Puck Prince (Houston Scythes Hockey #1)

37. Callie

37

CALLIE

I wake up to the smell of coffee and bacon. My eyes flutter open, squinting against the sunlight slicing between the venetian blinds. I prop myself up and it only takes me a second to remember where I am.

The sheets that smell like spice and sex. The pleasant kind of soreness I feel in every part of my body.

Owen’s room.

I recap everything from yesterday. The apartment. The closet of said apartment (good Lord…). Snuggling in Owen’s bed.

I smile.

I sit up, stretching my arms over my head. I’m naked in Owen Sharpe’s bed at—I check the time on my phone—8 a.m. It’s kind of a dream, and I can’t help but wonder if any of this is real. If it isn’t, let me live in delusion.

I slide out of bed and pad into his closet, snagging one of his many hockey jerseys. It falls to my mid-thigh and the sleeves hang down to my fingertips. I’m never giving it back.

After checking my hair in the mirror to confirm it’s a frazzled disaster, too far gone to be helped, I make my way into the kitchen.

And promptly slam to a stunned stop in the doorway. Owen’s words from yesterday slip out of my mouth. “Well, that’s one way to say, ‘Good morning.’”

Owen is standing at the stove, wearing literally nothing except an apron. I’m blessed to be standing behind him, so I have two firm, plump pieces of proof that he is full-on commando. Spatula in hand, he spins around. “Do you like your bacon crispy or oinking?”

It’s taking me a moment to process the question because the apron reads You’ll be Putting My Meat In Your Mouth Later.

“Wow. Just… wow.” I wave my hand over the apron.

“Yeah, the guys bought it for me for my birthday last year ‘cause I’m always the one manning the grill at barbecues.”

My eyes pop. “Like this?”

He turns back to the stove, flashing me an ass so tight it should be illegal. “No, this is for your eyes only, Callie girl. And mouth… if you’d like to make this apron a reality.”

I’d like to make a lot of fantasies swirling around in my head a reality, but I play it cool. “I don’t know about that.”

Owen fakes disappointment. “Damn. Well, what about a kiss for the cook at least?”

I step onto my tiptoes. “That, I can do.”

We kiss for a moment before he pulls away. “Since you didn’t answer the question fast enough, it smells like it’s going to be crispy,” He pulls the skillet from the burner, grease popping.

“Perfect.” I grab a mug and pour myself a cup of coffee, relishing the warmth.

I never thought I’d be a domesticated one. It’s not that I didn’t want that—I mean, waking up to a handsome man cooking you breakfast isn’t exactly torture—but after my parents and Spencer and all the ugly turns my life has taken, I kinda assumed there was a low ceiling on how good my life could get.

But now, it seems so possible. It seems within reach: happiness.

I could get used to this.

“Now, how do you like your eggs? Scrambled? Over-easy? Fertilized?” He wags his brows as he tosses an egg into the air and catches it. “Please say ‘scrambled.’”

My smile fades as my stomach turns. I thought it was a myth that eggs make pregnant women nauseous. But it very much is not.

“Actually, do you have any avocados?”

He snaps his fingers. “I should have known you were an avocado toast girl. Coming right up.”

I sit on one of the barstools and watch Owen glide around the kitchen. Usually he’s a bit of a black cat, but today he’s all golden retriever. It’s not a bad look on him, honestly.

He finishes making breakfast and sets my plate down in front of me.

“Thank you.” I have to admit, I’m pretty impressed. It’s toasted sourdough with avocado mash, featuring halved cherry tomatoes, goat cheese crumbles, and Everything But the Bagel seasoning. Plus a side of crispy bacon, of course.

“What about you?” I ask. “Aren’t you going to eat?”

“I will, but I’m going to put on some clothes first. Naked cooking is sexy. Naked eating is repulsive.”

I can’t help but giggle at that. Owen kisses me on top of the head before heading to his room.

For a few seconds, I just sit here, stunned.

I’ve kissed Owen before. Several times. Long, sloppy, steamy kisses that led to all kinds of other activities much more intimate than kissing.

Except, he just casually kissed the top of my head as he passed.

It wasn’t a kiss that was leading anywhere. There was no ulterior motive.

It was casual affection for no other reason.

It’s… relationshippy.

And confusing.

I bite into the toast and, thankfully, it’s delicious enough to side-track me.

Owen reappears in jeans and a t-shirt. “So, what’s on the agenda today?”

I chew and swallow. “I’m going to call the apartment complex to get the ball rolling. I’m so ready to sign the lease.”

“Living there will be good for you,” he agrees, making himself a plate.

I’m already almost done with my food. It’s that good. “What about you?”

“Gonna go check in with Summer.” He sits with his plate on the stool next to mine. His knee touches mine under the bartop.

“I think she should know about the note. And I also want to make sure that her ex hasn’t tried anything stupid lately. I really want to get to the bottom of all of this bullshit.” His face darkens as he says it, the golden retriever in him disappearing for a moment to make way for a snarling, angry beast underneath.

And if I’m being honest…

It’s kind of hot.

Then I smile before popping the last bite of toast into my mouth.

“What?” he asks.

I dust my hands off and shake my head. “Nothing. I just think it’s kind of ridiculous that I was jealous of your sister, before I knew she was your sister. But now, knowing how much she and Nicky mean to you and seeing what you do for them… I don’t know.”

“You don’t know what?” He grins while he chews.

“It’s sweet,” I shrug. “And it’s… I don’t know.” Blushing, I get up, grabbing my things.

But before I can make my way to the door, he grabs my arm. “Not so fast. Finish that sentence. It’s sweet and what?”

“Fine,” I groan, letting my head tip back. “It’s hot.”

He kisses the column of my throat. “Oh, yeah? How hot?”

I roll my eyes and shove against his chest. “I’m leaving.”

“Are you sure that’s what you want? Because I have a few minutes to spare. My closets are even bigger than the one at your new complex.”

I reluctantly extricate myself from him. “Say hi to Summer for me, okay?”

“She can wait…”

“Bye, Owen!” I walk out and close the door before he can say anything else that makes me want to stay.

Because I am right on the edge of locking us both in that closet and staying there forever.

I have a goofy smile on my face when I walk back into Kennedy’s apartment. It quickly fades when I see her sitting at the table, frowning down at the coffee mug in her hand.

“It’s too early to be that serious. What happened?”

“I keep thinking about the other night at Pour Boys.”

Weird, I keep trying not to think about the other night at Pour Boys.

“Oh? What about it?”

“Did you recognize the guy I was dancing with? It was right before you and Owen ran out?”

My heart catapults into my throat. “Why do you ask?”

“Owen asked about him. The night you two went home together, he came over later and had some questions.”

Of course he did. I knew he couldn’t leave it alone.

“The way he was asking, it just felt like he knew something. Maybe something I don’t.” Kennedy turns to me. “Is there something you aren’t telling me?”

There are a dozen somethings I’m not telling her, but this secret could put her at danger. I should’ve told her that night. I should’ve matched across the bar and ripped her out of Spencer’s arms.

As penance for not doing that, I blurt out the truth now. “It was Spencer.”

Kennedy’s jaw drops to the table in horror. “It was— Spencer Spencer . Like, your Spencer? Well, he’s not your Spencer, but… Your Spencer?! ”

All I can do is nod.

“Callie!” she shrieks.

“I know.”

“Why the fuck didn’t you say anything? I would’ve… punched him in the dick or something.”

I take a deep breath and join her at the table. “Honestly, I was in shock. I saw him and it took my brain a moment to process it. I thought it was a nightmare. And then I just… panicked.”

“But you still could’ve told me,” she protests. “You could’ve texted me. Or come home and said something. Callie, I wouldn’t have gotten within a hundred feet of the guy if I knew it was him!”

“It’s not your fault; it’s mine.” I say. “You’re right: I should have said something. If anything, because he’s a creep and a horrible human being, and you could have gotten hurt. I was worried you were going to go home with him. Or bring him back here.”

She looks disgusted. “Not a chance. I mean, the guy was good-looking and all, but he gave off seriously bad vibes. I couldn’t pinpoint it at the time. But now, I know why.”

“I’m sorry.” I put my arm around her, and she hugs me back. I want to leave it there, but I have to ask. “Did he say anything about me?”

“Nope. He just came up and asked to dance. We didn’t even talk.” She rotates her mug in circles on the table.

“I guess he didn’t need to ask about me. He already knows everything he needs to know—where I live. Where I work. Who I’m dating.” I get a chill up my spine just stating the obvious.

“Is that why you’re leaving me?” she pouts.

“Kind of. If I move across town, it’ll be harder for him to find me. And it’ll keep you safe, too. I’d never forgive myself if anything ever happened to you, Kenny.”

“I know,” she sniffs. “I just wish you didn’t have to move out.”

“I tell you what: we can have girls' nights. My new place has an amazing balcony and so much room. You should come see it!”

“Are you already under contract?”

“Pretty much. They agreed to hold it until I made a decision, but I’m going to call them right now.” I pull out my phone and dial the number. While it rings, I turn back to her. “Also, it’s unfurnished. I’m going to need help?—”

“Shopping?” Kennedy bolts up. “Girl, why didn’t you say so?! All is forgiven. I’ll go hop in the shower real quick. We’ll go to World Market and HomeGoods—oh, and Ashley because they have a retro line out now, which is so 70s chic and…”

The property manager answers the phone, and I turn away from Kennedy to focus.

“Hello! Hi. Yes, this is Callie Coleman. I looked at the two-bedroom condo on the third floor yesterday?”

“Callie, yes! I was hoping you would call.” That must mean she doesn’t know what Owen and I got up to in the walk-in.

“I thought it over, and I am in love. I'm ready to move in ASAP. Just show me where to sign the papers!” I’m giddy as I smile into the phone.

“Oh. Well… Hmmm. That’s interesting.”

At no point in history has that response been good news. “I’m sorry?”

“The paperwork has already been filled out.”

“It has?” My heart plummets. “Someone signed for it?”

“Yes. Early this morning. It’s under lease as of… an hour ago.”

The swell of hope in my chest deflates like a sad balloon.

“I thought you said I had forty-eight hours to sign the paperwork. That was the agreement.” I am trying not to yell. Or cry. Or reach through the phone, strangle her, and then steal the keys so I can go squat in the apartment and never leave.

“Yes, that was the agreement. But then it was signed for.”

“That’s the problem,” I grit out. “You let someone else sign the lease before I could.”

“If you’d like to co-sign with your boyfriend, I can try to work that out,” she says, sounding every bit as confused as I feel. “But it’s not necessary. The two of you have the apartment.”

I stop. “My…boyfriend?”

“Yes. The gentleman that was with you yesterday afternoon. Owen Sharpe? He is your boyfriend, right? I didn’t just lease the place out to a random guy, did I?”

No, but she did just lease it to a dead man.

“No,” I chirp with false cheer. “Nope, that’s my boyfriend, all right.”

“Alright. Well, great!” She sighs with audible relief. “He’s coming by to pick up the keys and then it’s all yours! Happy move-in day!”

Right. So, so happy.

I end the call and throw my phone across the room onto the sofa.

Owen is in so much trouble.