shifted the car into first gear. “You’re not going to crash. Now take your foot off the brake. Slowly give the car gas and at the same time, slowly take your foot off the clutch.”

  She did what I instructed, and the car jerked forward in a bunny hop motion before it stalled.

  Her voice was a wail. “I can’t do this.”

  To be honest, I didn’t give a shit about my car. I wanted her to believe in herself. She would learn to drive a stick shift even if it cost me my transmission.

  “Yes, you can.” I shook the gear shift loose. “Start over.”

  Ten minutes later, we were crawling over the Burrard Street bridge with a convoy of pissed-off drivers behind us.

  She hadn’t given up, and she was doing it. I enjoyed needling her. “You can go more than 30 kilometers an hour.”

  Stress made her tone caustic. “Shut up, Petrov.”

  I laughed, not caring that cars were honking as they blew past us. They could all piss off.

  “Why did you make me drive?” She was clutching the steering wheel like her life depended on it. “Why couldn’t we take an Uber home?”

  “Variety.”

  “You’re nuts.”

  “Okay, we’re going to gear up here a bit. Same thing. Clutch.” I shifted the gears for her. “Now more gas.”

  She made a cute little noise in her throat as the car leaped forward. “I hate you, and I hate your car.”

  I lazily studied her. She was still wearing my hoodie. I had a vision of her wearing that lace thing with just my hoodie over top, and my brain almost melted.

  “You buy any more outfits like that?” The words came out of me with no filter. I had no business asking her this, but I couldn’t seem to stop myself.

  Her fingers tightened on the steering wheel. “I… yes. I will pay you back.”

  I didn’t give a shit about the money, but the question crossed my mind why she was buying lingerie that screamed sex. We had no plans on becoming intimate, which made me wonder if she had someone else in mind when she had purchased those things. The thought pissed me off.

  My voice hardened. “Who are you planning on wearing those for?”

  “They’re just for me.”

  I could live with that. “Good.”

  She glanced at me, but she didn’t speak.

  “What else did you buy?” The words blurted out of me again.

  What the hell, Petrov?

  Her voice sounded slightly breathless. “Some different colors. Some are more racy. There’s one with feathers.”

  My mind went to that place, imagining her naked with a few strategically placed feathers.

  What I meant to say was good for you. Instead, I said, “Tell me about the feathers.”

  That made her turn to look at me again. “What do you want to know?”

  Where are the feathers?

  I cleared my throat, working to sound casual. “Just making conversation.”

  “You’re drunk,” she accused.

  “I’m not sober,” I admitted.

  We drove three more blocks in silence. Then she said, “It’s pink with lots of straps and some feathers around the cleavage and… other places.”

  Alcohol pumped through my veins, but my hardening cock hadn’t got the memo. “Oh yeah? Sounds nice.”

  It sounded more than nice. It sounded fucking hot.

  She made a little humming noise. “I shouldn’t have bought them, but they made me feel… feminine.”

  She was killing me.

  “You deserve nice things.” I meant it.

  She geared down without my help as she pulled onto our street. “I did it. I’m driving a stick.”

  That’s not the only stick I want you to drive. I bit my tongue to keep from sharing that crude thought. I watched as she carefully pulled into my driveway before turning off the engine.

  We sat in silence together for a long moment, neither of us moving.

  “We should keep this platonic,” I said out loud, more for my benefit than hers.

  Her eyes widened as she turned to look at me, but she didn’t respond.

  “I mean, it’d mess things up if we did something we shouldn’t.” I forced myself to stop talking.

  She chewed on her bottom lip but she still didn’t speak.

  I need to shift gears, get her out of my brain and put her firmly in the friendship category. “Glad we cleared that up.”

  “Me too.” She sounded breathless.

  Neither of us made a move to get out of the car.

  “Thanks for picking me up.”

  “Thanks for all your help.”

  “Are you going to be okay with all of this?” I meant our marriage and pretending to be with me.

  She nodded, flushing hard.

  I needed to get out of this car before I did something stupid like kiss her. So, fighting the instinct to pull her over the seat onto my lap, I instead got out of the car.

  Chapter 9

  CHARLIE

  I woke up Sunday morning, alone. This time, Mica hadn’t bothered to leave a note. I wondered if he was avoiding me after last night’s embarrassing conversation about my lingerie. It had been obvious that I had piqued his curiosity but then he had informed me we would never cross that line. Considering the long line of gorgeous puck bunnies he had dated, I was fairly certain that I had been only a fleeting consideration before being punted back into the rejection pile.

  I went from having no time in my life to having all the time in the world.
Last night, I had called my bar job and quit without giving notice. When my manager heard that my place had burned down, he understood completely and told me that if I ever wanted to work there again, he’d hire me on the spot.

  Without a car or money, I had little to do other than watch TV, organize my new bedroom and hang out.

  I was bored stiff.

  Krista: I just noticed you called on Friday night. Everything okay?

  I didn’t even try to explain everything by text. I would tell her in person the next time I saw her.

  Me: Yes.

  Krista: I’ve booked your wedding at city hall for tomorrow at noon. Don’t bother coming to work. I will meet you and Mica there.

  Holy shit. For the hundredth time, I debated if I was making the biggest mistake of my life. The two days I had been living here had proved to be both awkward and uncomfortable for both of us. And I wasn’t sure it would get better.

  Me: Does Mica know?

  Krista: I texted him.

  She had been in contact with him, probably not aware I was already living with him. I chewed on my lip before responding.

  Me: What did he say?

  Krista: He said he’d be there. Wear something nice. I will be taking photos to post on social media.

  Me: Okay.

  Krista: See you tomorrow!

  Restless energy and a certain amount of anxiety over tomorrow pushed me outside for a walk. I walked along the wide sidewalk along Point Grey Road, taking in the astonishingly big houses that lined the cliff that had a killer view of English Bay.

  I paused in a small park to take in the stunning view, when something cold and wet pushed into my hand. Looking down, I saw a happy-looking golden retriever.

  “Oh, aren’t you darling?” I crouched down to get eye level with the dog, rubbing its soft ears while the dog gave me a panting smile.

  “I see you’ve met Sandy,” a male voice said from behind me.

  I looked over my shoulder to see a tall, striking man. He had black-framed glasses, thick salt-and-pepper hair and a kind smile. I pegged him to be in his mid-thirties. He smiled down at me.

  “She’s beautiful.”

  “She’s the most social of the two. Henry is more the explorer.” He nodded towards a second golden retriever that was walking along the park, his nose in the grass, intent on smelling something.

  I pushed to stand up. “I love dogs.”

  Sandy buried her nose into my hand again, asking for more. I laughed and bent over her to place a kiss on her face. “She’s gorgeous.”

  I noticed that more people started to gather around the park with their dogs. “Wow, seems like everyone has a dog.”

  “We’re part of a dog-walking group. Our group meets daily to walk down to the off-leash park.”

  I patted Sandy one last time on her head. “That sounds like fun. I wish I had a dog.”

  He shrugged. “You can borrow Sandy, if you want to join us.”

  I didn’t quite know what to make of that offer.

  He added, “We don’t bite.”

  The thought of heading back home to Mica’s empty house depressed me. “Okay, thanks.”

  “My name is Andrew.”

  “Charlie.”

  He put Sandy on a leash for me and together we started walking with the group. He was true to his word. I walked beside him, listening to him chat with another dog owner. He didn’t pepper me with questions, but he included me in the conversation by occasionally smiling at me.

  At the dog park, he gave me a ball, and Sandy and I played a game of catch. I threw the ball a dozen times, loving how she raced after that ball with complete abandon every time, never tiring of the game.

  “She can do that all day long,” Andrew said beside me. “And you just became her new best friend.”

  I laughed and threw the ball hard. “Did I mention that I love dogs?”

  “Well, she loves you. Have you ever had a dog?”

  I shook my head. “I’ve never had the time. I think a dog needs a lot of time and commitment.”

  “Well, you are welcome to join our group any time. We are a motley group, but we stick together. When Jenn, one of our group members, broke her leg last year, there was someone from our group who picked up her dog twice a day for a walk. We look out for each other.”

  “That’s amazing.”

  “This group has become one of my most important groups of friends.” He smiled down at me. “And we are always open to new friends.”

  I flushed under his scrutiny. “It’d be weird to join a walking group without a dog.”

  “You’ve got an open invitation to walk Sandy whenever you want. I’m all about dog sharing.” He whistled at the dogs and yelled, “Come on, guys. Time to head home.”

  Sandy, panting hard, trotted towards me, allowing me to clip the leash back on her harness. Together we started walking back in the direction we came.

  “So, are you new to the neighborhood?”

  I blinked, not sure quite how much I wanted to tell him.

  He smiled down at me. “Sorry, I spend way too much time with my dogs. My people skills are rusty.”

  “That’s okay.” I worked to direct the conversation away from me. “Have you lived in this neighborhood long?”

  “About five years. My wife inherited a house on this street when her grandmother passed away. Otherwise, there is no way I could afford to live here.”

  “Oh. It’s a beautiful neighborhood.”

  “My wife loved it here.”

  The past tense of the word love dropped like a rock into the conversation. I gave him a questioning glance but didn’t ask.

  He winced. “She passed away 18 months ago. To cancer.”

  “I’m sorry,” I murmured.

  “No, I’m sorry. You know, it’s a total conversation killer when I bring up the dead wife.”

  His dark humor pulled shocked laughter out of me.

  His tone became more serious. “I loved her. With all my heart. She was everything to me and when she left me, I didn’t think I would recover. But now, as much as I love her, I just want to get past that. When you are widowed, it becomes part of your identity, and frankly, I’m tired of it. Tired of the pitying looks and tired of feeling sad.”

  I thought about my mom and how I felt when she passed away. “I get it. I felt the same way when my mom died.”

  “Right? You mourn. You feel awful, more awful than you’ve ever felt, but then one day, you get damn sick of your own pain.”

  I wasn’t used to having a man share so openly with me. “So, are you getting past it?”

  He thought about that question. “Sort of. I’m focusing on doing things that make me happy. My wife was one of the happiest people I knew, and the best way I know to honor her life is to find my happiness again.”

  “That’s nice.”

  He glanced down at me. “Enough about me. Tell me about you.”

  I took a deep breath, trying to figure out what I should share. “I work at a sports agency. My boss is actually the agent. I’m her assistant.”

  He clutched his heart. “I love sports. I am a hockey addict. Tell me she deals with hockey players.”

  I gave a wry smile. “We have professional hockey clients.”

  “What? You’re officially the most famous person I know.”

  “Hardly. Working in the agency, you quickly realize that everyone is human.”

  “Don’t spoil the fantasy,” he chided. “In my mind, professional athletes are the closest we have to gods walking on this earth.”

  I rolled my eyes. “I assure you that is not the case. Besides, I don’t love sports.”

  He stopped walking. “I’m not sure we can be friends.”

  I laughed.

  He added, “How can you work in a sports agency and not love sports?”

  “I don’t need to love sports to do my job.”

  “I heard a rumor that there is a professional athlete that lives on this street. A hockey player.
I still haven’t figured out which house or which player, but I’m on it.”

  We were approaching Mica’s house when he drove his Porsche into the driveway right before us.

  “Holy shit, do you know who that is?” Andrew stopped walking and watched in awe as Mica got out of his car.

  Mica turned his head, caught sight of me and paused.

  I tried to think of how to tell Andrew that Mica was my soon-to-be husband, but Andrew didn’t give me a chance.

  Andrew ducked his head towards my ear, speaking excitedly. “That is Mica Petrov! He’s the greatest defenseman in the league. Yes, I’m biased, but he’s a phenomenal player. I heard he got suspended, but no one knows why.”

  Mica’s eyes narrowed on us.

  Go in the house, Mica. Just go in the house.

  Instead, he moved down the driveway towards us, and the look on his face told me he wasn’t impressed.

  “Oh my God, he’s coming to talk to us.” Andrew continued to speak in a low, excited tone. “Do you think I should ask him for his autograph?”

  Mica stopped before us and looked between the two of us. He didn’t look remotely neighborly. He looked ornery as fuck.

  “Hi.” My stupid voice sounded nervous. Which implied guilt. Even though I had nothing to feel guilty about.

  Without missing a beat, Andrew turned back to Mica, a massive smile on his face. “Hi, I’m Andrew. I live a couple doors up. I’m such a huge fan. It’s an honor to meet you.”

  Mica’s expression didn’t budge an inch.

  Andrew didn’t seem to notice or care. “And this is Charlie. She works at a sports agency. Or so she tells me.”

  Mica’s gaze flicked back to me. His expression hardened. “Charlie is my fiancée.”

  Fiancée. That word did not sound right coming out of his mouth. He actually managed to make it sound like a swear word.

  A long pause ensued before Andrew recovered. Shock marred his face as he turned to me, almost accusing. “You never told me you were engaged!”

  Andrew couldn’t have made this situation worse if he tried.