Puck Prince (Houston Scythes Hockey #1)

30. Callie

30

CALLIE

Owen and I face each other, standing at what seems to have become our regular crossroads as of late: the gap between his door and Kennedy’s.

“Thank you for tonight,” I say. “And the dress and just… everything.”

Owen’s eyes trace over me one more time and something wild dances around in them. He nods once. Now that he’s shaved his just past five o’clock shadow—do I miss it? Do I not? I’ll never tell—I can better see the clenching and unclenching of his sharp, strong jaw.

Okay, maybe I don’t miss the scruff—this man’s jaw could cut mangos.

The clenching is something he does when he’s debating something. When he’s at war with himself.

“You really do look sexy as hell, Callie.”

It’s an odd way to compliment someone. Or, really, it’s an odd way to compliment someone when you say it while it looks like you’re trying to chew concrete at the same time.

An awkward laugh bubbles out of me. “Thanks?”

“I just mean… you’re stunning.” The second compliment seems to pain him even more than the first.

“If I didn’t know any better, Owen Sharpe, I’d almost think you were attracted to me.”

“You just figured that out?”

There’s a teasing quality in the way he says it. It’s like he’s dangling something in front of me, waiting for me to swipe out at it. Instead, I dodge. “Well, you should like it—you bought the dress. It would make any girl look good.”

“No. That dress was made for you and only you.”

I can’t tell if we are flirting or fighting. With us, it could be either. Or both.

“Alright, alright. I clean up okay. But I’ve seen the women you athletes pull. I saw them tonight, actually. Alisha looks like Channing Tatum’s ex-wi?—”

Owen takes one step forward and completely closes the gap between us.

“Dammit, Callie, you’re gorgeous.” His voice is low and hoarse, a cocktail of sensuality and irritation. Frankly, I have no fucking idea what to do with it. “I’ve never been with someone like you before.”

And just like that, he’s blurring that public-slash-private line we agreed to.

Mayday. Mayday…

“You mean you’ve never been in a fake relationship before? And here I thought I was your one and only.” Humor is all I have left in terms of escape routes. With the way his eyes are searing into me, the way his lips are close enough to mine that all it would take is the tiniest tilt of my head to taste them…Well, the aforementioned line is, spell it with me, G-O-N-E.

Owen reaches out and takes a curl of my hair between his fingertips. “Does all of this feel fake to you?”

My heart slams into my ribcage.

Is he teasing? Does he know I was fucking with him a minute ago and he’s just upping the game? It’s always a game with him. That, I’m used to. But suddenly, I can’t seem to read the rulebook anymore. It’s in another language.

“Of course it is… right?” It seems like the right answer. Even if it does come out of my mouth awkwardly delayed and about two octaves too high.

“Because,” he says as if I hadn’t spoken, “the charity event is over. We performed for the people and did what we had to do… And yet, it’s pushing midnight, and here we are. Standing between your threshold and mine, waiting for something neither of us will admit, too. So I’m just curious, is it all still fake?”

It’s a trick question.

A trap.

We’re moving into very dangerous territory, and I’m not sure how to get out without being blown to bits.

I lick my lips, noting the way Owen tracks the movement. “What’s real is that our careers and reputations are on the line. I’m just trying to get through this without everything falling apart.”

Including my self-control. But standing this close to him, it’s already in tatters.

Owen lets out a noncommittal “Mm,” and releases the lock of hair he’s been holding. Still, he doesn’t step away. He breathes in slow and deep. His voice is a low rumble.

“I guess we should say goodnight, then.”

“Yeah,” I whisper. “I guess so.”

“I had a good time. Until I saw you get upset. That, I hated.”

“I had a good time, too…”

Too good. Even with everything that happened with Miles, this moment is overwriting it. It shouldn’t be this good.

There's a beat of silence. Everything seems to pause. The continual turning of the planet is hinged on our next words. On our next moves.

But the sirens in the far back of my mind convince me to take one step back. And another.

“I’ll see you later, Owen.”

He takes in a breath. “Yeah… Yeah, okay.”

We both turn to our doors.

We unlock them at the same time.

And we both spin right back around, facing each other.

“Owen—”

“Listen—”

We speak at the same time, and for a split second, just stare at each other. There’s a magnetic force drawing me over to him. I know he must feel it, too. I’m about to shred our rules into teeny, tiny, unreadable pieces.

Until our phones explode.

Chimes and dings and chirps shatter the moment as notification after notification rolls in.

“The fuck…?” he growls out.

I look at my phone, too. “Oh, God.”

“It’s Jaxon,” he sighs.

My stupid thumb print won’t take because my phone is too busy trying to vibrate apart. “Who’s Jaxon?”

“My PR guy. He only contacts me directly when something is royally fucked up.”

Finally, I unlock my phone and I have a zillion texts from Kennedy. It’s a string of Are you seeing this? Holy shit. This is a mess. Callie? Callie!

“What happened?” I mumble, scrolling to the top of the thread, trying to get caught up.

“Photos leaked.” Owen reads out robotically.

“Photos?”

“Goddammit!” Owen grits out, turning away and raking his hands through his hair.

“Photos of what? Of us?” I ask, still sifting through Kennedy’s texts.

I’m still lost. The two of us being out together at events, kissing and dancing—that is literally the point. There were photographers outside the apartment as we left. We knew there would be pictures.

“No, not us. Summer.”

“Summer?” I’m repeating him like a stupid parrot, but that’s how I feel.

“Someone snapped pictures of Summer the day she was here with Nicky. Her face isn’t fully visible, but what is visible is me holding her and ushering her into my apartment…”

“Oh, shit.”

“‘Oh, shit’ is right.”

Owen is livid. And I can see why.

“If they knew she was your sister, then maybe?—”

“Callie, if they know she’s my sister—and that my sister is single with a baby—they’re going to dig. It won’t take long before all our family’s dirty laundry is waving in the wind for all the world to see and smell. Just run it up the fucking flagpole while you’re at it.”

“Well, the alternative isn’t better.” I scroll through my phone. “Because right now, the headlines surrounding you—or us—are ‘Family Man’ and ‘Baby Fever.’”

Owen’s face shifts as he reads the next one. “‘Star center for the Houston Scythes just might be hanging up his skates for fatherhood.’”

My heart nearly stops. Obviously, it's all a big misconception, but still, it’s hitting too close to a reality he is unaware of.

“We’ll fix it,” I try to reassure him. “We’ll set them straight somehow and?—”

“Oh, don’t worry. I am going to put them all in their place, that's for fucking sure.” Owen shoves his door open before adding, “I’m not hanging up my skates for anyone.”

With that, he disappears.

I’m numb as I step inside Kennedy’s apartment. I leave my heels by the door and shuffle to the couch, trying to wrap my brain around what just happened.

Owen’s last words echo in my head.

I touch my hand to my stomach and am on the verge of tears. But just before the dam breaks, the front door opens.

“Thanks for the ride, Lancelot. Now, go hang out with King Arthur, and I’ll see you—well, hopefully never.” Kennedy slams the door literally in Lance’s face. She turns and gives me an exasperated look before kicking her heels off.

I sniffle. “What did Lance ever do to you?”

“Unimportant.” She strides into the kitchen and pours the last of a bottle of merlot into a glass. “But what I want to know is where you ran off to tonight. One minute, I see you on the dance floor with Prince Charming?—”

“Can we not call him that?” I squeeze my eyes shut, fighting off a sudden headache.

Kennedy plops down on the couch beside me, wine glass and all. “—and the next, he’s on the stage and you’re MIA. Literally for the rest of the evening. What happened?”

God, what didn’t happen? That’s a better question.

“We left early because the press was getting nosy.”

“Oh, no… you mean people want to take pics of you and your hot as fucking Hades boyfriend while you glide around the dance floor like some fairytale dream? It must suck so much to be you, Callie Coleman.”

“Dating someone who is literally always in the spotlight isn’t easy,” I say defensively. Then I realize how stupid that sounds. The look she gives me also tells me how stupid that sounds.

“So you left during the ceremony?” she asks.

“Not exactly. I went to the bathroom, and when I was heading back to the ballroom, Miles stopped me.”

“Oh?”

“He was kind of a dick, Ken…”

She swallows a gulp of wine. “Miles? I’ve always thought he was one of the sweeter guys on the team. And that whole Noah Centineo look he’s got going on? Fuck me…”

“With the way he was acting towards me, he’d probably be open to it.”

“What does that mean?”

I swallow before going on. “He grabbed me and pulled me aside. At first, he was just being friendly but then it… escalated.”

“Miles was hitting on you?”

I didn’t want to tell Owen the truth. I’m not really his girlfriend, but as that little dance we just did in the hallway proves, I have no idea what is real and what isn’t anymore. I didn’t want to cause any trouble.

But this is Kennedy.

“Yeah. And when I tried to leave, he got kind of, like, aggressive. Luckily, Lance and your dad came out before anything happened, because I don’t know where it was going.”

She shakes her head in disbelief. “I’ve never known Miles to be that kind of guy. Maybe he was just drunk?”

“If he’s a handsy asshole when he drinks, then he shouldn’t drink.”

“Callie, he’s engaged,” she says, as if I’m the one who needs the reminder.

I blink. “I know.”

“He probably just had too much to drink and was pissy that Owen got to present the check and not him. I wouldn’t worry about it.” She puts her hand on my leg before going on in a softer tone. “I think you’re just jumpy because of Spencer. But Miles isn’t Spencer.” She stands up and holds out her hands, pulling me to my feet. “Now, let’s change out of these dresses into fat pants and order a pizza. This girl needs something besides aged gouda and caviar.”

I reluctantly follow her into her room. Miles definitely went too far, but maybe I am blowing it out of proportion.

I have been on edge ever since everything with Spencer went down. I’m still a little uncomfortable when a man offers to hold a door for me.

Then again, Owen had his arm wrapped around me most of the night, and I didn’t mind that at all.

I decide to shove it in the back of my mind. All of it. The evening was nice, and then it wasn’t, and then it was hella confusing. And now, it’s over.

I’d like to just forget about it, please and thanks.