Puck Prince (Houston Scythes Hockey #1)

17. Owen

17

OWEN

“I thought I told you I don’t need money, Owen.”

I can hear Nicky in the background making all kinds of gurgling noises as Summer whines into the phone. I’m looping around my apartment before work making sure I don’t forget anything.

“And I thought I told you that I can’t have you coming in and out of my place with all the press hiding in the bushes.”

“Having a famous brother is so inconvenient,” she grumbles.

“Love you, too, sis. Now, listen: I am Venmo-ing you some cash. It’s enough for a down payment on a place, assuming your credit is okay. Your credit is okay, right? Or do I need to co-sign?”

“Oh my God, yes! My credit is fine. I already told you that’s not the problem. The problem is I don’t like being alone in a city I don’t know.”

I run an exasperated hand through my hair, wandering my way onto the balcony, which I quickly note is a bad idea. Cameras flash the moment I step outside.

So much for hiding in the bushes. They’re literally swarming the place like angry wasps.

“Explore, Summer. There are literally hundreds of activities you can do with Nicky. Join some Facebook pages for single moms, I don’t know. But this is the world’s worst time for me to have a woman and a baby hanging around my place. No offense.”

I go back inside, locking the door and pulling the blinds. Blood-sucking journalists are going to starve if I have any say in it. It’s one thing for them to be up my ass when I walk from the arena to my car. It’s another to be snapping shots of me in my home.

“Offense taken.” Her tone is dry. “But fine. I get it. You’re a big shot with a rep, and I’m smearing that rep.”

“Summer, I am trying to keep you safe. If people get the wrong idea, it would hurt you and Nicky, as well. And I’m not about to let that happen. Cash the money and let me know when you find a place. I’ll help you with anything you need.”

“Alright,” she sighs. “Love you, O.”

“Love you, too.”

We hang up, and I grab my gear, heading out the door. The elevator is finally fixed—thank God, because my quads are wrecked to oblivion from practice—and I make my way down.

While I haven’t dared to look, I’ve got a decent idea what’s buzzing in the news. Photos and videos of my date with Callie have already gone out-of-control viral, though we didn’t make it entirely clear who she is. So that, of course, is the question of the hour.

And it’s the reason that I expect the swarm of reporters that attack me the moment I walk through the double doors of my apartment building.

I need some paparazzi repellent.

Then again, if Callie and I play this right, that’s exactly what our relationship will be.

I slide my shades on and forge my way through the masses. They snap photos, call my name, shuffle in front of me, basically do everything short of reaching out and grabbing me (they know better) as I wade to my car.

My vocabulary has dwindled to a stiff series of, “No comment. No comment. No comment.”

Once I’m inside, I drive. Slow enough not to run over anyone and fast enough that they better get the hell out of Dodge unless they want plastic surgery or the permanent impression of a tire tread on their ass.

When I pull up to the arena, I park my BMW in my designated spot. From the looks of it, Callie’s already here. I take a deep breath and put on a game face. As grumpy as all of this has me right now, I need to look happy. I’m supposed to be in love.

The audacity of that actually makes me laugh. I guess that’s as good a start as any.

The shades stay on until I’m inside the arena. I can slap on a smile, but eyes are the windows to the soul, and there’s no telling what my soul looks like right now.

I hear the guys in the locker room as I come down the hall, fucking around as usual.

“All I’m saying is that pictures are misleading,” Lance chirps.

“His hand was under the table!” Dax argues, amusement in his tone.

“That doesn’t equal a relationship! Maybe he was just boozy and a little handsy. Whomst among us hasn’t ventured down that road?”

“Right. But he also kissed her,” Heath adds. “Not a drunk kiss. It was a Nicholas Sparks kiss if I’ve ever seen one. Have you all seen The Notebook ?”

The guys erupt in mocking laughs. “Listen to Romeo over here,” one of them jabs. “What do you know about Nicholas Sparks?”

“I know Gosling got all the girls with that role. Watch the movie and maybe you’ll actually be able to get past first base for once in your virgin-ass life.”

“They were also holding hands,” Miles adds in. “That’s not something you do when you just wanna fuck.”

“You would know, Susie Homemaker!” Dax teases. “You put a down payment on that three-bed, two-and-a-half bath McMansion yet?”

“Don’t forget the picket fence! And a minivan,” someone else throws in and everyone roars.

I swear to God I work with morons.

“Listen,” Lance goes on, “Owen is my best friend. If he were dating someone, I would know. Especially if it was Coach’s niece. And he hasn’t so much as hinted at being interested in her. Hell, they don’t even really seem to like each other.”

“So why would he be at the bar with her?” Heath questions.

“Business, maybe?” Lance guesses. “She is the PT.”

“Maybe she was checking his tongue pliancy. You know, for business purposes,” cackles Lachlan.

I’m about to walk in and throw out “no comment” like confetti, but Kason clears his throat. “So if Callie and Owen aren’t dating, then she’s still free game?”

His tone makes heat rise up the back of my neck.

“You think that’s a game you could handle?” Dax asks. “Someone’s feeling big in their britches.”

Kason laughs. “I mean she’s hot, blonde, fit, and good with her hands. Guys say she’s great when they’re on the table.”

“I’d like to bend her over that table,” Heath jokes.

And just like that, I’m done.

I kick the door the rest of the way open and march in. I’m seeing red as I grab him by the front of the jersey and yank his face towards mine.

“You better watch your fucking mouth when you’re talking about my girlfriend,” I growl.

The smirk damn near slides off his face and into a puddle on the floor. Everyone is just staring, eyes wide and tails between their legs.

With my eyes still locked on Heath, I bark out, “Anyone else got anything they wanna say?”

There is a unanimous, silent Nope .

“Good. Now, get on the ice. We have work to do.”

Everyone shuffles around, making their way out. I rip my locker open to change, still fuming.

This whole thing is proving to be a lot fucking harder than I’d expected. For one, it’s a facade I have to keep up around the clock. But also, it really rubs my skin like sandpaper to hear them talk about her like she’s just some puck bunny they can use to get their rocks off.

I slam the locker door shut so hard the screws rattle.

“What the hell, man?” Lance’s voice comes out of nowhere.

I swing around to face him. “What do you want?” I ask, tugging my jersey on.

“‘Girlfriend’? I didn’t know you were seeing her.”

I chew on my tongue for a moment. I know it’s fucked-up—he’s my best friend. There’s never been much to know about my dating life, but if there ever was, Lance would know it. But this isn’t a normal situation.

“Well, I am.”

“I didn’t even know you were into her.” He kind of laughs. It’s a hurt laugh, though, and it makes me feel like shit.

“Well… I am.”

Very fucking eloquent, Sharpe.

He nods grimly. “Alright. Cool. I’d like to get to know her, if that’s the case.”

I squint back at him. “What do you mean?”

“I mean that usually, when one of us is seeing someone, we hang out. If she’s going to be around and this is going to get serious?—”

“I never said it’s going to be serious.”

“Really? Is that why you almost ripped Heath’s throat out a minute ago?”

Fuck. He’s got me there.

He clears his throat and tries again. “Listen, O: If you’re into her, right on. But she’s Coach’s niece. That’s some slippery ground to be treading on. Even for a hockey player.”

I rub the back of my neck. “It’s just that it’s kind of new.”

Lance nods. “Sure, sure. But I mean, maybe when you get your bearings, we can all have a drink or something. The annual charity event is coming up soon. Everyone on the team is going to be there.”

“Yeah. Alright,” I relent. “That could work.”

“Even if she does only drink ginger ale.” He smirks, and I have to grin.

“Yeah, man, I don’t know what was up with that.”

We head to the ice and he pats me on the back. “You’ve never been into normal girls, anyway.”

I shove him. “Hey, screw you. At least I have a girlfriend.”

He laughs, I laugh, everything is all hunky-fucking-dory.

But when that fades, the word lingers on my tongue. Girlfriend.

What the hell have I gotten myself into?

I make it through the day without running into Callie. She’s basically locked in a room with Coach, Miriam, and other support staff, so I’m able to go to practice, work out for a bit, and go back to my Batcave.

Even after I swim through the crowd outside of the complex, I can hear them buzzing down below my balcony. I keep everything locked and the blinds drawn.

“It’s just for a couple of weeks,” I tell myself. “It’ll be over before you know it.”

Unless Lance was right, and I can’t navigate this very slippery ground as well as I hope.

How do you break up with your coach’s niece, who you also work with? Fuck if I know.

I feel like shit for lying to him. But once everything blows over, I’ll come clean. I’m sure he’ll understand.

In the meantime, we probably do have to make more public appearances. Like it or not, the more we show our faces sucking face, the faster the leeches outside will move on to their next victims. The charity event wasn’t a bad idea.

I grab a beer from the fridge and make my way to the couch. But the moment I sit down, my phone buzzes.

“What now?” I ask the universe.

SUMMER: You have a LOT of explaining to do.

I type back, I know.

SUMMER: You have a girlfriend??

OWEN: Not…exactly. She’s the new PT for the Scythes. We were just grabbing dinner.

SUMMER: Social media begs to differ.

OWEN: Social media can suck my dick.

SUMMER: Charming. But for real, what the fuck is going on?

I think about that for a second. Then I down half the bottle of beer and tell her the truth.

OWEN: We aren’t really dating.

SUMMER: Explain.

OWEN: She’s my neighbor’s roommate and the press keeps seeing us together.

SUMMER: And your Coach’s niece…

SUMMER: Yes, Owen, I read the news.

I shake my head and keep typing.

OWEN: I’m trying to stay out of the limelight, and I figured if we make people think we are dating, it’ll become old news and the press will leave both of us alone.

SUMMER: So you’re lying to the world to save your reputation?

OWEN: …more or less.

SUMMER: Cool. Now when are you going to stop lying to me?

I’m lost. But when I don’t respond right away, she goes on.

SUMMER: I’ve seen the pictures O. You might think you’re pretending, but nothing about the two of you together looked fake to me.

A moment later, she blows my phone up with photos. I’m ready to unload on her, tell her she’s full of shit. Of course it's fake.

But I can’t.

Because, seeing the way Callie and I are looking at each other across the table, the way she lights up when I grab her hand, the way we both melt during the kiss—I can’t seem to defend myself.

Instead, I sit on the couch and down the rest of my beer.

That shit looks every bit as real as it felt.