Puck Prince (Houston Scythes Hockey #1)

21. Callie

21

CALLIE

I duck out of work a little early. Maybe it’s because the morning sickness is kicking my ass right now, and I’m spending more time in the bathroom than the training room.

Maybe it’s because I just signed a literal, physical contract agreeing to continue to date Owen Sharpe.

Maybe a little bit of both. Who’s to say, really?

When Uncle Randy ordered us to meet him in his office first thing in the morning, I assumed he was going to lecture us on turning one of the team’s best games of the season into an episode of The Kardashians .

Of course, he did still have a nuclear meltdown over that, and I don’t blame him. The events of the game were undeniably a shitshow. And it was all caught on the Jumbotron. HD dumpster fire, baby.

Still, the HR paperwork caught me sideways. I didn’t expect him to do… that.

When I finally make it home, I don’t see Owen’s BMW. I enjoy the first sigh of relief I’ve had all day.

All I want is to go upstairs, change into something comfy, and snuggle up on the couch with a cup of peppermint tea to hide from the world and all my problems.

But the second I open the door and set my things down on the counter, Kennedy comes storming out of her room. She looks like she just finished reading Old Yeller.

“He’s in Houston.”

“Who?”

“Spencer.”

Just his name brings on nausea bad enough to rival the worst bouts of morning sickness.

The wave of panic and disbelief that washes over me is a category five compared to the flashbacks at the game the other night when Mulletman wouldn’t let go of me.

“Wh…what are you talking about?” I manage to stutter out.

“I heard through the Instagram grapevine that Spencer is somewhere in Houston. He’s here , Cal.”

She says it like he’s here in our kitchen, and he might as well be.

I brace my hands on the counter so I don’t hit the floor. So much for a sigh of relief—it feels like the wind has been knocked out of me. “But why ? He plays for Dallas.”

She shakes her head. “I have no idea. But he’s been seen everywhere. Bars downtown. Games. Even Pour Boys.”

“I was just there!” I gasp. “With Owen.”

“I know, babe.”

I make my way to the couch.

I need to sit down. I need to process this.

But how do you process the mistake you’ve been trying to run from chasing after you? I wanted to hide before and that was before I knew he was going to literally haunt me.

He’s in the same city as I am.

That alone is enough to make me want to hide for all eternity.

“Listen…” Kennedy sits down next to me. “It’s going to be fine. You don’t live alone. You work with my dad, who knows what Spencer did to you. Not to mention, you have a boyfriend who lives right next door.”

“True.” I nod, but I don’t feel any better.

One, Kennedy is rarely here.

Two, Spencer works in the hockey industry. I might be able to wrangle banning him from the arena if my uncle wasn’t the only person in the building who knows what happened with Spencer. And even he doesn’t know the full full story.

No one does.

Three, Owen and I aren’t actually dating. We’ve hardly spoken in weeks. The fistfight-slash-big screen kiss was the first physical contact we’ve had in a while, and I don’t think protecting me from psycho exes is in the fake relationship fine print of our contract.

“If you’re worried, file a restraining order against him.” Kennedy side-hugs me. “But no one is going to let anything happen to you.”

I want to believe her. I really do.

But the last time I was that naive, I thought getting involved with a hockey player would be “no big deal.” I ended up in a cat and mouse game that nearly ended my career and left me sleeping with one eye open.

I know better now.

“After the way Owen defended you at the game,” she goes on, “I doubt someone could do so much as wink at you without getting their lights knocked out.”

I offer a small smile, hoping it’s convincing. Because if I had a real boyfriend, I’d be less worried. If I was in a real relationship, I might be able to fool myself into thinking that would be enough to make Spencer stay the hell away.

But this thing with Owen isn’t real. I don’t think he even likes me.

I want to tell Kennedy the truth about that, but once I unravel that thread, the whole deceptive sweater will come undone.

So I can’t. No one can know.

It’s enough to bring tears to my eyes.

Just then, we hear keys rustling in the hallway. Kennedy jumps up with a grin, oblivious to the way I’m teetering on the edge of a breakdown. I wipe the tears away just before she grabs my hands and yanks me off the couch.

“Sounds like someone is home.”

“Who?”

“Your boyfriend, duh! Girl, stop worrying about Spencer and go see Owen. He’ll make you feel better.”

Doubtful. Very, incredibly doubtful.

“I don’t think—I mean, he just got home and—” But she pulls me over to the door and rips it open. “I doubt he wants to see… me.”

The last word falls on the floor…

Right at Owen’s feet.

He stops unlocking his door and turns to look at me.

“Someone is happy you’re home!” Kennedy beams, shoving me into the hallway. She promptly slams the door closed so fast it smacks me in the ass, knocking me forward. I fall against Owen and his arm instinctually wraps around me.

It really is a notably good arm.

“Oh,” he breathes. “Hi.”

“Hey.”

“Hi.”

I pull back, my face flaming. “Don’t mind Kennedy. She’s just—” We both hear her lock the door behind me. “—crazy.”

“I heard that!” she says through the door.

“She’s also nosy,” he grumbles.

“I heard that, too!”

I want to tell him that Kennedy, like the rest of the world, is under the impression our relationship is real, but Kennedy currently has her ear pressed to the other side of the door and one eye wedged into the peephole, I’m sure.

Wherever we go, we’re being watched.

Owen seems to realize that, too. He rakes a hand through his hair. “You wanna… come inside?”

The line couldn’t be delivered with less enthusiasm. He sort of shrugs towards his door like he’s inviting in a solicitor and signing himself up for an hour-long conversation about “the vacuum cleaner of the future.”

He was also probably planning to come home and decompress in whatever way a man like Owen Sharpe decompresses. Probably not with peppermint tea, but to each their own. Instead, he has to spend time with me.

But at this point, we are going to have to play this game unless we want Kennedy asking a lot of questions through the apartment door. Between that and some kind of insane, inexplicable gravity tugging me forward, I feel like I have no choice.

“Sure. Lead the way.”

We go inside, and as he sets his things down, I realize this is the first time I’ve been in here since that night. It’s also the first time I’ve been in here when it’s not night.

Contrary to everything I would’ve guessed about the man, the apartment is clean, organized, and well-decorated. There’s memorabilia on the walls, including Scythes jerseys and trophies. Something I didn’t notice the last time I was here because I was too busy being koala-carried to his bedroom.

If I had stopped to look around, I might’ve put two and two together and ran for my life. Yet, here we are.

All three of us.

“Do you want a beer?

I shake my head. “No. But thank you.”

Owen grabs one for himself. “You don’t drink much, do you?”

Not anymore. “Not really.”

He pops the cap and takes a swig. “I’m kind of surprised. The first time I met you, you were nursing a whole bottle.”

“The first time you met me, I wasn’t expecting company.”

“Neither was I.”

The words sizzle in the air between us.

“You want to sit?” he asks awkwardly. “I mean, you might as well, since we are kind of stuck here together.”

Well, with that warm welcome…

I nod and gingerly make my way to the couch with him. The last time I was here, I sat on the couch. The difference was, I wasn’t wearing pants. And he was sitting in front of me…

I cross my legs to squeeze my thighs shut.

“I have a question,”

“Yes?” I blurt out.

He turns to face me. “I figure, since we’re dating—at least on paper—we have the right to know some things about each other.”

“What kinds of things?”

“What did Coach mean when he said you’ve had ‘workplace relationships’?”

My stomach goes instantly sour. “N-Nothing. Just some… some drama with my last job.”

“Drama, like, you dated a coworker? Like, you’ve done this before?”

I nearly guffaw at that. “Trust me, I have never done anything like this before.”

But Owen is unconvinced. “Apparently, you have, because he brought it up. And the accusation was enough to make you sign the papers and run like your ass was on fire.”

“I don’t think my dating history has anything to do with you and me,” I spit the words like acid.

Owen recoils a little, and I feel kind of bad. He’s actually being decent right now. Despite the entire situation we are in, he’s not being an ass at all.

I’m picking up the slack for the both of us.

“But maybe…” I sigh. “Maybe it wouldn’t hurt to get to know each other a little better.”

“Oh, it’ll hurt. But most things with you do.” There’s that missing snark. “It’ll make the fundraiser ball less awkward, though.”

“I never actually said yes to going with you.”

He also never actually asked.

“No, you just signed a contract.”

“Details, shmetails.” I wave a hand and it makes him laugh. I like that more than I probably should.

“Alright. Be a brat about it.” Owen takes my hand formally. “Callie Coleman, will you go to the ball with me?”

I scrunch up my face, pulling my hand back and swatting at him. “Ew. Not when you ask it like that. Try again. A little less Prince Charming this time.”

“Alright.” He shakes out his shoulders and goes in for round two. “Hey babe, wanna go to that mandatory charity thing Coach is making all of us do? I’ll buy you a drink and pretend to like you.”

This time, I laugh. “Do you have any concept of middle ground?”

“None whatsoever. I’m an all-or-nothing kind of guy.”

I have to stop myself from pressing a hand to my womb. Yeah, I think miserably. That’s exactly the problem.

“We’ll circle back to it, then. You’re right, though?—”

“Never thought I’d hear those words come out of your mouth,” he mutters.

I ignore him. “You’re right in the sense that this will be easier if we’re not making everything up on the fly. If we know actual stuff about each other, it’ll be easier to lie.”

“Alright, what do you wanna know?” He reclines and spreads his arms along the back of the sofa. “I’m an open book.”

I tap my finger to my lips in thought. “What’s your favorite dessert?”

Owen nearly spits out his beer. “Really? What is this, kindergarten show and tell?”

“What? Dessert is great!”

“But it’s irrelevant.”

Spoken like someone with six-percent body fat.

“Fine.” I narrow my eyes. “If you didn’t make it as a hockey player, what would you have done?”

“I’d work in social services.”

I do a double-take. “Really?”

He nods. “Yeah. CPS. The system is fucked-up, and I’d like to see kids and women in bad situations have a better chance.”

I literally don’t know what to say to that. “Surprised” doesn’t even begin to cover it.

“Speaking of which,” he goes on, “there’s this charity event coming up. Last I heard, the focus is on sexual assault victims. My team and I are making an appearance, and I’d love it if you came with me, Callie Coleman. As my date.”

For a moment, I just stare at him. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say he was being genuine.

I open my mouth to answer, but he beats me to it. “I was just kidding a minute ago. I’m a center. Of course I know how to work the middle ground.”

I laugh a little, though my heart seems to be caught somewhere in my chest. “Yeah. Fine. I’ll go with you. But only because I signed a contract saying I have to.”

“I would expect nothing less.”

“And because you probably need to polish your image a little after what happened at the last game.”

“A ‘thank you for saving me’ would suffice.”

I shake my head and give him a playful shove, and he catches my hand. And doesn’t let go.

Our eyes find each other.

Our mouths are close enough that if one of us tipped our chin, our lips would touch.

I definitely like the idea of that way more than I should.

Suddenly, his phone rings. We both jump back. When he answers, his voice is husky and choked.

“Yeah?”

I can’t hear what the other person is saying, but the voice is definitely female.

Owen is already on his feet, tearing across his apartment. “I’ll be right there.”

He seems to have forgotten I’m here at all. He’s fumbling with his keys in the hallway when I step out of his apartment, and he yanks the door closed and locks it, still mumbling to whoever the woman on the other end of the line is.

Nothing like being cast aside.

Owen dashes to the stairs, and I slink back to Kennedy’s.

I’m about to open the door when?—

“Callie?”

I turn to see Owen. He’s still on the phone, halfway down the flight of stairs, some unreadable expression on his face.

“It’s Boston Cream Pie,” he explains. “My favorite dessert… Just so you know.”