Face Off (D.C. Stars, #1)

by Chelsea Curto

For the girls who don’t only like to read about sports, but like to play them too. (And for the girlies who love to see the six-foot-four NHL captain get on his knees and beg like a good boy–Maverick Miller is for you).

“The proximity of your balls to my mouth says otherwise. I think I might have nightmares.”

People call what you’re experiencing emotions, Emmy. You should embrace them. They don’t make you weak.”

I never had a lot of female friends growing up. I gravitated toward sports and made it my mission to get picked for the boys’ teams. All my spare time was spent training, clearing my schedule for practice and trying to prove myself. It was exhausting. Not like the other girls, the guys on my recreational hockey team would say after I took an elbow to the face in a game. One of us, they cheered when I wiped blood from my nose. I’d laugh it off, but deep down, I wanted to be like the other girls. I wanted someone I could talk to about first kisses and bad dates. Period cramps and hot substitute teachers.

She snuck her way in when we were partnered up in English Lit our sophomore year, and it stuck. If she’s the sunshine, I’m the storm cloud. One of us is the people-pleaser and the other is the people-avoider. Two total opposites who found a friendship that works.

“Not at all. Maverick is kind of like a puppy. He’s full of energy and bounces around everywhere. Everyone loves him, and the work he does for charitable organizations is admirable. He also wears his captain hat well. It’s why he’s still here, even through all the losing crap: he believes in these guys, and he loves DC.”

“It’s not a temper—he wouldn’t hurt a fly. He’s very loyal, and he doesn’t like seeing his teammates taken advantage of. Coach Saunders came in, and the dynamic has shifted. Coach is a lot easier to get along with while still having that authoritative personality. The guys finally believe they have what it takes to succeed after being told they weren’t good enough for so long,” Piper explains.

“Being the first woman to play a regular season game in the NHL would be…” I pause and rub my thumb up the neck of my beer bottle. “There aren’t words. I’m so proud of myself, but I’m also terrified. The attention that comes with being a professional athlete is overwhelming, and even more so when you’re playing without a dick in a male-dominated sport.”

“You’re going to be the first person I talk to when I finally have a microphone in my hand. There’s no escaping me, Emmy Hartwell.” “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

I’m staring, but it’s hard to look away. There’s this energy about her that makes my palms sweaty and my heart pound in my chest like I’ve been running for miles. It’s not the hangover, either. It’s her.

The goddess sets her hand on my chest, and I take another good look at her. There are freckles all across her nose and cheeks. They look like little constellations, clusters of stars I’d like to draw into pretty shapes. Her shoulders are sculpted, and she’s wearing lipstick, a dark shade of red that nearly matches her hair.

“It’s a shame it’s only going to be ninety-nine percent effective now. The only thing I want to do with you, pretty boy, is kick your ass on the ice,” she whispers. I swallow and try to get my bearings. She’s so close, and I fucking love it. “You think I’m pretty?” “You would only hear that part, wouldn’t you?”

“Emmy, you could hit someone with a car in the parking lot and I’d find a way to have you on my team.” His smile turns softer. “I’m glad you’re here.”

“Funny. I didn’t see your name on the building, hot shot.” “All I heard in that sentence was hot.”

“Are you going to think about me between now and then, Hartwell?” he asks, and I hate that I haven’t skated away. “Only about ways to destroy you,”

This is literally worse of a cliffhanger than Back to the Future II.

An hour with Emerson Hartwell, and I don’t know if I should be turned on or pissed off by her talent.

Hartwell’s hockey skills are on a different planet, and I think I might be a little bit in love with her. I’ve never seen anyone play like that, and I have no fucking clue how she’s not already on an NHL roster.

“You are, Emmy. I know you don’t like to boast about your accomplishments, but it’s okay to own it.” Piper

“You have not. You’ve been busy living out your dreams, just like I thought I was living out mine. We’re here together now, and that’s what matters.” Her

A smile—the tiniest, faintest smile I’ve ever seen—pulls at her lips, and I’m the proudest motherfucker in the world. I want to set off a confetti cannon. Hang a banner from the rafters of the Civic Center that says I MADE EMERSON HARTWELL SMILE. Put it on a T-shirt and wear it around town.

That earns me another half smile from her, and I want to collect them all. Shove them in my pocket and keep them for myself.

Her green eyes almost sparkle under the shitty fluorescent lights, and I see a little bit of brown mixed in there too.

Why wouldn’t I want to get to know her? She might be a little rigid, but she still seems really fucking cool. It’s obvious someone fucked her over in the past, and I hate that she’s so hesitant to even let her teammates learn things about her.

If someone told you that what you’re doing—what you’ve done—as an athlete isn’t deserving of recognition, I’d like to know names so I can kindly tell them to fuck off and stop messing with my left winger’s head on what should be the biggest day of her career.”

“You dated this guy?” I ask, and she nods. “I don’t know jack shit about relationships, but putting your girlfriend down because you don’t like watching her become more successful than you doesn’t seem like someone I would want to be around.” “We all do dumb shit when we’re young and in love. Play stupid games, you win stupid prizes. Mine happened to be an asshole who liked to make me feel small while he was the one with the tiny dick.”

I don’t like that he’s making her laugh. I don’t like that she thinks he’s funny, and I liked it better when it was just the two of us.

“Throw in the for a female athlete one-liner. You’ve been around since I was a rookie, Buttecker, and I’ve never heard you tell me my stats were good for a male athlete. If you’re going to cover us this season, you’re going to recognize Hartwell is an NHL player. Full stop.”

“She hasn’t played a game yet and you’re already throwing her under the bus?” I ask, grabbing the microphone. “Pardon my language, but that’s not going to fucking fly around here. Treat my teammates with respect, or I’ll make sure we remove your press access for the foreseeable future. You can watch games on channel 5, not from the cushy media box, asshat.”

“I want to thank the Stars organization for this opportunity. I know there are people out there who might think I don’t deserve a spot on this team, but I’ve always thrived on criticism.” Emerson uncaps the pen and twirls it between her fingers. “It’s my motivation to keep working hard, so thank you for the fuel.”

“Like I could forget in the five minutes since you last reminded me,” I tell her when the media starts to pack up their things. “We do this team dinner every Tuesday night at my place. Everyone brings a dish and we hang out for a couple of hours. Some people play video games. Some people drink. Some break out the stack of puzzles I have in the living room. There’s no hockey talk. It’s chill. You should come.”

“I swear to god if I get replaced, I’ll raise hell,” Grady says. “He might be taller than me, but I could take him.”

“I mean, shit. I think you might be a better player than me, Hartwell.” “I know I am, Miller.” I skate toward the bench where the rest of my teammates are cheering for me. “And I can’t wait to prove myself right.”

I love when she’s sassy. All tough girl and independent woman who doesn’t take shit. It’s kind of fun to be put in my place.

“I told you I liked your heels the other day at the press conference. That’s still true.”

“Except for June Bug. Dallas didn’t know she was coming into his life, and when he did, he panicked. Reid and I stepped in to help, because he would’ve done the same for us. I know she’s not mine, but she is mine. I’m going to take care of her for as long as I can. Spoil the shit out of her. Love her and help teach her life lessons—the good and the bad. She can run away to my apartment when she’s pissed at her parents, and I’m absolutely going to interrogate her first boyfriend until I’m sure he’s a decent guy.”

“Sorry,” I tell the blonde with a grin. “I’m kind of in the middle of something with my baby’s mother right now. The kid is half alien, half potato, and we’re trying to figure out where they got these genes from.”

Half the arena is women, which isn’t anything new. What’s different are the signs and jerseys they’re holding. None of them are for me or the boys. They’re all for Emerson.

A thought I’ve been having more and more lately these last few weeks, but becomes solidified right now: this woman is fucking incredible. Special. Changing the future of the sport and inspiring girls and women everywhere, all while wearing ribbons and mascara.

I’ve always considered myself a feminist, but there’s something so goddamn sexy about a man in a backwards hat that has me ready to drop to my knees for the patriarchy.

“You read romance books?” “Yeah. They’re a nice escape from reality. You’re going to make fun of me, aren’t you?”

“Eighteen. Spring break, my freshman year of college. I was with some friends down in Florida, and I thought, why not? I realized tattoos are a way of telling a story, so I started to get more and more. I’ll need to start filling up my right arm soon.”

I don’t know much about him, but I can tell he likes to take care of the people who are important to him. He likes to go the extra mile for those who might normally get left behind. I wonder what it would be like to see the good everywhere you go. To love and be loved without any hesitation.

I learned that Connor has a brother on the autism spectrum. Riley’s dad lost his leg after a house fire. Grant’s mom walked out on him and his sisters when he was eight, and Liam is fluent in Spanish. The guys weren’t just my teammates anymore—they were my brothers. Our dinner group grew to five, then ten. Eventually, the whole team started coming around. Tuesday nights turned into a chance for us to shut off the sports talk and just be together. In the last year, we’ve expanded to other people coming by too. Piper and Lexi joined in, and so did Dallas, Maven, and my other best friend, Reid Duncan, who manages the social media accounts for the DC Titans. Seymour’s girlfriend, Brooke, started making appearances, and the family keeps growing. Nothing makes me happier than a room full of good food and even better conversation.

“But I’d like you a whole lot more if you got on your knees like a good boy and showed me you know how to use your tongue and fingers for something less annoying than running your mouth. If not, I have no problem making you sit in a chair and watch while I get off from eight inches of silicone.”

Maverick Miller is the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen.

“Nah.” He breaks into another grin, and there’s a pang in the center of my chest. Between my legs, too. “I think you’re fucking gorgeous.”

“You said you wanted me on my knees.” He drops a kiss to my shin, then kneels on the ground in front of me. “And I’ve always liked being a good boy.”

I might only have her for one night—an hour at best—but I’m going to ruin her so badly no one will ever measure up to me. The next time someone kisses her, she’s going to wish it were my mouth on hers. The next time someone touches her, she’s going to wish it were my fingers trailing down her body. The next time someone fucks her, she’s going to wish it were my cock buried inside her.

“I hate you,” she whispers, but she squirms on the sheets. Drops one hand away from her leg and brings it to her tit, pinching her nipple hard. “Say it again,” I murmur. I press down on her stomach with my free palm, my fingers splayed out and stroking her skin. I can’t get enough of her, and I want to touch her everywhere. “You know how much it turns me on.”