things said about her.
Now Mia barely spoke with her college friends, even the ones who knew a version of the truth. Watching them go on to great success in women’s hockey was a foul-tasting pill to swallow. It made her a bad person—she knew that—but she couldn’t deny the envy she carried around with her like a deadweight where her heart should be.
Tara, who Mia should have nothing in common with, was making an effort with her. Perhaps she really liked Mia (though on days like today, Mia wondered what there was to like). Perhaps Tara was staying close because of Mia’s Rebels connections—she certainly wasn’t shy about her ambitions. Perhaps she still had a thing for Foreman.
Mia didn’t like that idea much, but then, right now, she didn’t like Foreman much either. She would never have gone to him for advice if Tara hadn’t encouraged it, and now he was bailing because the mere idea of discussing more graphic, ahem, needs with someone like Mia must be a real turn-off for him. Not that she wanted him to be turned on, but she’d hoped he could be an adult about it.
“What’s wrong?” Tara put down a huge bag and an even huger iced latte.
“Nothing.”
“Liar. You look like a smacked arse as my British granny would say.” She plopped in her seat. “Is it something about your guy?”
“No. Well, sort of. Foreman’s being a jerk.”
Tara squinted. “What did he do?”
“I asked him a few simple questions about—” She lowered her voice. “Blow jobs. And he got squirmier than a snake. Said I’d crossed the line and it would be weird.”
“What did you ask?”
She showed Tara their text exchange. Tara scrolled back. “You guys text a lot.”
“We’re training together. Or we were. He’s in camp now so he probably won’t have time.” This morning she’d blown him off—ha!—and hadn’t even bothered to hit the ice for practice.
“He wants to talk to you. You’re ignoring him.”
Foreman had sent a few texts since their blow-up—double ha!—telling her they needed to “talk.”
Tara was staring at her curiously. For God’s sake, this was her bright idea.
“Listen, there’s nothing going on with me and Foreman. I’m not interested in any hockey players, and especially not guys who can’t go longer than a couple of months without needing to insert their dicks into the nearest available woman.”
Mia looked up at that moment and clashed gazes with Kennedy, the pink-haired barista, who was clearing the table beside them.
“Oops, sorry,” Mia muttered.
Kennedy laughed. “Oh, don’t mind me. I hear all sorts here. Kind of like Downton Abbey where the big wigs act like the servants are deaf, dumb, and blind.”
Mia shook her head. “I’m not a big wig and I certainly don’t think of you like that! I just have a big mouth.”
Tara giggled. “She does. And incidentally, I don’t care what you do with Cal. Told you, he’s not on my radar anymore. But maybe …”
“Maybe what?”
“He is pretty good at fulfilling a lady’s needs. I’d be interested in a little strings-free return to the Foreman well if he didn’t think I was after him for something more serious.”
From the woman who expected a marriage proposal four weeks ago.
“I was hoping to benefit verbally from his vast experience, not in any other way.”
Yet this notion of Cal being good at giving the ladies what they liked was sneaking under her skin. Already had, if she was honest. Those forearms of his were awfully distracting.
“But there’s no substitute for the real thing. And Cal Foreman has got a very real thing.” Tara laughed at Mia’s frown. She turned to Kennedy who was still picking up trash and showed her phone with a photo of Cal from the Rebels website.
“Hey, would you hit this if you had a shot?”
Kennedy gave it a frank assessment. “Is this a trick question?”
Tara made a told you so gesture with her hands. “Who wouldn’t want to go there?”
“I wouldn’t!” Mia exclaimed, possibly with more passion than necessary. “I have someone else on my radar, remember?”
“But that doesn’t mean you can’t have a little fun in the meantime. Sounds like you’ve scared him off with your frank sex talk, though. Weird, because I wouldn’t take Cal for a prude.”
Just around Mia. He didn’t see her as a sexual target so talking about it freaked him out. Where men were concerned, Mia was the equivalent of sexual lava.
Mia turned to Kennedy. “I’m Mia, by the way. This free spirit and dispenser of sexual wisdom is Tara.”
Kennedy