Worthy of a visit to a mental health professional for an assessment.
What in hell possessed her to think Cal Foreman would actually go for this?
It was his fault, really. He’d been super cool about the prank, generous even.
Which had her thinking that he might want to throw his generosity in another direction. It didn’t help that Tara had texted her after practice this morning.
You asked Cal for seduction tips yet?
Of course she hadn’t! Yet she’d be lying if she said Tara’s idea hadn’t been playing on a loop inside her head. She had tried pushing it away, deep into the recesses, but it kept popping up, largely because Foreman had defied her expectations.
He was kind, strangely charming, and not nearly as egocentric as she’d assumed. He had taken ownership of his actions at the wedding and had even offered to be her sounding board. She needed the insight of a male mind and who else could she ask? She knew some of the Rebels players but none of them well enough to feel comfortable on such a sensitive topic. Besides, they’d probably go running to their captain and tell tales.
Cal wouldn’t do that. He had pushed back against Vadim. No blind adoration there, which meant he might be more open to telling her the things she needed to know.
The idea was starting to morph into an imperative. Find out what men want. Ask a guy—a generous lover, if Tara was to be believed and why would she lie—what would work to attract someone who would normally not dig you. After overhearing Tommy’s conversation with her brother, she knew that what she was selling was not going to cut it.
Now here she was outside Cal’s apartment building, psyching herself up to ask for his help, not only on the ice but in the—well, they’d see how far he was willing to go.
The doorman at the front desk of Foreman’s building peered through the glass, eyeing her suspiciously. She should text Cal first. Let him know she was loitering with sexy intent.
Hey, you busy?
No response. Maybe he wasn’t home, but he had said he had laundry to do.
Cal Foreman did his own laundry. The man amazed with every new revelation. Or maybe her standards were exceptionally low.
The dots started up. About to have lunch.
You just had breakfast.
And your point is …
Well taken.
I’m downstairs. Could I come up?
A long pause. Then, Sure. Fourth floor.
Riding up the elevator, she ran through possible pitches.
Teach me the ways of your tribe.
Tell me what guys like.
Give me a freakin’ clue.
None of it sounded reasonable. If anything, it sounded vastly unreasonable.
She exited the elevator, looked left, then right, and spotted Cal standing at the entrance to his apartment, arms as thick as logs, hands on trim hips, legs planted in a ready-for-action stance.
“You okay?” he barked out.
“I’m fine. Why?”
He gestured to her impatiently. “Because you’re here. Why the hell are you here?”
She closed the gap and peeked around the open door into his apartment. “Are you not alone? Oh, God, have I interrupted one of your … sessions?”
“My sessions?”
“Yeah, sex sessions. Is that what’s happening?”
“Sex sessions? What the hell are sex sessions? There’s no one here except you, ya weirdo.” He muttered something unintelligible, then asked, “Is Vadim okay?”
“Of course he is. Are you going to invite me in?”
He waved a hand toward the interior.
She walked in, her gaze immediately drawn to the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the lake before taking a targeted wander over the space for more clues to Foreman’s personality. The living area was typically masculine, open-plan with a kitchen on the west side. It sported big pieces of leather furniture, big TV, big everything. No photos that she could see, but maybe people didn’t do that much when they moved around a lot. On the table was that Hamilton biography, the one they based the musical on. Perhaps this was the thick book Tara mentioned.
“Do you have any water or soda?”
“Mia, what’s going on?”
“I need to ask you something but I’d like a drink first. Coke, if you have it.”
With a stony glare, he headed to the kitchen and removed a bottle of water from the fridge. “I don’t drink the devil’s bubbles.”
The devil’s bubbles. Cute. “You should use a water filter instead of these one-shot deals,” she said. “It’s terrible for the environment.” She unscrewed the cap because she was a hypocrite and her throat was bone dry.
He took the water from her after she’d downed a quarter of it and put it to