Calvin.” Then she left to talk to her husband, which encouraged everyone else to disperse now that the fireworks were over.
They should have stuck around because Mia was just getting started.
Scrubbing a hand through his hair, Cal blew out a relieved breath, now that he’d escaped his matrimonial fate.
“I’m so sorry that happened to you,” Mia said sweetly.
A quick, wary glance. A narrowing of the eyes. “Yeah, well, it wasn’t meant to be.”
She closed the gap between them, pushed the bouquet into his chest, and hissed her next words. “I got that, Masshole. Did you think it was funny to use me to piss off your girlfriend?”
“Now, wait a sec—”
“Don’t even bother denying it. I agree with Mia on this one. Give the bouquet back to Mia. What a dick move.”
He raised his hand to take the flowers and curled his palm around her knuckles.
“So, I might have pushed the envelope a little. Tara and I had no chance of going the distance. Believe me, it’s better she comes to that decision for herself.”
“Why? Because you’re too chicken to do your own dirty work?”
Something flashed in his eyes, turning the gold in them to sparks. But just as quickly, they dulled to dead copper pennies. Or just pennies because last she’d checked, copper wasn’t animate, not unlike this guy’s heart. “I find that most women will make their minds up about me eventually. She’ll feel better thinking she called the shots here instead of me.”
What had Mia concluded earlier? Hockey players. Complete dicks.
His hand still covered hers. Warmth spread through her body, a traitorous reaction if ever she’d had one.
“I’ll let you get on, Foreman. Now that you’re a free agent, I’m sure there’s a bridesmaid you can find to soothe your broken heart.”
He opened his mouth to speak, then seemed to think better of it. A smile played on his lips, but it didn’t flip the script in his cold gaze.
“Thanks for the assist, Mia. Here’s a token of my affection.” He squeezed her hand, and left her holding the damn bouquet.
3
Cal rolled over in bed and realized he was alone.
Even better, he realized he liked it.
He’d never been the kind of guy who had to have a woman in his life, but for the last few years, he hadn’t gone without for very long, which made him sound like an addict who claims he can stop smoking or whatever at any time. He had no shortage of offers—pro athletes were lucky in that respect—and when his time with a woman came to its natural end, they usually remained on good terms. Within a couple of weeks, he was ready to start up with someone new.
Serial monogamy, someone with more brain cells than him had once termed it.
He did not cheat. He treated his dates well. He never overpromised (and as a result, consistently underdelivered except in the bedroom. No one was shortchanged there). Since his near-miss on the matrimonial front with Bethany, he had dated pretty consistently and taken advantage of the fine selection of women looking to score with a hockey star.
How long would it take before he got itchy again? Before another woman caught his eye and started seeing flying bouquets in her future? After what happened last night he was beginning to think it might be good to take a break from dating.
Nothing did a better job of scratching an itch than redirecting his efforts elsewhere. This was a key year for him. Out of the game for a good eight months, he had something to prove at the grand old age of thirty-two. That hockey hadn’t moved on without him. That no young buck would be taking his place. Yet.
He needed to knuckle down on his game and simplify his personal life. From here on out, whenever he got antsy and in need of female company, he would resist. Maybe take up a hobby to fill in his downtime. Finish that biography of Hamilton instead of falling into bed with the next woman who smiled at him in a bar.
Well, that was easy. Decided on his immediate future, he figured he’d better become reacquainted with an old friend. He patted his dick.
“Looks like we’re going to be partners for a while.” His buddy perked up in acknowledgment.
He stroked, already half-hard, thinking about what—or who—would get him there. Usually, the current woman in his life figured in his fantasies, and while he was riding solo now, nothing in the rules said he couldn’t think of