Puck Prince (Houston Scythes Hockey #1)

12. Callie

12

CALLIE

“So you’re telling me that you spend all day getting up close and personal with some of the hottest hockey players in the league and haven’t been tempted to hook up with a single one of them? Girl, you have more control in those magic hands of yours than I possess in my whole body.” Kennedy’s melodramatic, woe-is-me sigh belongs in Hollywood. I have her on speaker as I pace the bathroom floor, ignoring the line of plastic sticks on the counter.

Or trying to.

The trouble is that the little sticks aren’t ignoring me. They’re staring.

Glaring.

I’m half-expecting them to stand up and launch into a sermon about my sins.

“I told you, Ken: I’m not looking for a man right now. I have—” I give the counter a side glance. “—bigger problems.”

“I’m not saying to go get wifed up, Cal. But you would greatly benefit from a hook-up right now.”

A hook-up. Right . A.k.a., exactly how I booked a nonrefundable ticket to right fucking here.

“I think I’ll pass.”

“You are the only girl I know who is constantly surrounded by hot men, yet doesn’t need any kind of physical relief from it. Ophelia can’t be that good.”

“Maybe I just don’t think about sex 24/7.”

“My God, you really are an enigma.” I can’t tell if she’s impressed or disappointed with me. “Alright, well, how’s the job going otherwise? Better than before?”

I sigh. There is at least one silver lining in my life. “I love it, actually. I was worried that working under your dad would be tricky, but it’s been great. Not awkward at all, and no one treats me like the teacher’s pet.”

“Of course not. You’re the best in the biz, baby.”

“And I’ve been getting along really well with Miriam,” I add, sitting down on the floor with my back against the cabinets. The sticks can’t give me the stink eye from this angle.

“That’s the head trainer, right? I love that the Scythes have a woman running the department. You two are breaking up that sausage fest.”

“She used to play pro, actually. She’s amazing. Total hardass with the guys and a total hoot when we hang out. We’ve been having lunch a lot. We actually come from very similar backgrounds.”

“Fucked-up parents leading to a life of permanent single-dom and you channeling all your energy into helping other people as a distraction from your own insecurities?”

“Fuck you, Dr. Freud. But yeah… something like that. I think she really gets the position I’m in. Unfortunately, this is still a man’s world. People are just looking to either replace us, prove us incapable, or get in our beds. She’s really good at dodging all that, so I’m taking notes.”

“Well, you do you, boo. I still think you are wasting a great advantage here—but if sexy hockey players with tight muscles that need a little release aren’t your thing, well, it is what it is.” She laughs, I roll my eyes, and she goes on. “For real, though, I’m glad it’s going well. You deserve to be happy.”

“Thanks, Ken. And who knows? Pretty soon I should be able to get out of your hair. I’ve been looking at apartments.”

“What the hell? Why?”

“Because I can’t live with you forever, duh.”

“Why not? I have plenty of room.”

“I’m sleeping on a sofa bed.”

“The salesman said it was from their luxury line!”

I laugh again. “I need my own place, Kennedy. With my own room and… room to grow.”

“You and all your personal growth,” she groans. “You sound like a tumor. But, whatever, fine. No rush, though. I like having you around. It’s just like the old days.”

That, of all things, almost brings tears to my eyes. I loved having the occasional sleepover with Kennedy, but then my parents went off the deep end, and I moved in. It felt so complicated back then: parents turning into emotionally closed-off robots, all the while hiding my mom’s affair. Now, thinking back to how much fun Kennedy and I had staying up all night talking about boys, playing board games, and stuffing our faces at pizza nights with my uncle, I can’t help but miss it.

It was simpler, that’s for damn sure.

“I won’t move until I find the right place.” I promise. And I won’t. But it will definitely be sooner than she’s hoping for—which is never.

“Good. Because we have a lot of Bridgerton to catch up on. I’ll buy the wine. I gotta get back to work, though. My boss is giving me the evil eye.”

My stomach bottoms out a little, but I try to see this through a different lens. Through one where I can drink as much wine with Kennedy as I want. One where work is going great, my boss and I hit it off immediately, and I’m working in a professional arena with men who are paid to perform, not a mishmash of guys hoping to go pro and those who are just showing up for the scholarship.

Everything is going as well as I ever could’ve hoped after the clusterfuck that was last year, and I should be happy.

I shouldn’t be sitting on the floor of the bathroom, bracing myself for round two of “Things Are Looking Good For Callie; Better Fuck Some Shit Up.” All because I couldn't say no to the friendly neighbor next door in a moment of weakness.

I pull myself up off the floor and cover my face. Maybe the first test was wrong. Maybe the waves of nausea and lack of appetite are just nerves from starting a new job. Maybe?—

I peek through my fingers.

My eyes scan left to right.

Plus sign.

Plus sign.

Plus sign.

PREGNANT.