Fun while it lasted, but no woman would be depositing a spare toothbrush in Cal Foreman’s mug. Never again.
The back of his neck prickled and he turned to find the one person in the world who might cause a casual observer to doubt Cal’s reputation for niceness.
Tommy Fucking Gordon. He represented a few of the Rebels players, so Cal shouldn’t be surprised to see him. The man was perfectly entitled to occupy whatever spaces he wanted, but Cal didn’t have to breathe the same air.
Gordon gave the chin jerk of acknowledgment as if they were old teammates or army buddies. That decided it.
Cal touched Tara’s leg, thinking one more tangle in his sheets would be a nice way to end things. “How about we get out of here?”
“Sure.” But the word was barely out of her mouth when her attention was snagged elsewhere. “Oh, first I need in on that action!” She jumped up and raced to the front of the tent, where the bride was preparing for that age-old ritual: the tossing of the bouquet. Tara was eyeing the best spot for a catch, but first she looked over her shoulder and gave him a thumbs up. No smile, though, because … lines.
Lauren caught his eye and added in words and tone wiser than her years, “You’re in trouble there.”
Yes. Yes, he was.
2
Mia headed back toward her table, one eye on the floor so she wouldn’t trip—stupid heels—and another scanning for Tommy. She needed to do more research. Find out what he liked. His interests, hobbies, favorite books.
He looked like a historical biographies kind of guy.
Was she the kind of woman who liked a historical biographies kind of guy? Did it matter?
He had certainly formed an opinion about her, though he was likely taking his cue from her brother. She had disappointed Vadim, which was the last thing she’d ever want to do. He expected she’d take women’s hockey by storm when she graduated two years ago. Live up to the hype that surrounded her as a prodigy when she entered Harvard.
It didn’t turn out the way she’d hoped. The way anyone hoped. She’d trusted a guy, who had taken her self-worth and shredded it like mini-wheats. Whose actions set her on the wrong path and blocked her from playing the sport she loved. Vadim had no clue what had happened.
He would burn it all down if he ever found out.
Despite the fact she could occasionally skate rings around him, her brother had always thought his little sister in perpetual need of his wide, protective wingspan. A childhood cancer survivor, Mia found it hard to escape the “fragile” tag Vadim had labeled her with since he’d come into her life during her teens. But escape it she would.
She would fix her career stumble her way. Like her mission to win Tommy Gordon, she had a plan to earn her way back into the pro hockey fold. Getting a spot on Team USA would be her redemption.
Feeling empowered by all the positive thinking (and a second glass of champagne), she skirted a crowd of guests gathered near the dais at the top of the tent. Someone yelled, “Incoming!” Her amazing reflexes on alert, in a split second, she assessed the situation and snatched the puck—no, the bouquet—out of the air.
“Yes!” She called out above disappointed groans. Her reaction was more the thrill of victory at doing something semi-sports-inspired at a wedding rather than the action of catching a bouquet. Sure, she loved weddings, but she didn’t love them that much.
“Nice work,” she heard in her sister-in-law’s voice.
Isobel Chase was more like a sister to her. Once the former hockey great had hooked up with Vadim, there’d been no doubt that Mia would always have a close female friend to rely on. She hadn’t always had that growing up. Her mom was wonderful, but she was her mom, and had kept her sheltered, worried that Mia’s father would try to get custody and move her to Russia. Then the worry continued when Mia became sick at fifteen. Even though she’d rebounded from all that, she’d missed out on forming some of those more long-term female friendships, the ones that kept a girl anchored.
“Right? Maybe I’m in the wrong sport. You think the NFL or MLB are looking for people?”
Isobel chuckled. “Stick to what you’re good at. Only … it looks like making friends and influencing people isn’t one of them.”
Mia checked over her shoulder. A crew of unhappy-looking women were sending