4. Book Boyfriends Do It Better

4

Book Boyfriends Do It Better

Maxime

Hayley looks gorgeous today. Her pink top matches her hair, and it's slightly more fitted than the one she wore yesterday, allowing me to glimpse more of her lustrous and strong body. I can't help but follow the lines of her sexy broad shoulders down the length of her arms. To me, there's something irresistible about a woman who can handle herself. Having to fight for her attention—not knowing if you'll ever win it—is thrilling and refreshing. All I want is to throw flirty remarks at Hayley and watch her tear me down to size while a miniscule part of me still hopes for a win. I'm starting to think there might be something wrong with me.

Hawthorne took the lead on the operation. I'm glad he did, because twenty-six hockey players in a bookstore can quickly turn into a bull-in-a-china-shop situation. Since the contractor already prepped the walls, we're all on painting duty this afternoon. If the boss is right, it'll only take two coats.

As soon as we dive into the work, I'm drawn to Hayley. I take the spot next to her, still keeping an eye on Alice in case one of the guys decides to take his shot and hit on my little sister. Though honestly, I'm not really worried. Alice is an idealist who will settle for nothing less than Prince Charming. And I'm pretty sure he's not a rowdy hockey player.

"Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry is a fictional school in the book series Harry Potter," I say matter-of-factly as I start painting.

Hayley drops her hand and glances up at me. "Did you swallow Wikipedia or something?"

I laugh out loud. "Pretty much. But I didn't have time to research any deeper than that. I still need your help. "

"I'm sure you do." She purses her lips. "Easiest fix is to read a book. You'll learn so much there. Especially when it comes to pick-up lines, because you've got some work to do."

Snarky. I like it. "At least I'm trying, right? Don't I get points for effort?"

"I don't know the rules of hockey, but that's not usually how it works," she says, her lips twitching as if she's fighting back a smile.

"So. Do you have a boyfriend, Nash?" I ask, unable to keep my burning question to myself. Alice said she doesn't, but if that's true, why isn't she responding to my flirting? Okay, I'm not on my best game by a long shot, but usually, the goofy, cocky one-liners do the trick. Not that I have to use them often. Maybe that's why I'm so off my game. Not that this is the game I need to work on. My practice this morning was even more disastrous than my laughable attempt at flirting with Hayley. That's where I need to place my focus. Otherwise, my first season in the NHL will be over before it even starts.

"I do have a boyfriend," she says, surprising me. "Many, actually. I'm not monogamous."

I almost choke on my saliva. Reining in my coughs, I scrunch my eyebrows. "Really? That's interesting." In truth, the idea of sharing her with anybody makes me want to crawl out of my skin.

"Oh, yes." She winks, and my pulse accelerates. "But don't expect a spot on the roster. I prefer my men to be made of ink and paper."

I cock my head to the side, trying to figure her out. "Wait. Is this another Hogwarts situation? Will you stop throwing book references at me, please? I'm helpless."

She bubbles out a laugh, and a wave of tingles prickles through my chest. "It's not a book quote. It just means I have tons of boyfriends, but they're all fictional. Characters from the books I've read."

"Oh, got it. But come on, Nash! How can you prefer fictional men over real ones? It makes no sense to me. They can't give you what a real person can."

She snorts. "Of course they can. And more. Books provide everything I need, every emotion a human being can feel—joy, pain, frustration, anger, longing, fear, hope. And my book boyfriends never lie, disappoint, or betray me. I always know the HEA is just around the corner."

"HEA?"

"Happily ever after."

I nod. "Gotcha. But what's the point of reading if you know they're going to get together in the end? "

"Believe it or not, every time I read a book, I start by reading the last paragraph. But it's the journey that matters. Romance novels always end with the couple getting together, but seeing the relationship grow and how they overcome every hurdle until they finally achieve their happy ending is why we love reading those books."

She wants to know how it ends before she starts reading? "Hmm. Okay. Doesn't make a whole lot of sense."

"Tell that to the millions of romance readers around the globe."

Millions? That's insane.

As if reading my mind, she adds, "Romance is the number one genre in the world."

"Wow. Then us regular folks have no chance of competing," I say, shaking my head as I return to painting.

"I'm sure you'll be all right. Hockey romance novels are big right now." She turns to me, her eyes gleaming.

"Really? Hockey isn't exactly a romantic game."

She shrugs her broad shoulders. "Women like strong, athletic men who aren't too shy to fight for the puck—and their women, I guess?"

"You guess?" I arch an eyebrow. "Seems like you've given it a lot of thought. "

Her plump lips twist to the side. "Not really," she says, turning back to the wall. "I read fantasy and paranormal, so I'm more a dragon shifter or vampire kind of gal."

"Gosh. As if it wasn't enough to compete with perfect fictional men, now they're supernatural too. We're doomed," I joke, plunging my roller into the tray of white paint.

"You just have to up your game, Beaumont," she says, laughter teasing her lips. As her eyes sparkle, I feel like I could get lost in them. Hayley's eyes are as magnetic as they are enigmatic. They pull you in, and you can't bring yourself to look away until you figure out what they're hiding. Everything about her demeanor and her body screams strength, but her eyes . . . her eyes are soft and warm. Even when they're defying me as she fires off a spunky remark.

In this moment, there's nothing more important to me than finding out what she's hiding behind that thick layer of self-assurance. Because if there's one thing I know, it's that most of us wear masks of confidence to protect ourselves. And I'm sure every part of Hayley is spectacular.

A few hours later, the first coat of paint is done, and it already looks like a new place compared to when we arrived. There are a few imperfections—okay, more than a few—but we're not professionals, and most of this space will be covered in bookshelves anyway.

It was kind of fun, especially the part where I got to chat with Hayley, though I wish the painting step would have taken longer.

"That's pretty good," Hawthorne declares, walking around the room and taking his role of foreman very seriously. "We'll do the second coat tomorrow and see if a third one is needed."

And suddenly, I really wish it would be. Spending this one-on-one time with Hayley was the most fun I've had these last few months.

Come to think of it, I've been kind of lonely since I left Michigan. After four years there, I had a life. Friends, teammates, and even a small fan club. Here, I have to start all over, but with higher stakes.

"So, that was fun, Nash," I say, bumping my shoulder against hers. I already knew she was strong, but she doesn't budge one bit. "Can't wait for tomorrow."

She rolls her eyes, and it might be my new favorite thing. "I have an epic fantasy battle to look forward to tonight. Sorry, but you've been upstaged."

A row of laughter echoes around the room. Apparently, everyone has been listening to our conversation .

I scratch my head. "Man, you're cold. You've got a real-life man in front of you, begging for attention, and that's how you respond?"

Everyone is now hanging on Hayley's words. I await her answer with equal measures of eagerness and anxiety. I'm no statistician, but I'd say there's about a ninety-nine percent chance she'll reject me again.

"I thought I made myself pretty clear, Beaumont," she says, her brown eyes narrowing on me. Gosh, even when she's glaring daggers into my eyes, she's gorgeous. "Unless you're sparkling under the sun or can shift into some fantastical creature, I'm not interested."

"Ohhh!"

"Burn!"

"That one hurt."

My teammates are vocal and don't exactly shy away from teasing me. My carefully styled hair is ruffled, and my back is slapped so hard, I feel as battered as the glass around the rink.

Alice shoots me a death stare while Emma cackles harder than everyone else. Glad to see she has a sense of humor. That dark shadow oozing around her was starting to freak me out.

"Challenge accepted, Nash. I'll make you change your mind. Soon, you'll forget all about your half breeds, and the two of us will have a lot of fun together." My heart's racing as the words leave my mouth. And it must be my imagination running wild, because it seems like Hayley's chest is rising and falling faster than before under her pink T-shirt.

"You're delusional if you think you have a shot," she says, still defying me with her gaze.

More laughter follows, but I barely hear my teammates. She might be right. What she doesn't know is that once I accept a challenge, I don't back down.

And I always win.

"Game on."

"I could go for a drink," Miles says, stretching his arms above his head.

"Me too," a low rumble answers.

Some of the guys have already left, but the rest are hanging around, talking outside the store.

Adler cracks his neck. "This painting thing is no joke."

They're not wrong. We might be athletes, but we're not used to holding the positions today's work required. Squatting for prolonged periods, bending down and getting up constantly, and stretching up high to paint the upper corners of the walls. Even with the ladders we had to share.

Wilcott's deep laugh booms through the empty street. "You lads need to work on your flexibility."

"Yeah, yeah," Adler grumbles, rolling his eyes. "We know how you goalies like to do yoga and stretching, but the rest of us are too busy honing our stick handling and speed."

Miles chuckles, and Hawthorne just shakes his head.

Wilcott scoffs. It's the first time I see him do that. He's usually a quiet, contemplative guy. "As if we don't have to be quick or have good reflexes."

"Fine, you're a king, and we should all bow to your highness," Adler says, but I'm sure he's only half-joking. As far as goalies go, we're pretty lucky to have Wilcott in our cage. He's one of the best in the NHL, the Vezina Trophy winner for three years in a row.

"Let's get a drink?" Miles suggests.

Adler and Hawthorne all approve, and I nod too. Frankly, I was thinking massages, but fine. At least I'll get a chance to hang out with them.

"I'm out," Wilcott grumbles. "Going home. "

"Oh, come on, now," Adler says, draping an arm around Wilcott's broad shoulders. "I did say you were a king. Grace us with your presence."

Wilcott rolls his eyes, and we all laugh.

"We know that deep down, you like to hang out with us," Hawthorne adds.

"Yeah, stop fighting your inner desires, man," Miles says with a chuckle. "Let's go."

Wilcott replies with a grunt, which I've learned means yes in his language.

We walk a few blocks until we find a dive-looking kind of bar. Low lighting, an old billiard table next to a jukebox at the far end, dark hardwood bar and stools, and a couple of tables and chairs.

We order a round of beers, and I mentally congratulate myself for staying back with them. Otherwise, I would have missed out on a great evening. We talk about sports and music, fight for the jukebox picks, and play some pool. Beers turn into stronger liquor, and it's a good thing Wilma, the owner, is rustling up some food as well.

Of course, the guys are quickly recognized by a group of dudes having a drink, who ask for their autographs. We chat with them about hockey until we're interrupted by a few good-looking girls. Hawthorne and Adler talk to them while Miles, Wilcott, and I watch the scene from afar. Before I met Hayley, I'd be out there with them, getting my flirt on, but now, I realize it's pointless. None of them will make me feel the way Hayley does when we get into one of our sparring competitions.

Once they buy the girls a drink and score their numbers, the guys come back to the table, and we decide to play one more game of pool. Hawthorne and me against Miles and Wilcott, with Adler acting as referee and commentator at the same time.

"And it's Beaumont's game," he announces into a pretend microphone. "The newest addition to the New York Raptors. He's young, he's fast, and he's precise. His stats are impressive, but let's see what the rookie can do."

We all laugh at his intro, and I brandish my stick in the air before chalking it meticulously.

"Maxime ‘The Hair' Beaumont is in position, determination dripping from his eyes," Adler says gravely, even though we're all shaking with laughter.

I lean over the table, focusing on my target ball, and strike. The cue ball touches it, but it bounces on the corner of the pocket and doesn't go in.

"No," Hawthorne exclaims while Miles and Wilcott share a high five.

"Frenchie Boy misses," Adler bellows louder than ever. "No score for number twenty-eight. On or off the slate. Just like on the ice. "

The guys roar with laughter, and I force myself to chuckle along.

"Beaumont is in a drought," Miles adds, adjusting his cap, which only multiplies their laughter.

They keep picking on me for the next ten minutes, and I'm on the verge of snapping. I know I haven't exactly showcased my best game yet at camp, but I can do so much better. I'm NHL material, and I'll prove it to them. If they could just dial down the teasing and let me focus on my game, maybe I'd have an easier time of it.

"Oh, man," Adler says, clutching his abs between fits of laughter. "That was hilarious, though, back at the bookstore. And you challenging her."

Here they go again.

I grip the edge of the pool table, my knuckles turning white. "Do you want to bet on it?"

My own words surprise me. I don't know if it's my frustration talking, or if this situation has turned into something else entirely, fueled by the alcohol in my system.

"Ohhh," they tease. "Little boy wants to play?" Miles' brown eyes are gleaming with mischief.

"I'll get Hayley to date me," I begin, unable to resist the challenge. My heart picks up its pace, rattling in my chest as I imagine Hayley's lips against mine.

They whistle and laugh harder than before .

"And in return," I continue, not letting their reaction affect me, "you start treating me as one of the team. No more teasing, no more calling me Frenchie Boy or The Hair."

"And if you lose?" Miles asks, his biceps bulging as he crosses his arms.

"You can go on calling me names and keep the hazing going for as long as you want."

They study me for a second, as if trying to gauge whether I'm serious before breaking into more chuckles.

"As if we needed an invitation for that, Frenchie Boy," Adler says through a big smile. "But I'll bite."

"Yeah, fine," Hawthorne says. "Sounds like the easiest bet of my life."

"For real," Miles chimes in. "You'd have more luck dating your sister than Hayley. She's way out of your league, man."

"Does that mean you agree?" I ask, ignoring their comments.

"You've got yourself a deal, Pretty Boy," Adler says, and I shake hands with all of them.

I will get Hayley to date me. And when I do, they'll finally stop with the hazing so I can focus on my game. Seems like a solid plan. Right?