Puck Prince (Houston Scythes Hockey #1)

38. Owen

38

OWEN

I spend most of the afternoon with Summer.

The goal was to talk about everything that’s been going on, but it didn’t take long to find out there haven’t been any weird notes taped to her door or suspicious calls or texts on her end—thank God.

Then again, that just makes it even more likely that the note taped to my door was about Callie.

Talk about a game with no winners. Either way, someone I care about is being harassed, and there’s almost nothing I can do about it.

My sister pokes and prods, trying to figure out what’s going on with me and Callie, but it’s easy enough to dodge her questions. Bizarrely, it’s the truth that set me free.

I have no fucking idea.

I like making her breakfast. I love having her in my bed. And on the couch. And in vacant closets.

But in terms of where this fake relationship train is going to stop, it’s anyone’s guess. For now, I’m just enjoying the ride—pun absolutely intended.

Once Summer accepts I’m Fort Knox where all things Callie are concerned, it turns into a slow day where I get to chat with Summer about things that don’t make me squirm with uncertainty and play with Nicky.

No one would ever dare call me paternal—least of all, me—but I love that baby more than life itself. Seeing that he and his mom are in a good place for the moment takes some of the pressure off my chest as I make my way into my building.

The keys to Callie’s new apartment jingling around in my pocket release even more pressure.

Like I said, there’s almost nothing I can do about the fact she’s being harassed. But I can keep her close. I can keep her safe.

And right now, living next to me, she’s safe. Once things cool down or I kill the man hounding her—whichever comes first—the apartment across town will be a nice option for her. Until then, I’ll hold onto her keys and sleep easy at night.

As I unlock my front door, ready to break out a six-pack and veg out on the couch, I’ve got the world on a fucking string.

Then I push the door open.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” The question slugs me in the face the moment I walk inside.

Callie is standing in the entryway, wearing the jersey she stole from my closet this morning, I can’t help but notice. I also can’t help but notice her hands fisted on her hips. Her eyes are boiling.

“How’d you get in here?” Here I am worried about Callie’s security, meanwhile my place is Swiss cheese.

“You left your balcony unlocked.”

My eyes ping from her to the open balcony door and back again. “So you acrobatted from one balcony to the other? Jesus, Callie, are you insane?”

She marches towards me, jabbing a finger into my chest. “Answer my question.”

“What question?”

“How dare you?” she seethes. “I called the apartment complex today to sign the lease, but I couldn’t. Do you know why?” Her voice is dripping with rage and patronizing sarcasm. I think we both know I know exactly why. “Because someone else already rented it out.”

I step around her, heading to the kitchen for that beer. “Did they say who?”

“My ‘boyfriend.’”

I crack the bottle open. “Hmm. Sounds like a decent guy. You should really keep him around. Maybe say ‘thank you’ once in a while, greet him naked in the doorway… that kinda thing.”

“He’s a controlling asshole!” Callie spits. “Why did you do that, Owen?”

I take a sip, letting the 7% ABV wash over my nerves before engaging in battle. “I did it to keep you safe.”

“That’s why I wanted the apartment. To keep myself safe. Because—and I’ll say this nice and slow since it might be a foreign concept for you—” She leans in, leveling me with a withering glare. “I can take care of myself.”

I make the wise decision to keep my mouth shut as I step around her and plop down on the couch. I take a second pull from my beer, cross my ankles on the coffee table, and turn the game on.

She slides between me and the television, her body silhouetted against the glowing screen, blocking The Stars game. “Why couldn’t you just stay out of it?”

“Tell me his name.”

“No!”

“That’s why I can’t stay out of it.”

“Owen!”

“Callie,” I deadpan back to her. “You and my sister keep your secrets. You let dangerous assholes walk around the world with all the information they need to make your lives hell, but you won’t give me what I need to ensure they can’t. So, I have to take matters into my own hands.”

“You literally don’t need to take anything into your hands. I don’t need your protection!” She enunciates every word, sending them across the room like bullets.

It makes me want to take her into my hands.

The woman is frustrating as all get out, but she looks good when she’s mad at me.

“ ‘You can’t protect her forever.’ ” I recite the letter from memory. “ Is that note as burned into your memory as it is mine? Because I wake up in a cold sweat thinking about it, Cal. I can’t just pretend it didn’t happen.”

“You can pretend to be my boyfriend and sign a lease for me, but you can’t pretend to be my neighbor, who isn’t actually my boyfriend at all, and— oh, wait , no pretending required! You aren’t my boyfriend and you don’t need to do a damn thing to take care of me.” She’s reaching dog whistle levels of anger, but I feel every single word. “You’re real picky and choosy with what you can and can’t pretend.”

I shift on the couch so I can see around her. “Are you done yet?”

Callie grabs the remote before I can swipe it away from her and turns off the game.

I am not amused. “Give. Me. The. Remote.”

“Give me the keys.” She holds out her hand.

“No.”

She glares.

I glare back.

Then she shrugs. “Fine.”

With that, she marches over to the balcony door.

“What are you—Callie, don’t you dare!” I leap off the couch, stopping just inside the door while she holds the remote over the edge.

It’s a hostage situation.

“Woman, I swear to fucking God…”

“Give me the keys.”

“Give me the remote first.”

She laughs. “Do you think I’m stupid?”

I narrow my eyes. “Same question.”

“How do I know that if I give you the remote, you won’t just go back to your couch?”

I press one hand to my heart and hold the other a Scout’s Honor sign. “I’m sorry, Callie. Come back inside, and I’ll give you the keys. I promise.”

She scrutinizes my face for several long seconds before she slowly steps away from the balcony and back into my apartment. She gingerly holds the remote out to me.

I snatch it from her grip. “Cool, thanks.”

“Hey!” She tugs on the back of my shirt as I go back to the couch. “You promised!”

“I promised I’d give you the keys, yes. Crucially, I didn’t say when I’d give you the keys.” I sip my beer through a smile.

I get half a second to enjoy my victory before Callie is literally flying through the air at me.

The last thing I see is her hurtling towards me, hair whipping and wild, and then she’s everywhere. She’s on top of me, wrestling around in my pockets, her small, hot little hands sliding all over my body.

“Are you fucking crazy!?” I shout, almost cackling at the absurdity of it all.

“It’s my apartment!” she shrieks.

We are in an all-out brawl as she tries to find the keys, and I try to restrain her. It’s easier said than done, though. She’s small, but she’s slippery.

I roll on top of her, pinning her to the cushions with my body in what is quickly becoming my new favorite view. But she brings her knee up between my legs.

Just before she can shatter the family jewels, I roll off of her with a grunt. I land on my back, knocking the wind out of myself, which is only compounded when Callie falls on my chest. Despite the many curves I can’t stop dreaming about, she’s all elbows and knees as she clambers around on top of me, still searching for the damned keys.

“Hey! You can— Would you knock it off? Just let me—” I snag her wrists in one hand and shout, “You can have the keys when I know you’re safe!”

She rolls off of me, landing on her back on the carpet. We’re both panting, staring up at the ceiling.

“So you’re really not letting me into my apartment?” she asks.

“Not until I know who this guy is and make sure he’s not after you. Once that’s cleared up, I’ll let you have the keys.”

“And until then?”

“You stay where you are. Where I can see you and protect you.”

Saying it out loud, it sounds even better than I thought it would. I want to see Callie more. Who saw that coming?

Callie sits up, looking down at me. “You can’t be serious.”

“I’m perfectly serious.” I hook an arm behind my head, showing her exactly how at ease I am with this decision.

“I can’t keep living with Kennedy!”

“Why not?”

“Because I’m—” She stops, her jaw working back and forth. “Because I’m sleeping on a pull-out couch. My clothes are still in a suitcase. I need more space. Privacy.”

I sit up, resting my back against the couch. “Move in with me, then.”

The words are out of my mouth before I can think about them, but I don’t regret them. Actually, I think it’s a fucking genius idea.

She rolls her eyes. “Yeah, right. Why are you doing this to me?”

“Because I care about you.”

Yet again, the words slip out before I can think them through. And yet again, I can’t find it in myself to regret them. Even when Callie’s face pales.

“You’re serious.” It’s not a question, so I don’t bother answering.

I’ve never lived with a woman I wasn’t related to before, but I can picture it with Callie. Nights watching TV on the couch, sleeping in my bed, making coffee and breakfast in the morning. We could start carpooling to work and save the environment. This arrangement would be good for the planet.

“Owen…” She huffs out a breath. “Even if we were dating for real—which we aren’t—living together is a big deal. My uncle almost fired me because we went on a date. If people knew we were living together, they’d all say we are rushing things.”

“Rushing things?” I snort out a laugh. “Callie, we fucked an hour after we met. I don’t think standard relationship timelines apply to us.”

“Because we aren’t in a standard relationship! This—” She gestures back and forth from me to her and back again. “—was supposed to be a one-night stand. If this was a standard one-night stand, I’d never see you again. Or, if I did, I’d pretend I didn’t and walk very quickly in the other direction. You were supposed to blow me off, not invite me to move in!”

“And you were supposed to stay away from hockey players, yet here we are. We work in the same building, go to the same parties, travel together.” I toss up my hands. “Fuck, we might as well just live together.”

She shakes her head. “No. Not gonna happen.”

I only thought of the idea thirty seconds ago, but I’m committed to it now.

“It makes our relationship look more convincing, and honestly, if the nameless perp thinks we are moving this quickly, maybe he’ll back the fuck off.”

“Don’t count on it.” She looks down, defeated.

“Why not?”

“Because he doesn’t stop,” she grits. “He doesn’t listen or care. He just… He takes what he wants.”

“You're still afraid of him.” She opens her mouth to argue—surprise, surprise—but I lean forward, resting my forearms on my knees. “You can lie to yourself about it, Callie, but you can’t lie to me. I can see it.”

She visibly swallows. “And you think us living together will actually help?”

“I don’t know. But I do know that I can’t help you if you’re twenty minutes away.”

As I watch her mull it over, I realize I don’t know anything about Callie. I mean, I know what she tastes like and how she likes to be touched, but that’s only an—unfortunately—small percentage of what it means to live with someone.

For all I know, she’ll keep thirty-seven half-empty shampoo bottles in my shower and hog the TV to watch Desperate Housewives. Is that a risk I’m willing to take?

One look at her, sitting on the floor, defeated and scared, and I know the answer.

If it means keeping her safe, I’m very willing to take that risk. In fact, I’m willing to do just about anything for this girl.

“Listen.” I ease closer, making sure she isn’t going to jump me again before I touch her knee. “It doesn’t have to be anything official. Just bring your clothes and whatever else you have at Kennedy's over, and if there’s anything else you need, we can get that, too.”

“What if I have, like, a giant stuffed animal collection that takes up half the living room?” she blurts.

I eye her skeptically. “Do you?”

“No. But what if I leave my clothes everywhere? Or clog the bathroom drain with hair? Or have hand towels that are only for decoration and threaten to light you on fire if you so much as dry a finger on one of them?”

The only thing scarier than that list is that I’m not sure any of it would be a deal breaker.

“Do you do any of those things?”

“No, but?—”

“Then I think we’ll be okay.”

Callie sighs. “I don’t know… This feels crazy.”

“Medical emergency,” I blurt.

She sits up, scanning me for injuries. “What are you talking about?”

“I’ve been too checked out worrying about you and it’s bad for my game. If you live here, I’ll worry about you less, and then I won’t get ransacked by the offense and destroy the career I’ve spent my entire life building from the ground up.”

“Owen.” She’s not amused, but I run with it.

“As my PT, it is your job to do what is best for me and my performance. And it’s in my best interests as an athlete for you to live here so I can focus on the game and not on protecting you from creeps. You have to move in with me. Reverse doctor’s orders.”

She opens her mouth to say something, but bites her lip instead.

It’s not often Callie Coleman doesn’t have a comeback, but I got her there.

I arch an eyebrow, my lips tugged into a grin.

Callie can’t help smiling, too. “Alright. You know what? Fuck it. I’ll move in.”

“It’s about time.” I finish off my beer and head to the fridge for another.

“But it’s not a real move in.”

“Got it.”

“Because you’re not my real boyfriend,” she points out.

“Not even close.”

“And as soon as this whole thing blows over, you have to give me the keys.”

“I’ll be counting down the minutes.”

She’s in the middle of my living room— our living room, as of twenty-five seconds ago—staring at me like she’s waiting for the formal documentation. When none comes, she sighs. “I’m going to go talk to Kennedy.”

What I wouldn’t give to be a fly on the wall for that conversation. If I’m lucky, maybe she’ll leave the balcony door open again.

“See ya later, roomie!”

“There’s still time to change my mind,” she warns as she slams the door behind her.

I sit back down on the couch, the second beer in hand, a smile on my face.

She was right: this seems nuts. I’m a little worried I’ve lost my mind. Hell, maybe I have. But this is nothing compared to the way I’d lose my mind if something happened to her.

Callie may be able to deny how scared she is, but that note taped to my door scared the shit out of me. That the guy had the balls to show up at Pour Boys makes my skin crawl and my blood boil.

Guys who pull shit like that don’t give up. He’ll get more and more aggressive until he gets what he wants, no matter the cost. I know—I’ve been around men like that my whole life.

Well, two can play that game. He wants Callie, and I want nothing more than to keep her safe.

This is a game he is not going to want to play with me, that’s for damn sure.