that culture of alpha bro-holes and toxic masculinity is one I’ve been trying to escape.”
“Mia—”
“I get it, Cal.” She touched his hand. “Not every hockey player is like that but enough of them are—enough pro athletes are—that I’d rather not roll the dice and risk it. Which is fine because there are plenty of guys who don’t play hockey who can make me happy.”
Like this guy she had her heart set on. This cool, sophisticated, business type.
He turned his palm over and squeezed hers. “This guy you’ve got your sights on might be an asshole as well.”
“Sure, it’s a risk. Love always is, but this is a calculated one. You miss 100% of the shots, etcetera.”
“The hockey player ex. Is he still around?”
“He still exists, if that’s what you’re asking.” Her eyes clouded over with bad memories. “He’s a nobody, who is no longer on my radar.”
“But …” He traced a finger along her palm. More interesting, she let him. “Did he get what was coming to him?”
Strange thing for him to ask. Bethany had never been punished. He’d protected her to the last, keeping the gritty details to himself. Until now. Yet the idea that someone would have hurt Mia in a similar way and got away with it made him rage.
Emotion flashed on her face for a second. “I snuck into his room one night and put fire ants in his underwear drawer. You can buy them online.”
“Good for you.” But was that enough? Cal didn’t think so, and he suspected Mia didn’t, either. Though Cal didn’t know the exact details, this asshole had done a lot more lasting damage to her psyche.
She thought all hockey players were assholes.
She would never give one a chance to win her.
She would never give Cal a chance.
Shit.
He dropped her hand. Had he really just thought that? With the way he reacted he may as well have said it out loud.
“We should eat. And then we can talk about strategy for the tryout.”
She smiled, a big starry grin that caught hold in his chest. Damn, he didn’t want to feel like this about her. But when she mentioned the guy who’d damaged her—this asshole, fucker, hellclown—he wanted to punch the world and anyone who had hurt her.
He placed their bowls on the counter with a couple of forks and gestured to the kitchen island. “Okay to eat here?”
“Perfect!” She stood up to grab the bread rolls he’d laid out earlier and a hunk of parm, while he got the grater from the counter and water for them both. They made a smooth team in the kitchen.
He almost wished they didn’t. How much better it would be if they were awkwardly bumping into each other so he could say excuse me, and you first, and maybe get a chance to press his body to hers and inhale her hair. Accidentally, of course.
Suffering Jesus. Stop this nonsense.
Taking his seat, he held up one of the forks. She clinked it with her own and smiled. They ate companionably, with Mia making appropriate—or inappropriate—noises of gusto about his food. He felt both proud and horny, his standard emotional range in her presence.
She insisted on cleaning up which meant he had to watch her. Well, he didn’t have to. But he chose to, sitting at the island as she chattered on about the players she might be competing against for spots on Team USA.
And when she bent over to put the dishes in the bottom rack of the dishwasher, he might have dipped his gaze to her sweet ass, currently hugged in tight-fitting yoga pants. They shaped her so damn perfectly he had to swallow his lust, and hell, it didn’t taste good. It tasted wrong.
He had the legit hots for Mia Wallace. Now his brain got in on the act as well as his dick.
She’s a child.
But is she? Because she sure looks all woman to me.
She’s your friend’s sister.
True that. But fuck if I care right now.
She wants someone else. Bad enough to ask advice from your dumb ass.
And there it is.
But he could still be her friend. Only eyes up here.
She turned back to face him, her eyebrows slammed together. “I need to talk to you about the charity auction.”
“The what?”
She knocked knuckles on his head. “The Hockey for Everyone charity auction? It’s in four weeks and that’s where I’m going to make my move.”
Ah. Back to the mission.
“What exactly does that mean? Your move?” He tried to sound light-hearted about it, though he