Puck Prince (Houston Scythes Hockey #1)

25. Callie

25

CALLIE

The way Owen dashed out of my room last night, you would have thought the building was on fire. Things were hot enough between us that it could’ve been, and I’m not sure I would’ve noticed.

The moment was shot as soon as we heard the guys in the hallway. By our own rules, we shouldn’t have even been having the moment in the first place. This charade is strictly for an audience.

But he took off like I was the last person on earth he wanted to get tangled up with.

Shoot, maybe I am. We’ve rubbed each other the wrong way since the moment we met.

… We’ve also rubbed each other very much the right way, too.

I shake the thought from my head. Who could have known that being pregnant would not only make me want to puke all the time—it would also make me annoyingly, inconveniently horny?

Fuck my life.

Or better yet, just fuck me.

Part of me thinks we might as well. The way the guys are glancing back at us as we sit next to each other on the flight home, I know what they’re thinking.

“You think they think we fucked last night?” Owen asks discreetly, practically reading my mind.

I blush. “I’m sure they do.”

“I guess that’s good. You know, for keeping the act up.”

The act. Right. I wish we could just do the act.

Flashbacks of him kneeling in front of me and climbing on top of me, have my inner thighs screaming. I readjust myself in my seat.

The slight movement along with some turbulence has my stomach rolling. I cover my mouth.

“Here.” Owen hands me a bag.

“Are you sure you want to be sitting next to me? This could get ugly,” I mumble directly into the bag.

“For better or for worse.”

I almost laugh. “We’re fake dating, not fake… that.”

“Just trying to make you laugh.”

My stomach evens out, and I lean back, lowering the bag with a mournful sigh. Morning sickness is really for the birds.

“For real, though,” he adds, “it would look weird if we weren’t sitting next to each other. On the way here, I was trying to ‘get my head in the game.’ But now…”

“Right.” I’m kind of indifferent to the logistics of this fake relationship right now. I’m mostly just trying to keep this morning’s avocado toast from making a surprise encore appearance.

“You really suck at flying,” Owen teases.

I toss him a sideways glare. I’m about to tell him he can really suck my?—

“Ah, there she is. Callie girl.” Uncle Randy appears next to my seat with a sympathetic grin. “I can’t ever remember you getting motion sickness before.”

I offer a shaky smile in return. “It’s a recent development.”

“Apparently. When we took that trip to Costa Rica, you were perfectly fine. You and Kennedy were snacking on peanut butter cups and giddy as schoolgirls, talking about shopping and tanning on the beach.”

Both of them are staring at me. I feel caged in. “Uh, yeah, I remember. I… I don’t know. Seasons in life, I guess.”

My uncle squeezes my shoulder and makes his way back to his seat.

I sigh. I hate lying to him, but I also don’t need them grilling me about my symptoms. I get sick on planes now. It’s a recent update to the Callie Coleman software. The end.

“Peanut butter cups, huh?” I can hear the smile in Owen’s voice.

“You’d know that if you’d been polite and asked me what my favorite dessert was.”

He grins, and I can’t help the small smile on my lips, too. “My bad. Are you a Reese’s girl or does anything go?”

“Reese’s. Justin’s. Butterfinger. Anything peanut butter, really.”

“Good to know.”

The electricity that seems to find its way into the air whenever we are too close to each other is back, making everything around me feel staticky. I don’t fight the conversation, though. If nothing else, it’s distracting me from my nausea.

“You and your uncle are tight,” Owen notes. “That’s pretty cool.”

“Yeah, he basically raised me.”

Owen glances over at me, not saying anything. He isn’t pushing me to go on, but for some reason, I figure, why not?

“My parents were around, but, like, not. You know? They were there physically, taking care of things, keeping the house nice. We had a big house. Very cookie-cutter neighborhood with a park and pool and a pergola.”

“A golden retriever?” he guesses.

“Goldendoodle.”

He winces. “Even worse.”

I laugh. “But it was just the default stock photo of the happy family that comes with the picture frame—all for show.”

“I get that.” Owen nods. There’s a jolt in the plane, a sudden moment of turbulence, and I jump. He grabs my hand, squeezing it.

Swallowing back the wave of nausea, I go on. “My parents were… cold. Like, they had everything, but weren’t happy. They didn’t kiss; they didn’t flirt. They were almost robotic with each other. Then, when I was thirteen, I found out my mom had cheated on my dad. A lot.”

“Ouch.” Owen is still holding my hand.

“Yeah. Then I found out he isn’t even my real dad.”

I can hear Owen suck in a sharp breath. “Wow. Double ouch. That’s rough.”

“Yeah. After that, everything just felt so disconnected. Fake. I started spending a lot of time with Kennedy, and after a while, I went home less and less. Uncle Randy knew what I was going through and took me in. Stepped up. That was a first. I wasn’t used to anyone stepping up.”

“Well, I’m sorry you went through that.” He says, and I can tell he’s being genuine.

“I’m not. The years I spent with Kennedy and Uncle Randy were some of the best years of my childhood. He’s the reason I am where I am now.”

“Still, it sucks that your mom cheated.”

I think about that and concede the point with a shrug. And with more walls down than I intend, I charge forward. “I guess that’s why I got upset after you and I… well… you know. I was under the impression you were in a relationship and?—”

Owen pulls his hand away. “I wasn’t. I’m not.”

He looks horrified enough that I’m inclined to believe him. It’s a relief, but that doesn’t explain the woman with the baby.

Before I can muster up the courage to ask, he charges ahead. “If I’m being honest, I’ve never been in a relationship. Until now.”

Our eyes meet, and his are stormy. The blue is murky and unreadable like everything else about this man.

Does he consider this a relationship? Is something about it real to him?

And if so, how do I feel about that?

My stomach lurches as the plane hits another bump.

That. That’s how I feel about this. That’s how I feel about everything lately.

Owen gives me a ride home from the airport. It’s quiet at first, but not an uncomfortable quiet. I’m just grateful to be able to look out the window and have my hands free of barf bags.

A few minutes into the ride, he turns his attention from the road to me. “Feeling better?”

“Surprisingly, yes. Your driving is better than the pilot’s.”

“I can flip it into sport mode if you want to put that to the test.”

“I’ll smack you.”

Owen grins and looks back through the windshield. The radio drones on at a low volume. The world outside is a hum of white noise.

“I’m sorry,” I blurt out suddenly. “About not being at the game. I know that looked bad. You know, since we are supposed to be a couple and all. I was just feeling… off.”

Owen shrugs. Not in an assholeish way, but a genuine No skin off my back kind of way. “It’s cool. I’m sure you’re under a lot of stress lately. New job. New city. New relationship.” He emphasizes that last part, and we both laugh a little. “Not to mention living with Kennedy. I’ve only lived next door to her, but the walls are thin. I can see that being a little chaotic at times.”

“She’s kind of a wild one.” I admit. “Maybe that’s why my uncle took me in so willingly. He wanted my influence to rub off. I was the good girl compared to her.”

“Are you really, though?”

“What do you mean?”

His eyes stay on the road, but his smile is full of mischief. “I just think there’s a salty layer under all that sweetness.”

“Oh, do you?”

“Yep. Spoiler alert: I know there is. I’ve seen it.”

My cheeks flush at that, and I look away, shaking my head.

And yet, I am still smiling.

“That said, if you ever need a break from your crazy cousin, my door is always open.”

“That’s really unsafe. Anyone off the street could walk right in. Have you ever considered hiding a spare key?”

That makes him really laugh, and I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t rather proud of myself.

He has a great laugh.

When we pull into the parking lot, I unbuckle my seatbelt. It’s been a whirlwind of a trip, that’s for sure. So much has happened in the last couple days. Some good, some bad. (I don’t want to think about the bad). And even more that I’m not really sure how to feel about.

Like right now.

That feeling is back. The feeling that I don’t see why we can’t take advantage of the relationship just because it’s fake. The fact Owen has killed the engine, and we’ve both unbuckled, but we are just sitting here… That says something. Hints at something. And I’m considering letting it lead to something.

I know I shouldn’t.

Neither of us should.

The last thing we need is to complicate this whole charade even more by blurring the fine print.

But fuck me, does he look good. He’s in gym pants and a fitted t-shirt and messy hair. His three-day stubble is coming in, accentuating his Damon Salvatore jawline.

I swallow hard and repeat the chorus.

I can’t.

I shouldn’t.

But God, do I want to.

“You ready?” he asks.

Not at all.

“Sure.”

As we ride the elevator up, my chest is rising and falling with every breath. That aforementioned shirt of his is tight enough that I can tell he’s doing the same.

He’s struggling too. Why is that such a hot thing to realize?

He pulls out his keys to unlock his door, and all it would take for me to follow him into his room is one word. One gesture. One hint.

The door opens.

And all it would take to completely crash the moment is the mystery woman and her baby to be standing on the other side.

Guess which thing comes first?

“Summer?” Owen is just as shocked as I am.

The woman is a nervous wreck, crying as she rocks the screaming baby. “Owen! I tried to call but you didn’t answer.”

“My phone was on airplane mode. What’s going on? What happened? Did that asshole come after you?” Owen’s tone is escalating from worry to anger.

Meanwhile, I’m just trying to catch up. I still don’t know who she is or how they know each other or which “asshole” he’s referring to. But I know something is wrong. That’s enough to tone down my suspicion and make me just as worried as Owen is.

“It’s Nicky. He’s sick, and I don’t know what’s wrong. I can’t get him in to see the pediatrician for two days, but even then, I don’t have insurance, so I don’t want to go to the ER and?—”

“We need to take him to the hospital.” Owen is immediately back in the hallway, punching the button on the elevator again.

I ease forward and place a hand on the baby’s back. “What are his symptoms?” I ask softly.

“Runny nose. Lethargy. Throwing up. And a fever that won’t go down.” She pulls down the blanket so I can see his skin.

Sure enough, the little guy looks flushed and exhausted. But a panicking mother isn’t going to help. “Why don’t we take him inside?”

She looks at me and nods, and I guide them both to the door.

Owen is just standing in front of the open elevator doors, watching as I take over.

Part of my consciousness is right over there with him. I’m a little surprised, too, at how much the maternal thing just kicked in, considering that sixty seconds ago, I was about to rip Owen’s pants off.