Chapter 6

Chapter Six

Craig

I had barely exited the coach's office when my brain finally got a tight hold on the situation. My feet stalled next to a snack machine.

That had been one of the hottest hookups of my entire life.

"Stupid, stupid, triple stupid," I growled softly then thunked my forehead into the glass of the snack machine. Four times. On the fifth thunk a bag of cheesy puffs fell to the tray. I took them, shoved two bucks into the tray, and ripped the bag open. What I needed now was comfort food and a swift kick in the ass. I shoved handfuls of cheesy goodness into my mouth, chewing aggressively, my thoughts a whirlwind. When would I learn? When would my stupid dick stop shoving into normal conversations with beautiful, smart men? Why did I do these things?

A soft clearing of a throat stole into the beatdown of myself. I jerked my head from the glass of the snack machine, spun, and found myself staring at Jamie. Had he gotten better-looking since I'd left him five minutes ago? Impossible. Yet not. His tie was a thin blue one that made his eyes sparkle and glow.

"Hey," I coughed out, sending orange powder into the air.

One side of his mouth twitched. "Enjoying those, are you?"

"Yeah, I always eat cheesy doodles after a workout." Damn it. That was a secret. No one should know about my cheesy doodle fixation. If the team dietician found out he would roast me like a sesame seed. But I had blurted it out because my mouth seemed to think that was something clever to say.

"I call them Wotsits," he announced with a nose wrinkle and then walked off. My gaze fell on his tight ass in those sexy khakis. An ass I'd ravaged at his request. An ass I would give up this bag of snacks and any future cheese puffs to sink into again. He glanced back just once, a lurid glance over a shoulder that screamed Follow me for more delights and I took two steps before common sense arrived to slap me in the face.

"I need help," I mumbled, shoved four Cheetos into my mouth, and jogged off to find a quiet place to call my sister. The video room was empty, so I ducked inside, flipped on the lights, saw a bright orange handprint on the switch, and then used my elbow to wipe it clean. My ass found a chair in front, the seat creaking as I sat. I wiped my fingers on my hoodie then pulled my phone out of the front pocket. I could care less if I had big streaks of cheese dust on my purple Storm hoodie. This was an emergency. I hit Claudia's contact button for a video call. No way in hell was I trying to type out the chaos in my head. I waited and ate more cheesy treats as the call rang through. When she picked up my cheeks were full. She pulled on her glasses—little wire-framed ones like John Lennon used to wear—and sighed dramatically.

"What's going on now?" she asked, the sound of her cute little voice making me feel less panicked.

"So, there's this man…"

" Craig …"

"I know." I pushed two doodles into my face and chewed then swallowed. "I'm so stupid."

"You are not stupid. When it comes to men you're just easily cock-blinded but otherwise you're damn smart. So, first stop using the S-word for yourself. You know we do not allow that word to be anywhere near us."

I loved her to bits. She was a little bitty thing, like a sprite or a pixie, with brown curls and chocolate eyes like mine. We'd been quite a good skating pair. I could fling her around with ease as she weighed less than my hockey bag. Neither of us had planned to make careers out of figure skating, so when I'd switched to hockey my sister had done solo for a few years and then went to college. She still skated recreationally when she could find the time. Claudia worked for a women's charity now, was single and loving it, and had a Chinese Crested Dog named Bruno.

Actually, Bruno was my dog. Leon had given him to me for our first anniversary and it had been love at first sight for me. Sadly, because of the break-up, Claudia was now his guardian. She loved him as much as I did and spoiled him rotten. Even though I knew he was in a good home I still missed him. Bruno and I had spent more than one night curled up together, him licking my face as I battled with tears and crushing self-doubt after a vicious verbal flailing from my ex.

I spoke to Bruno for a few minutes, him sat on Claudia's lap, and then he trotted off to sunbathe. I could relate to how Oliver felt having to leave his most precious possessions with someone else while he played hockey.

I'd felt terrible leaving him with her at first, but my travel schedule was terrible from September through June. My sister worked from home most of the time and was much better suited for a dog in terms of hours spent with the little stinker. I took over in the summer, spending my off time with her and Bruno hidden away in a small town in Michigan.

Hidden hopefully being the key word.

Because Leon wanted Bruno back—not because he loved Bruno, but because he wanted to hurt me.

"What's the second thing?"

"Whoever this brainiac loser is, distance yourself from him now." I couldn't meet her eyes. "Oh, Craig."

"I know. I really didn't mean to fall into this intellectual man trap again." I waved my orange fingers in the air. "He's just so cute, and smart, damn he's smart. He uses words that I have to Google like they were sprinkles on ice cream."

"Craig…"

"And he's funny. And British! You know I love foreign men."

"Craig…"

"And he's sexy. So sexy. He wears waistcoats like someone from a Jane Austen book. Like Mr. Darcy! You love Mr. Darcy. I love Mr. Darcy!"

"Craig…"

My lips were sticky with cheese dust but that didn't seem to slow the rush of words flowing past them.

"And yes, we might have hooked up a few nights back. And yes, it might have been the best sex ever, and yes I totally freaked out and ghosted him but now I'm wondering if I shouldn't have pulled that Casper routine because I still want to do him and maybe get to know him better while we?—"

"Craig!" The verbal onslaught skidded to a halt. "We are not doing this again. That is what you told me after Leon broke you into tiny bits. You told me to remind you of all the nasty shit that big-brained jerk did to you if you ever found yourself in this situation again."

"I know but…"

"You told me to step in and virtually or physically slap you if you ever even winked at a man with several degrees."

"I know but…"

"Craig Lewis Beaulieu, do not make me fly over from Michigan."

Man, for being so petite she was not one to be trifled with. "I won't."

"Good, then when we talk next I'll be seeing you without the telltale signs of man problems all over your chin, right?"

I wiped the back of my hand over my lips and chin. Oo, cheesy. "You're going to distance yourself from this guy before he can sink his academic claws into you, right?" I needed another bag. "You'll not see this man in any way, shape, or form. Right?"

"Hmm, oh, right. Well, no, not right. I kind of agreed to work with him on a science project about spirals and sports."

I winced at the huge, profane blast from such a sweet little woman. This call was going to be a lot longer—and louder—than I had expected. I totally needed more cheesy doodles.

The next few days were filled with worry and puffed cheese treats.

I'd eaten so many cheesy doodles I was beginning to fret over looking jaundiced. My mother liked to tell the story about when I was a baby I'd eaten so many bowls of strained carrots and squash over several months that she and my father thought I was jaundiced. That was going to be me soon. Craig Beaulieu, the pumpkin-faced player. I had no clue what Jamie was going to do to me in our first session. Maybe he would tie me down to a lab table and poke me with needles. No, that would be mean. Maybe he would tie me down to a lab table and have his way with me. He'd come in wearing a white lab coat and nothing else, then after I was secured to the gurney he would toss his lab coat aside but keep those sexy-as-sin glasses on as he climbed over me and sat on my cock. I'd be naked too, obviously.

"Hey, Booboo, you are drooling on the ice."

I crashed back to real life as the sound of Vlad Novikov's thickly accented Russian taunt tickled my ear. I threw a glower at the man they called Iceberg for his cold demeanor. He knew I hated him calling me Booboo. The dumb Arizona Raptor always got in my face. Why did we have to play them so frequently?

"Fuck off."

"Oh, such a clever tongue you have, Booboo." Iceberg chuckled roughly before nudging me aside to pick up the puck that his boyfriend Tate Collins had won in the faceoff. Sure, the Russian was big, but I had speed. I juked around him at center ice, stole the puck by lifting his stick, and passed it to our captain who took a quality shot at goal on Colorado Penn. The Raptors fans cheered the nice save by their rock-star goalie as we went back to the bench for a TV timeout. We'd flown into Tucson last night, had a nice light practice this morning, and spent a few hours in the desert. I'd been told the heat and sand would calm me, but it didn't. All it did was make me sweat and burn the back of my neck. When we returned to LA in three days—we had a quick trip down to Dallas for a game—Jamie would be waiting to do things to me. With me. With. Me.

I seriously needed to get my shit together. It was the middle of the season, and we were in third place. We needed every point we could get. Porn-dreaming about a scientist on the ice was going to get me benched for sure. Coach was not pleased with my plus-minus numbers over the past couple of games. I'd been on the ice for four goals against. Not good. And it was all because of Jamie Hennessy and his lab coat. Did he even wear one? And if not, if I asked would he consider it?

"Nice defensive work on Novikov," our new associate coach, Mike Trayson, said as he pounded on my shoulder pads. Mike was a good guy, firm but kind, with a solid background coaching both the pros and minor league teams. "That's what we like to see. Speed and determination."

"Thanks, Coach," I panted, taking a mouthful of water then rinsing my mouth free of the lactic acid build-up. I spat on the mat between my skates. "He's tough."

"You're tougher," Mike shouted to be heard over the roar of the crowd after Cam and Colorado had a knot-up in the Arizona goalie's space.

Penn was now shoving Cameron. The Raptors were flying into the crease to defend their goalie. The Storm blew into the zone as well. A fist flew and the refs dove into the melee. Both teams were on their feet in their respective boxes beating on the boards with our sticks.

The donnybrook lasted a few seconds. The refs spent several minutes divvying up penalty minutes. When things were calm both teams had a man in the sin bin for roughing.

Cam and Tate were still mouthing off at each other as we hit the ice, four a side, which was always a fun two minutes. The ice was bigger.

Pierre was shouting something at us in French when the faceoff went to his right instead of on my stick. I chased it down, turned, and shot to the left to avoid a bruising bodycheck from a big man in a red jersey.

"Man on!" Pierre yelled to let me know I had a defender on my ass as I streaked behind his goal.

I dug in hard in the corner, moved left and then right to shake off the bigger and slower D-man, and raced down the ice to take a shot on Penn. It hit his shoulder, flew into the air, and was flipping end over end until the puck dropped behind the Raptors tendie. I shoved my stick behind Penn who was on his knees, head twisting to try to locate that round rubber disc. The edge of my stick just brushed the puck. Someone came in hard behind me, a wrecking ball of solid muscle knocking me off my skates. I went down hard.

The red light behind Penn flared to life. I scrambled up, met my teammates in the corner, and had a nice little celly while Iceberg cleared the puck from the Raptors net. Penn was arguing with the ref, his helmet thrown to the ice, about goaltender interference I assumed. But the Raptors coaches didn't dispute the goal and Penn eventually went back to his crease but spent the rest of the game slapping me with his paddle if I got within range. Which was fine. I was used to goalies poking at or pushing me. Pierre did the same thing, with way more flair and lots of French cussing, so it was to be expected.

We left Arizona with two points. The flight to Dallas was short and choppy. I disliked turbulence of any kind, but thankfully, I had an audio book to keep me distracted from the bouncing and flashes of lightning as we circled Dallas/Fort Worth. Landing was postponed due to the storm so here we sat, going in circles, which felt kind of fitting since that night I'd had wild sex with Jamie. I couldn't shake the man from my thoughts no matter how I tried or how many times Claudia told me to. It wasn't as easy as my sister wanted it to be, that was for sure. He was there all the time. When I slept, when I woke up, on the ice, off the ice. The memories of our night in bed replayed repeatedly whenever I closed my eyes.

I struggled to keep the man out of my head during games.

Water streaked the window. My book played on, but I wasn't listening to it.

My mind was on this scientific thing with Jamie. I should have refused. Should've just said nope and moved on with my life. Now I was stuck. I felt someone watching me. My gaze flitted around the charter jet to find Oli staring at me. I nodded. He smiled. We were friends, Oli and I, and he knew everything about that night. He'd never mentioned it or hinted about what he thought of me sleeping with his best friend.

Or not sleeping, as the case may be.

He'd never again tried to interfere with the two of us and the tangled mess of whatever it was we were doing. Maybe he assumed that was personal, or maybe Jamie had told him to never discuss it. Probably so. That would be the wisest.

To remind myself of how wise pretending to have sex with Jamie was, I paused my book, opened my texts, and made sure my headphones were connected because fuck if I wanted anyone hearing this shit. I had my phone read the latest one from Leon that had arrived just last night. The computer voice lessened the harshness of the words, but they still cut me deep, and god knows why I kept them.

Why are you being so stupid, Craig? Don't make me get litigious. Come back to me, and I won't take this further. Call me. Soon. L

My exhalation was shaky. I closed my phone, leaving the text to sit with all the others Leon had sent me since I'd left him. Fuck him and his threats and his demands for me to go back to him. All I took the night I left was what was mine.

He'd called me stupid all the time.

And he'd said it again.