Grumpy Puck

16. Calliope

Chapter 16

Calliope

U ntil today, I’ve been pretty lukewarm on hockey, especially for a team mascot. I still don’t know the difference between a wrist or snap shot, for example, or why the players get a five-minute timeout for the kind of fighting that would mean assault charges outside the rink. And yet, I watch in awed fascination as Michael and the rest of the Florida Bears fiercely battle their much stronger opponent.

Michael, in particular, is magnificent, especially when he scores a goal.

I almost forget that I’m mad at him for saying that sleeping with me was a mistake. What’s worse, watching him makes me want to repeat said mistake again. Which is insane. It’s bad enough our fake dating feels real on some occasions. If I have any more orgasms like the ones he gave me last night, the line between?—

The sound of a horn announces the end of the game, and the score is 3 for the Yetis and 4 for the Florida Bears.

As in, we won!

The whole team piles up on top of Michael in jubilation. When all the manly emotions settle down, I skate over to him and take off my bear mask.

“We did it!” he shouts, then leans down to give me a passionate kiss.

Oh, my. The noises around us grow faint, and I lose track of time. It’s not until Michael pulls away that I see us on the kiss cam and realize that this was only for appearances’ sake.

Something inside me contracts, but I do my best to shake off the bizarre disappointment. “Congratulations.” I touch my lips. “I know you wanted this win.”

His excitement visibly wanes. “What I wanted was to best Tugev, but the bastard retired before I got the chance.”

Huh. “Isn’t he the team owner?”

Michael nods.

“You beat his team. I’m sure he’s not thrilled about that.”

“Not the same,” he says grimly.

Coach skates over with an ecstatic expression. “That was amazing teamwork. Outstanding job! I always knew you had it in you.” He pats Michael on the shoulder.

He’s right. It was good teamwork, which must have been as natural a behavior for my boo as yoga is for a bear.

Michael nods gruffly. “I couldn’t have done it without your coaching.”

Coach waves that away and winks at me. “How about our new mascot?” he asks. “You sure she wasn’t an inspiration as well?”

“Sure.” Michael slants me a glance. “She made me realize that getting my teammates to play better hockey shouldn’t be more difficult than teaching a rat to ride a unicycle.”

“This win will help at the fundraiser tonight,” Coach says.

Michael’s expression darkens. “I mentioned that to you in confidence.”

“What fundraiser?” I ask.

Coach turns to Michael with an expression of exaggerated shock. “You didn’t invite Calliope?”

“No,” Michael growls. “I thought about it, but?—”

“Why do you need to go to a fundraiser?” I ask. “Is it for your secret project?”

That’s the only reason I can think of for him not wanting to involve me. Or the only reason that doesn’t hurt my feelings. Unless he’s planning on bringing someone else? Someone who wears small skates? No. He wouldn’t risk ruining our ploy and being spotted by the paparazzi. Even so, just the idea of it makes me sick.

“Yes.” Michael looks furtively at the people leaving the stands. “I need to raise some money… and I could use your help.”

“ My help?” I glance at Wolfgang as though he might understand this better.

Meine Liebe, say “yes.” Fundraisers mean hors d'oeuvres, and that means lots and lots of delicious parmesan.

“I’m not great at socializing,” Michael says, understating the case by a mile. “If you came, I think things would go smoother.”

Huh. That’s oddly nice of him to say. “Is it a swanky event?” I ask.

He nods.

I bite my lip. “I have nothing to wear.”

“I’ll get you whatever you need.” His eyes glint with such heat I can tell that whatever clothes he’s just pictured wouldn’t cover much of my skin.

Said skin heats up at the thought, but I keep my face neutral. “In that case, let’s make a deal,” I say sweetly. “You tell me what the project is, and I’ll be your escort.”

My latest guess: he wants to take DNA from inside the bellies of ancient stuck-in-amber mosquitoes and use that to resurrect an extinct species of saber-toothed panda.

Michael and Coach exchange glances.

“I thought you already explained it to her when you gave her those skates,” Coach says.

The suspiciously small and feminine skates I was just thinking about. Ones that made me think a woman might be involved. But I don’t see the connection to some secret project. Unless… do pandas prefer women to men?

“Fine,” Michael growls. “But this is to be a private matter between us.”

Like the fact that we slept together? “Sure.”

He scans the people who are still in the process of leaving the stadium. “Let’s go back to our hotel room, and I’ll tell you there. Then we’ll go shopping.”

“Okay,” I say, though my curiosity is at lethal levels now. “I’ll see you there.”

As soon as I arrive back at our honeymoon suite, I jump into the shower to wash the unladylike bear-suit sweat from under my arms. Then I work on my hair and makeup until there’s a knock on the bathroom door.

“One second.” I pull on a robe and come out, only to bump into Michael.

Fuck me. His hair is tousled, and he smells freshly showered—which means he must’ve done it in the locker room.

“When are we going shopping?” he asks, his face unreadable.

“Not so fast. You promised to tell me.”

Sighing, he walks over to the dining area and takes a seat. “Can we at least talk while waiting for room service? I’m starving.”

“Fine.” I call and order for everyone, including my rat crew. Then I look at Michael. “Now… we need to talk.”

His gaze strays to the bed. “About a number of things.”

Shit. I think I’m blushing. “We don’t need to talk about what happened there . You said it was a mistake, and I don’t disagree.”

At least my brain doesn’t. My other organs, especially my vagina and heart, aren’t so sure.

“I said we shouldn’t have done what we did before the game ,” he says. “But hey, we won, so I guess?—”

“Nice try. I’m pretty sure you meant ‘mistake’ in a broader sense. And you were right.”

He grits his teeth. “And why was it such a mistake?”

“Because we’re not really dating, and I don’t do casual hookups.” And it would be pointless for us to date for real because that would only last until he met my family.

“We also work together,” he says. “And you hate my guts.”

“No, you hate my guts,” I counter.

“No, you?—”

There’s a knock on the door, and it turns out to be room service.

I feed the rats first, and as usual, Lenin asks for seconds, and then thirds.

Tovarisch, we the proletari-rat do all the hard work, which naturally increases the appetite.

“Fine.” I give him a whole baby carrot, and that seems to pacify him, at least for the moment.

Getting back to the table where my tacos are waiting for me, I smile at the speed with which Michael wolfs down most of the quinoa and salmon that he ordered.

“So,” I say after he also downs a whole glass of tomato juice in one gulp. “What’s the secret project?”

“Right.” He looks thoughtful as he devours the rest of his meal. “The project is meant to give others the lucky break that I got.”

He looks to be finished with his explanation, but I have no clue what he means, and I tell him so.

He sighs. “I want to give kids in orphanages a chance to play hockey—or other sports—and thus set them on a path to a better life.”

My head spins. Of all the possibilities, this is not something I expected—and not just because this has nothing to do with pandas. This is a genuinely kind-hearted thing to do, and that word combination isn’t something that pops into my head when I think of Michael.

Realizing he’s looking at me expectantly, I say, “Wow. That is amazing. How is it going?”

“Not great. So far, I’ve only been able to help local Florida kids, and even that is mostly thanks to Coach. He was the one who got the league higher-ups to allow my kids access to the rink and old equipment. Whatever they’ve needed beyond that, I’ve purchased with my own money—and that of a few sponsors that I’ve found thus far.”

Oh. So those small skates he gave me were meant for kids, not women? The relief I feel is pretty ridiculous and should be blamed on how sexy Michael is when he eats. And breathes.

“Anyway,” he continues. “I want to drastically scale up what I’ve done so far. It needs to be a real foundation that can help children from all over the world, but that requires some serious money, which is why I’ve been reaching out to people who I thought might be able to help.”

“I’ll help in any way I can.” I glance at my rats as an idea forms in my mind. “If you’d like, I can bring my little troupe and set up a show at the fundraiser, to draw a crowd. Once people stop by, we can tell them about your foundation.”

His eyes light up. “You’d do that?”

“Sure.” I’m always glad for an excuse to put on a performance.

“That would be great,” he says. “It solves my biggest problem: walking up to people I don’t know. This way, they’ll come to me.”

I smile. “Please don’t look so grateful. There could be people there who aren’t fans of rats.”

“Not fans of rats?” His expression is mock-horrified. “They must be dead inside. Such heartless people wouldn’t have donated to my cause anyway,so filtering them out will save time when it comes to pitching.”

“It’s settled then.” I put the last bite of taco into my mouth. “Now let’s go shopping.”