Puck Prince (Houston Scythes Hockey #1)

15. Owen

15

OWEN

“Pass! … Pass! … Pass! Now, get around them, Sharpe. Put the puck in the back of the damn net or we go again.”

To say that Coach is drilling me hard would be an understatement. Could it be because we are about to go head to head with one of the toughest teams in the league?

Maybe.

Is it way more likely this is because I just announced in a moment of panic that I am dating his niece?

For fucking sure.

I sprint up and down and back up the ice, weaving, passing, and skirting ahead to whip in a goal once the puck catches up. If I fall short or miss the shot or he just doesn’t like how I look while I’m doing it, we start over.

I swing at the puck with every bit of energy left to me and watch it fly, nestling its way into the top right corner just out of reach of Kason’s glove. Coach blows the whistle, and I hit my knees in pure exhaustion.

“Showers! And tomorrow, we do it again, so don’t go getting shitfaced tonight. I’m talking to you, Thatcher.”

“Jesus, you have one too many Jell-O shots one time and suddenly, you're pegged the team drunk for life,” Lachlan mutters as everyone clears the ice.

I am still on my knees, working fiercely to catch my breath. I can feel Coach’s eyes on me. A moment later, I hear him exit. The sound of the rink door closing behind him feels like the whole stadium is scowling at me, too.

If I’d known that “dating” Callie would mean I’d be smeared into an unrecognizable stain across the ice for the foreseeable future, I would have come up with a better lie. Or, even crazier, just told the truth.

But something about listening to Callie get ripped for something she didn’t even do hit me the wrong way.

So, I did what I always do: acted without thinking.

I came, I saw, I conquered. Or I made things even worse.

Something like that.

I struggle upright and slump my way out, bypassing the locker rooms. As much as I need a shower, I don’t feel like facing the annoyance of my teammates, too. Coach Coleman was obviously in a wad today, and his wrath was aimed at me, but that doesn’t mean the other guys didn’t catch some of the crossfire. I’m sure they’d have a few somethings to say about it if I gave them the chance.

So, I won’t give them the chance.

Twenty minutes later, still reeking of sweat, I limp my way from my car into the complex and stagger over to the elevator. There’s a yellow sign posted on the front of the door. DOWN FOR REPAIR. USE STAIRS.

Fuck you, too, Universe.

I climb the two flights of stairs, looking practically geriatric as I do. At least avoiding the elevator means I’ve avoided running into Callie. I still haven’t figured out how to explain my life choices from earlier. She looked every bit as surprised as Coach when I grabbed her and?—

“What in the actual fuck is the matter with you?” I look up to see Callie standing in front of—make that “blocking”—my door.

Scratch that. Bullet not dodged.

I hold out a hand, wincing at the movement. “Listen?—”

“No, you listen. What happened to ‘there’s no us?'”

“I know.”

“Or ‘there’s nothing between us?’”

“I know.”

“Or ‘we don’t know each other?’”

“I fucking know, okay?” I bark out. “Look, I panicked.”

“Obviously!”

“And it was kind of stupid.”

“No shit, Sherlock!”

I grit my teeth. I don’t need this right now. I need to think. I need a shower hot enough to melt my muscles off the bone and a beer followed by a long nap.

“I thought it would get him off our backs,” I say.

Callie actually laughs. Cackles like a hyena right in my face. “Really? And how did that go for you in practice, hmm?” She waves a hand over me. It doesn’t take a PT to see I am dying over here.

“I feel like you’re enjoying this.” I trudge my way closer to the door she’s guarding.

“Your pain, I’m enjoying. The stench? Not as much. You need a shower.”

“I’m glad you agree.” I go to step around her, but she moves in front of me. I glare down at her from under an angry brow.

“We could have told him the truth.”

“Yeah,” I scoff, “and what truth is that? That we fucked each other in a moment of stupidity and have been trying to avoid each other ever since?”

“Or that I was being attacked by the press and you were just trying to get me away from the cameras. That is what you were trying to do, right?” She angles her head to get a better look at me. “Or did you have this sham relationship planned all along?”

“Why the hell would I do that?” I growl.

“I don’t know. Maybe you like having a fuckboy reputation and?—”

I get right in her face, shutting it down before this train gets away from the station. “You were right about one thing a second ago: you don’t know me. And you’re right about another: I was trying to get you away from that jackass cameraman because I get it—being hounded by the press sucks. So the least you could do is be thankful for it.”

“Except that that’s not what you did,” she fires back, undeterred. “You didn’t come clean. Instead, you marched in my uncle’s office, grabbed me like a caveman, and claimed we are an item. Exclusive. What in the name of God’s green earth made that seem like the logical answer to you?”

I pause and consider the question. If I’m being honest, it wasn’t a spur-of-the-moment decision. I went to Coach’s office knowing he was ripping into her. I saw all of the static in the news and on social media. It wasn’t people calling me a manwhore or a fuckboy like I would have assumed. There were headlines like “Owen’s New Girl” and “Owen Sharpe Off the Market.” It made me think about what Miles said.

“There’s nothing more boring to the press than a hockey player in love,” I echo.

“A who in what ?” Callie gasps.

“That’s what Miles told me. He’s engaged, and the paparazzi couldn’t care less about him now.”

“Are you saying we should get engaged ?” Callie blurts out a couple octaves too high.

“What? No! God, no.”

She presses a hand to her heart like my lack of interest in marriage is the best goddamn thing she’s heard all day. “Thank Jesus. Because that almost sounded like a half-assed marriage proposal.”

“All I am saying,” I grit out, “is that if people think we are together, they won’t be spreading rumors about who we are actually dating. Or fucking.”

“Or!” She holds up a finger patronizingly. “We just avoid each other like we agreed, and the press will leave us both alone because we are, in fact, single and just as boring as a married couple. I like that idea better, myself, because it means not being around you.”

“It doesn’t work that way.”

“Why not?”

Because when I’m not being photographed with Callie, I’m walking with Summer, carrying her son’s car seat in broad daylight as they come and go from my apartment.

Because Callie isn’t anywhere close to my biggest problem right now.

But I don’t say that. My personal life is none of her damn business.

“Because it’s not going to stop,” I say instead. “If we’re constantly trying to avoid each other, only to accidentally bump into each other all the time because not only do we live next door, but we also work together, it’s going to get attention. It looks like we are hiding something. So, I say we pretend we’re together. Let them talk for all of forty-eight hours and then watch them lose interest.”

“So you want to lie and fake being in a relationship… with each other?”

“I want it to end. And this is the best way to make that happen. So, yeah.”

Callie studies me for a minute. And for that minute, I almost think she’s on board.

Until her eyes narrow.

Fuck.

“What are you hiding?”

I blink. “Huh?”

“Fake relationships are always a cover-up for something. So what are you covering up?”

“My reputation. Unnecessary attention.”

“Oh, please.” She rolls her eyes. “You’re a hockey player. You love attention, good or bad.”

“Or—and I know this sounds crazy, but hear me out—maybe I love hockey. And I want to keep the focus on that. But what about you?”

“What do you mean?”

I hem in on her. “You’ve been acting pretty strange lately. It’s almost as if you have a secret life you don’t want anyone to know about.”

Callie’s face pales, the way it has been doing a lot lately. “What are you trying to say?”

“I was eavesdropping on your conversation with Coach earlier. I heard what he said about you being a risk more than an asset at this point. You have a reputation that apparently can’t stand another hit. His words, not mine.”

Callie clears her throat, straightening up. “It’s none of your business.”

“Which means those pictures aren’t just bad for me; they’re bad for you, too.”

Her mouth pops open. “Owen Sharpe, is that a threat?”

It wasn’t. I mean, that isn’t what I meant. But I’m realizing how that could work in my favor, and what else can I do but roll with it? I’m getting nowhere with her right now by any other methods.

I shrug. “Maybe. Fake date me, Callie. Pretend we’re together and put an end to the rumors.”

“And if I don’t?”

“I’ll tell your uncle I was lying just to save face. And that I regret it because, in reality, you’ve been coming on to me ever since he hired you.”

“You wouldn't.” Her tone is low. Venomous.

“Watch me.” I step closer, close enough that my chest is rubbing against hers.

“That’s blackmail.”

“I guess it is.”

I stare down at her.

She glares up at me.

Her jaw deliberately tightens.

My pants involuntarily tighten.

God, she’s hot when she’s all worked up. I’d love to relieve some of that tension.

“Fine,” she finally says. “I’ll go along with your sick little game.”

“Yeah?”

“But under several conditions.”

I gesture for her to continue. “Name them.”

“I call the shots. You can’t just do whatever, wherever, whenever to make yourself look good. If I had to guess, you are used to dating airhead puck bunnies—something I am not. If we are going to do this, and I am going to pretend that I would actually be in a relationship with you, it’s going to look like you dated up . Got it?”

“Easy enough.” I shrug. “I mean, you’re not exactly the type of girl I usually go for. Blonde-haired Medusas aren’t really my thing. What else?”

“You won’t be seen fucking around with other women when you go out with the guys. It’s bad enough I am agreeing to be seen with you. You won’t make my judgment look even worse by being shady.”

“Trust me: If I am putting up with you, I think that’s about all the pain in the ass I can handle.” I make a second attempt to step around her and be done with it, but she presses a hand to my chest to stop me.

“One more thing.”

“What’s that?” I ask through my teeth. One, I don’t like all these stipulations. And two, the contact is burning my flesh.

“It’s going to cost you.”

As if it isn’t already.

I let out a laugh. “I’m sorry? You want me to buy you off?”

“Not me. You are going to donate a large sum of money to a charity of my choice.”

“Seriously? That is blackmail.”

She half-shrugs. “I guess it is.”

I sigh. This is getting way more complicated—and expensive—than I’d intended. But seeing as how we both have each other backed into a corner, I don’t have much choice. And money is one thing I can afford to part with.

Keeping Summer safe matters way more.

“Fine.”

She gives me a small, spiteful smile and turns to head to her apartment. But before she can get away, I grab her elbow. “Not so fast. I have one stipulation of my own.”

Callie yanks her wrist from my grip and crosses her arms. “What’s that?”

“A date.”

“What kind of date?” she asks.

“A ‘real’ date,” I say with air quotes. “We need to convince people that we aren’t just fucking around. That this is the real deal.” I can tell by the way she is chewing her lip she doesn’t like it, but I press on. “All you have to do is let me wine and dine you. For the cameras.”

“Deal,” she finally agrees and pushes past me. “Now, hit the shower. I won’t have a fake boyfriend that smells like a dirty jockstrap.”