Chapter 4

CHAPTER 4

COREY

A few days later…

I didn't know what the hell possessed me to write that first note to Oliver after practice, but ever since, we passed them back and forth. He'd give me one after my morning skate, and I'd slip him one right after pregame warm-ups.

"Check the edge on your skate. It's not cutting like it should.

O"

"Your joints are going to hate you if you don't cushion more. Hale goes to hot yoga. It's going to save your hips and increase your breathing technique for stamina.

C"

"Are you concerned about my stamina, Blue?

O."

"Sometimes stamina wins games. Try it. You'll recover faster, too.

C."

The next day, I overheard Hale talking to him about the hot yoga class they took the night before. I kept walking, but not before Oliver slipped another note into my hand. Our fingers brushed, and I had to bite my lip to stop myself from sighing at the contact.

"I bet you'd look good in a #25 jersey. Just a thought.

O"

Tips. Tricks. And flirting.

It was a dangerous game, but I couldn't stop myself.

Three games into the series, and the Revenge were on fire. Oliver lit up the ice at practice, and every misogynistic, backhanded compliment I'd been given in the past week and a half faded away. I smirked. Max took Kellan Horne's suggestion to bring Lena Rossetti in to consult with Sutton after asking my opinion, too. Lena had helped me transition from player to where I was now, but she understood the spotlight and pressures that came with the spotlight. Sometimes the transition was tougher than rookies thought. The ice loomed bigger, the pace was faster, and the pressure was unlike anything they'd experienced.

I'd also avoided being alone or running into Oliver as much as I could. But somehow, every time I attended practice, which was more and more because of the playoffs, my eyes found him on the ice. No matter how I tried to time it so we wouldn't run into one another, the rookie somehow ended up in the hallway at the same time before and after. A smirk on his face, sweet and far too…sexy. My breath caught every time we locked eyes. Sparks leapt between us, but I did my best to ignore the allure and heat that hit me like a slap shot.

Those little notes were going to catch on fire if we kept this up.

The attraction between us was palpable and the longer I tried to deny it didn't exist, the more it stole my breath. It didn't help that I hadn't had sex in almost two years and the solo self-care time wasn't cutting it anymore.

I wanted Oliver Sutton. Badly.

Yesterday I hid in the bathroom for half an hour, answering emails and checking scouting reports for trades and free agency.

Successfully avoiding Oliver, and making a clean getaway before practice ended.

No notes, no temptation.

And I showed up too late to catch him in the hallway after warm-ups.

Resisting Oliver was becoming harder and harder with each note. Each brush of our fingertips. And I didn't know how much longer I could hold out.

Tonight's game against Boston wasn't a must-win, but if they did, it meant a few extra days' rest before they met either Montreal or St. Louis. My money was on the Triumph.

Jackson's team had an issue maintaining momentum.

Ironically enough.

Fate had other plans, or so it seemed. Oliver couldn't focus as his pace faltered, the puck flying past him. Kas missed an easy shot, and Hale was scored on twice in the first ten minutes of the period.

Almost as if the past three games had been a fluke.

"Maybe we brought him up too soon," Coach Vaughn muttered, eyeing the ice, gritting his teeth as his jaw worked. "Line change!" Frederickson leaned over and said something in his ear. "Maybe the first few games were a fluke."

The noise in the arena reached a deafening level as the play clock hit 10 seconds left in the period as the puck flipped over the glass and out of play.

My heart sank. "He's ready, I'm sure of it." Oliver Sutton was gelling with the team, but there was a confidence level he could only get from ice time with Kas' line. Which he needed, even if the next few games were crucial to our playoff berth chances. "He's passing and seeing the plays. They just need a rhythm." I glanced at Max. Max and I had the unique perspective of going through what every player had since joining the league. Finding chemistry with your line. "It wasn't a fluke. It's nerves." I jerked my chin towards the ice. He's trying too hard and not letting himself feel the rhythm."

Something was missing. I just couldn't put my finger on it.

"Did someone mess with his pregame?" Frederickson asked, dead serious.

If hockey players were anything, it was superstitious as hell.

Oh no.

Pregame.

I ran into Oliver before every game since he was called up. Slipped him a note.

Shit. Did I mess up his routine?

"Thank fuck," Max muttered as the buzzer sounded, signaling the end of the first period. The team trudged down the hall toward the locker room. I hung back, just inside the tunnel, waiting. When the rookie player passed by, I reached out and grabbed his arm, tugging him back with me in the opposite direction the rest of them were headed.

No easy feat, considering he was a solid wall of muscle. At 5' 9" I wasn't petite, but Oliver towered over me by at least six inches. Plus he was on skates.

"What?" he asked, looking down at me through the clear visor on his helmet, brows drawn together.

"Did I mess up your routine?" I asked, searching his face and ignoring how my body reacted to his nearness. How the hell did he smell good after being on the ice?

"My what?"

I tugged further down the hall and hissed, "Did I mess up your pregame routine by being late?"

The flush on his cheeks confirmed my suspicions. "Shit," I muttered. I lifted my gaze to his. "Why didn't you tell me?"

Oliver stepped in close, heat radiating between our bodies. "Tell you what, Blue? That seeing you in the hallway before a game is the highlight of my day? That I love seeing the way you blush when I stare too long? Or that the only sound I want to hear is your voice saying something as simple as ‘Hi' so everything settles down, and it's only you and the game?"

I opened my mouth and shut it again.

His breathing quickened, and I swallowed thickly, unable to respond.

"That reading your notes, knowing you took the time to write them, that you were watching me, made my game better?"

He stilled, studying my face. I sucked in a breath as he pulled off his glove and swept a lock of hair behind my ear. Fingers brushing my cheek.

"Yeah, you messed up my routine." He crossed his arms over his chest, looking like he was more disappointed with himself than the fact that I messed up something so important.

I knew better than anyone how important those pregame rituals were to put you in the right frame of mind. My hands covered my mouth. "Oliver, I am so sorry."

He studied me for a second, working his jaw. "Make it up to me."

I cocked my head. "How?"

Oliver pointed his stick toward the ice. "I'll go back out there, reset, if," he licked his bottom lip, and God, the way it made my insides melt, "you go on a date with me."

I jerked back like I'd been burned. "Date?"

A voice called down the hall. "Sutton! Locker room!"

He waved his stick. "Yep. Reset."

"We can't-"

"I'm not asking you to marry me, Corey. One date. To make up for missing you in the hallway. Send it out into the Universe and reset my juju."

Frederickson called as he neared. "Sutton, now."

I glanced between them. The player and the coach. One, a colleague who might see us together and make it seem like more than it was, and the other the man I wanted to make more with. No matter how wrong it felt.

"Fine. Just get out there and fucking play, rookie."

He grinned, backing away. "I knew you saw something you liked that day."

Ass.

Kas' line hit the ice, and it was as if they'd been playing together longer than a week. The magic from the previous three games filled the arena. I sat next to Sophia, Max's girlfriend, and Jules, Vaughn's fiancee, shoving soft pretzels in my mouth to stave off any nerves.

Down on the ice, Oliver looked like the hockey player I scouted a few weeks back, and not the out-of-control rookie from the first period. I preened, and my body tingled with anticipation because Puck Boy had his mojo back.

Damn superstitious hockey players.

Kas' line dominated the ice, working in tandem as if they'd been together for much longer than a few games. Something unheard of on the ice. But Kas knew the stakes were high, and the guy was dating the coach's little sister. Which probably made him not want to fuck anything up. Plus, he was an All Star with plenty of reasons to be cocky. The skills competition earlier this season had been the highlight of my year, to be honest. There was something about watching players let loose and have fun. Even Noah LeCavalier got in on the craziness. The Triumph goalie had a special jersey made and donated money for every goal that got past him. Of course, the wingers and centers refused to be outdone, and matched his donation amount. Which meant it turned into less of a block the shot and more of most-creative-goal shoot-out competition.

The girls chatted and laughed, cheered and booed with me, but most of the period flew by in one big blur. And when I left at the buzzer, they both waved and invited me to go to Hari's with them soon.

My stomach grumbled at the thought of the Indian Fusion restaurant, but then the butterflies settled in as I realized what I had done.

I agreed to go on a date with Oliver Sutton.

The rookie I scouted for the draft and pushed to have called up. Ten years younger than me. I made my way back to the suite, checking in before heading to the ice for the last few minutes of the period. At least they won the game 5 to 3, and swept the series. And as the team celebrated on the ice, Oliver caught my eye.

I was in so much trouble.

Next practice, less than a day and half later, there was a note on my windshield.

"Good thing we have a few days off. Date night. Don't forget, Blue. I know I won't. I want you to teach me…everything.

O."

The next morning, after my run, I answered the slew of texts on my phone. My knee decided me not sticking to the feel good and keep healthy routine needed to stop, so I woke up early and did hot yoga before running on the treadmill before heading to the training facility. I usually took advantage of the rink being empty and skated a bit to keep my mobility, but part of me was terrified I'd run into Oliver. Saying I'd go on a date and doing it were two different things.

MEL: Details. I need details.

COREY: Nothing to tell, nosy pants.

MEL: FIRST DATE SINCE LOSING THE LOSER.

COREY: He wasn't a loser.

MEL: …

COREY: Ok, maybe a little.

After a quick shower, I texted Mel back, who was getting married in a few weeks, and wrangled me into being her bridesmaid/maid of honor. It didn't take much.

COREY: Fine. A lot. But I am no longer ‘people pleasing'.

MEL: Unless it's me. And mystery date man. Ooh. What about dick pleasing? Or getting pleased by the dick.

Man? I would never live this down. Come on, Corey. Ten years isn't that bad.

COREY: I can't believe we're friends.

MEL: You love me.

COREY: Fine.

MEL: Details. Or else you'll be wearing a Hawaiian print muumuu instead of the hot pink sexy beach dress at the wedding.

I huffed out a breath and started my car before syncing it so I could be hands free and do my best not to get into an accident. "Call Mel."

She picked up before the phone even rang. "Seriously, if you don't spill, I'll cry. Real tears. Passing notes? It's like Mr. Darcy level material."

I rolled my eyes, even though she couldn't see. "You can't fool me. Number one, tears are for Kev, not your maid of honor. Unless I need to fly down early to take care of business. And two, you would never subject your best friend or your future children to looking at wedding pictures of bridesmaids in muumuus. The nice gene is way too prevalent in you. And how is this Darcy?"

Mel, my best friend and sorority big sister, giggled. "But the thought is amusing as hell. Fingers brushing level Darcy. And hey, avoid much? Please, distract me from all the insanity. Kev is trying to convince Brett to be his best man, but he's being an ass."

I rolled my eyes as I changed lanes on the freeway. Trucks freaked me out, but trucks with logs or lumber or any kind of wood haphazardly strapped on a flatbed? There was no way I was going to go all ‘Final Destination'.

"And you're surprised by this?" Successful avoidance of the finger brushing sexiness thing. Because if I thought about how much that simple touch made my entire body alive, I might do something…like teach him. All the things.

Her sigh was loud and sad. "I just wish he would find someone that shuts down the revolving door. But," she added in a mischievous tone, " your revolving door needs to be activated! You can't text me you're going on a date with finger brushing sexiness, then leave me hanging. Not allowed."

"I've never had a revolving door."

"More like a doggy door. Or a dryer vent."

She wasn't wrong. Before Jackson, I went on a total of three dates. One, to prom when my mother insisted because she wanted to have one ‘girl' moment with me, which was total bullshit posturing. The second to a frat party so my roommate at college didn't get roofied. And the third was so abysmal that I almost swore off men forever until Jackson.

Never go to a bookstore with a guy who will tell you everything wrong with every damn book you pick up and make fun of the covers, who then takes you through the McDonald's drive thru but makes you pay.

"Doggy door?"

"Stop stalling."

I glared at the truck as I passed it. "Oliver Sutton. And Darcy was older. Oliver is younger. Younger."

Silence.

One beat.

Two.

Three.

"MEL!"

"Oliver? Sutton?"

The cringe worked its way up my body, cheeks flaming hot and my ear setting themselves on fire. "Yes?" I squeaked.

"Oh, Corey Alexander, you'd better get back in the damn saddle or net or whatever damn hockey euphemism you feel works before my wedding because I'm going to need details! Wait, does this mean you're a cougar?"

"This is why I didn't want to tell you," I moaned.

Two more miles and I could end the call on the premise that I was at work and save myself from any further humiliation.

"Oh, no. This is good. That boy has the sweetest dimples, and the abs?" She moaned like her favorite dessert was in front of her. "If you don't-"

"I work with him, Mel! I can't complicate things like that. And he wants me to teach him… everything . He's ten years younger than me."

"Age gap is sexy. Besides, he won't want to settle down, and you can get under him to get over Jackson. Teach him? Wait, is he a virgin ? Do. It. Imagine the women who will thank you later, Corey Alexander." Her tone softened. "Stop panicking and enjoy yourself, Corey. For once, do what you want to do, and not what everyone else expects."

My blood boiled when I thought of another woman with Oliver. Multiple women thanking me? Even worse. Who knew I had my very own little green monster? The parking lot was half full when I pulled in, and as I parked, part of me wanted to run away. The other part could just wait while I figured out what the hell I was doing, even agreeing to go on a date with him.

"I'm-"

"Don't even lie to me. Muumuu," she warned.

I chuckled, and then whispered, and promised to call her later. Still smiling, I slipped my phone into my pocket. And realized I parked right next to Oliver's Jeep.

Guess that other part of me had plans of her own. I scribbled a quick note on a scrap piece of paper, slid it under his wiper blade.

One date. What could it hurt?