had done something wrong, and Mia was left paying the price. It wasn’t fair, but Mia knew she’d find a way back in—and she didn’t need Selena Fabien’s “help” or her family’s connections to do it.
Cal loved nothing more than a good sandwich.
Lashings of shaved turkey—he was partial to smoked mesquite—with iceberg lettuce, a couple of slices of gouda—not the pre-sliced stuff, but a hunk from the deli counter—a dab of mustard and mayo, and he was in heaven.
He had plans this afternoon.
First, down this beauty.
Next, watch clips of the Rebels during last year’s playoffs. He wanted to see how the current lines fit and what he needed to do to ensure he would be on every game’s roster. Durand would not be getting the jump on him.
After that, a long nap and maybe a little fun time with his right hand.
These were great plans. Stellar plans.
Yet he couldn’t help thinking that something was off about them, or maybe something was just off. Damn Mia Wallace.
She had a date in mind for when she was going to put her plan in motion. He checked online and there it was: the Hockey for Everyone fundraiser, an annual event organized by Isobel Chase to drum up money for youth hockey. Pictures of previous years showed Rebels players lounging at ten-thousand-dollar tables with media vultures, NHL brass, and hangers-on. The night was capped off with a charity auction putting the single players on the block for a good cause.
At this event, Mia would take everything she had learned and attempt to seduce this moron who hadn’t already noticed her. Because if he had, then she wouldn’t need this instruction at all.
This guy didn’t deserve her, not because Cal could do better—he didn’t think that at all—but because this target wasn’t even in the game and guys like that didn’t deserve nice things.
Perhaps she was underplaying it. Perhaps they were already friends and Mia was trying to move it along. But whatever was happening, Mia didn’t feel confident in making a case yet. She had to train herself for a shot at this guy. For a tryout to be in this guy’s life.
That was all wrong. So much about this setup was wrong, but the fact that funny, quirky, sexy-as-hell Mia Wallace felt she needed to take lessons in seduction was particularly egregious. Christ, she was already perfect.
Feeling agitated, he took his sandwich out to the living room and lined up the afternoon’s viewing. Focus on your game, Foreman. Show the team why you were worthy of that trade. Ignore the flashing lights of bright smile and wicked blue eyes and the sweetest ass that had ever filled a pair of sweats.
His phone buzzed. He flicked it a glance.
Lady M: I’m downstairs. You busy?
Alarm bells went off in his head, but do you think he cared? He wanted to see her. He wanted to learn more about this plan of hers and … there was something else that had snuck in like a barb in his skate. Why had she looked so out of sorts in the presence of Selena Fabien?
Yeah, he and Ms. Wallace needed to have a chat.
Come on up. He dialed down to Henry the doorman and told him he had a visitor.
Half sandwich in hand, he walked to the door and opened it. Twenty seconds later, he heard yapping.
She had brought the dog, which wasn’t terrible because if anyone needed a chaperone right now, it was this prick with half a sandwich in his mitts.
“Why is that ball of hair here?”
“Because I was taking him for a walk.” She took the sandwich, a very smooth move. “Thanks, I am starving.” Woman, dog, and sandwich walked away from him into his apartment.
“Please. Come in.”
She took a seat on the sofa and a bite out of his lunch. Mumbled something he couldn’t hear because, you know, she was eating his goddamn sandwich.
“What’s that? Can’t hear you while you’re chewing.”
She swallowed. “This is a really good sandwich!”
“I know. I make amazing sandwiches.” He folded his arms and watched as she finished, trying not to enjoy the sight of her enjoying so obviously something he’d made with his own two hands. There were lots of things he could make with his hands—whimpers, moans, orgasms …
“Want the rest?”
“Definitely.” He brought back the other half on a plate with a glass of water, and handed it off.
“Thanks, Foreman. You’re all class.”
“What’s up?”
“I was taking Gordie Howe for a walk.”
“So you said.”
Her nose twitched. Ding ding ding.