Puck Prince (Houston Scythes Hockey #1)

24. Owen

24

OWEN

I don’t know what’s fucking with my head more—the idea that I have a “girlfriend” who comes to my games to cheer me or not being able to find Callie anywhere in the crowd.

I know she was working with several of my teammates before the game. I saw her taping Lance when I passed the training room. I was actually looking to snag some tape myself, but for some reason, after the conversation on the plane, I ducked out and hit up Miriam for help instead.

That’s yet another dilemma fucking with my head.

I hand delivered barf bags to Callie because she looked miserable on the flight—and I felt bad for blowing her off—but that flirting was a bit too realistic. Realistic enough that I almost forgot it was all a ruse.

Until she started asking about Summer and Nicky again.

I actually wanted to just tell her what was going on, but for many reasons, that part of my life that has to stay completely secret.

Their safety depends on it.

Even with my head a mess, we more or less annihilate Colorado’s band of shmucks with little to no effort. It’s so easy that I have lots of time to scan the crowd. But every time I look up, expecting to see Callie, she’s not there.

I start to worry.

After the game, I skip the locker room showers and accompanying athlete’s foot and make my way to the hotel, instead. I’m bunking with Miles, but I beat him there, so the bathroom is all mine.

When I’ve scalded as much of the anxiety out of my muscles and brain as possible, I shut the water off and throw on a pair of jeans and a fitted blue shirt. Miles is lying on the bed when I walk out.

“I’m getting room service. You want anything?” he asks.

“Nah, I think I’m gonna go check out the bar.”

“What’s eating you?”

I just stare at him. This guy has a way of reading people’s minds, I swear to God. It’s eerie. “Nothin’, man. I just figure I might as well check the place out while we’re here. Feeling good about that win, ya know?”

“Absolutely. We were fire tonight. But Callie wasn’t in the stands.”

I rake my hand through my still-damp hair. “Yeah. I’ll probably check on her.”

I say that like I have any idea where she is. Fake boyfriends aren’t privy to that kind of intel.

“Good call, bro. Hopefully she’s alright.”

I don’t know why she wouldn’t be, but I nod and go down to the lobby. I’m doing more wondering than I ought to do. All the time, really… fucking incessantly. Wondering what she’s doing, where she’s going, how she’s feeling. Pretending to hook up with her was supposed to make my life less complicated.

As I round the corner into the restaurant, I stop. The bar is hopping. Every table is taken. Music is playing under the dull roar of conversation.

But that’s not what has me stuck in the doorway.

Right in the middle of the bar, in the middle of it all, is Callie.

She’s at the bar top, sipping on a soda, with a burger and fries in front of her. She’s talking and laughing, surrounded by people.

“People,” meaning most of the Houston Scythes.

I was upstairs wondering where she was and concerned about whether she was okay. Meanwhile, she was down here with my teammates partying it up.

As if she forgot we are here for hockey.

As if she forgot we have a job to do.

As if she forgot she is supposed to be my girlfriend.

“Can I get you something?” A cute, brunette waitress appears next to me, a tray in her hands.

“I, uh…” I look around.

“We are kind of a full house tonight,” she says. “If you can squeeze in at the bar, go for it. But I can grab you a drink, either way.”

Squeeze in at the bar. Right. Like the way the team is squeezed around Callie right now?

“What do you have on draft?” I ask, my eyes still glued to Callie. Everyone is taking turns bantering with her. She almost can’t respond fast enough. Someone says something, and she laughs.

I’ve never seen her laugh like that with me.

Am I jealous right now?

“I can get you a beer list if you’d like. We have twelve?—”

“Just bring me a Coors, please.” I don’t mean to be rude, but something about watching Callie with the guys—not a care in the world—has me a little unhinged.

A moment later, the waitress brings me my beer, and I down half of it while standing at a high top in the corner. Dax steps away to go to the bathroom and suddenly, there’s an empty seat.

I should go over there. I should sit next to her and remind everyone, including Callie, what we are to each other.

But then some guy with a White Strip smile and Saved By the Bell hair spins the stool before plopping down next to her. He immediately leans towards her, and I immediately take a few steps closer.

He talks; she smiles. He leans in more; she takes a sip of her soda.

Then he puts his arm around her, his hand finding its way to the small of her back and then lower.

I think I black out. Because two seconds later, I’m spinning Callie around, yanking her to her feet, and hauling her against me.

“Can I help you?” the guy asks. Everyone else seems to be suddenly very interested in their phones or the bottom of their beer glasses.

“You can back away from my girlfriend,” I growl.

“Calm down, Owen. I don’t need—” Callie starts, but I’m not entertaining it.

“You need to come with me.”

“Somebody is a little territorial,” the guy chuckles. “Maybe you should let the lady make her own decisions.”

I look at Callie. It’s a very mature move on my part because, if I look at him, I’m going to deck him. Considering the blood pumping through my veins, I’m being very responsible. We absolutely don’t need more bad press right now.

Instead, I take Callie by the hand and drag her out of the bar.

“What do you think you’re doing?” she demands as soon as we round the corner to the elevator.

“I should be asking you the same damn thing.” I punch the button much harder than necessary.

“I was having dinner with the team. Having a good time, too, actually.”

“Yeah, I saw that,” I snort. The door opens and we get in.

“I’m sorry—am I not allowed to have a good time unless it’s with you? Because if that’s the kind of boyfriend you are, I’m glad this whole thing has an expiration date.”

“Do you think you could say that just a little bit louder? Jesus. It’s like you’re trying to blow our cover.”

“We’re alone in an elevator!” She very much does not lower her voice. “And since when do you care about making a scene? You’re the whole reason we are in this situation!”

I whirl around to face her, not realizing how close she’s standing until my body is pressed against hers.

“I am trying to protect you.” I’m talking through my teeth at this point. Because she drives me crazy. In more ways than one, unfortunately.

Goddammit, she looks good tonight.

She changed out of her normal athletic pants and team shirt after the game. Now, she’s in a pair of ripped jean shorts and a cropped tank top. It’s not that I haven’t seen her body before, but fuck me… something about her now has me damn near feral.

I shake my head. “Did that ever occur to you?”

“That you weren’t just doing all of this for selfish reasons?” She pretends to consider it for a second, her full lips pursed. “No. No, it did not.”

The elevator opens, and she stomps out and down the hall. She stops in front of her room, which is right across from mine.

Because of course it is.

“Callie, wait. We need to talk.”

She pulls her room key out, but before she can slide it in the slot, I cover it with my hand.

She lets out a persecuted sigh and rolls her eyes up to mine. “Fine. Move your hand and you can come in. But just to talk.”

“Obviously.”

The moment the door closes behind us, my breath catches in my throat. The entire room smells like her. How is that even possible already?

Why is this so hard? Why does this infuriating woman make… everything… so… hard…

Fuck.

“Alright. Talk.” She sits down on the bed, her eyes spearing into me.

Words. Right. I can do this.

“You need to calm down on the banter with the guys.”

I start there because telling her to stay in her room really would be territorial. And she isn’t my territory. Not really.

“You’re not serious,” she spits out. “I can talk to anyone I want. Also, I work with them.”

“But you’re doing more than talking. You’re…” I scratch my head. “Flirting.”

Callie’s eyebrows fly up to her hairline as she lets out a barking laugh. “Are you for real right now? What, are you jealous?”

“Why the hell would I be jealous?”

That’s a good question. Great question, actually. Maybe I should’ve thought that one over downstairs before I stepped out of the corner. But it’s too late for that now. Here we are.

“You tell me. You’re the one pissed off that you’re not getting all my attention.” She stands up but doesn’t face me.

I fist my hands at my sides. “I should get all of your attention. You’re supposed to be my girlfriend. We’re supposed to be dating. It doesn’t look good when you flake out on games and then cozy up with every guy on the team except for me at the afterparty.”

That makes her spin around. “I didn’t flake out on the game!”

“No? Then where were you?”

Callie’s eyes shift a little, her stance less defensive. “I was working. With Miles. After he got hurt.”

“Miles came back to the bench.”

“I wasn’t feeling good.”

For the first time, she spits that line without looking in my eyes.

She’s hiding something. Deflecting the question. But before I can pick at it, she shoots a question at me.

“Anyway, why do you care where I am and who I’m with? It’s not like you invited me down to the bar. If you cared about the optics, you could’ve sat with me and bought me dinner and… whatever other crap boyfriends usually do.”

“I… needed a minute. Don’t turn this around on me!” I snap back. “You drive me crazy, you know that?”

“Oh, trust—the feeling is mutual. I don’t know why I thought this was a good idea.”

“Fake dating me?” I ask.

“That. And moving to Houston, working with hockey players—” Her mouth opens like she’s going to say something else, but she stops herself. Recalibrates. “All of it.”

“So you regret everything?” I ask, moving to stand right in front of her. My heart rate is picking up. Her chest is rising and falling, brushing against mine with every inhale.

“Maybe I do.” Her breath fans across my lips.

It tastes like cherry.

“So let's call it off.”

“We signed a contract.”

“After the charity ball, then,” I offer up, wishing I could take it back as soon as the words are out of my mouth. “After that, it’s all over.”

There’s a beat of silence while the air around us thickens. It’s intoxicatingly dangerous.

“Is that what you want?” I ask.

“Is that what you want?” she retorts.

And I swear her chin tips up towards mine.

I tip mine down, and I can physically feel her pressing into me. Leaning up towards the kiss that we know is about to happen. But the moment crashes to the ground when the elevator dings, and we hear the guys clamoring into the hall.

“You should go,” she blurts out, hiding her face from me.

“Yeah. You’re right.” Gritting so hard I wonder if I’m gonna crack my teeth, I turn and shuffle my way out of her room.

I don’t say anything else. I don’t even look back. We both know why.

Because if I do, I won't leave.