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

by Chelsea Curto

“Besides, I don’t think Hartwell is just anyone.” “Watch it, Cap. Don’t go falling in love with her.”

“You know falling in love isn’t in my DNA. The same woman every night? Sounds fucking horrible.” “We have women in the NHL now. Anything is possible.” I clasp his arm and squeeze his shoulder. “...

I’ve played hundreds of games since graduating college and god knows how many before that, but this is the most important one.

want to play so well they come crawling back with their tail between their legs. I want them to be so embarrassed they beg for forgiveness.

I’m not doing this only for myself. It’s for all the girls out there who have ever been told they can’t. That they’re not good enough, and they’ll never be good enough, so why bother trying?

“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.”

“Yes, really. You and your self-doubt, Red. We’re going to have to work on that,”

“Stop it.” “Stop what?” “Stop smiling at me.” “I forgot how much you hate it when I’m nice to you, Red.”

He’s a beast on the ice, determined to help his team win and ready to sacrifice his body in the process. I knew he was competitive, but in a game environment with the clock ticking down, he’s lethal.

“There she is,” Maverick calls out. He shoulders a defender into the glass and grunts. “You looked a little bored sitting for so long.”

“Still bored? That one was for you, Hartwell,” he says, adding a wink.

“Red,” Maverick calls out, and he taps the puck my way. “Let’s go.”

I’ve always lived for these types of moments in sports. The game winners in front of a crowd that cheers my name. Gatorade dumped on my head and a dogpile on the ice after a victory. With twenty seconds on the clock, the dream is close to becoming a reality.

“Way to go, Red,” Maverick says, nice and low. “I thought you had the goal.”

“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.”

Congrats on third line, Red. Working your way up!

Is that sarcasm? Sure sounds like it. Red? Cool. I’ll just go fuck myself then!!!

I open my mouth to say no like I usually do, but the word doesn’t surface. It gets stuck somewhere in my throat, and for the first time in months, I want to spend the evening with

the people I’m still getting to know. A night out with my new friends sounds like fun.

I wonder what it would be like to stick around somewhere long enough to have a routine. To have the guy at the bagel cart recognize you when you come by on Sunday morning and the barista at the coffee shop up the road know your order by heart. “It sounds perfect,” I say.

“He’ll drop everything to be Uncle Mav. I think of all his accolades, that’s the one he’s most proud of.”

“Riley is cute,” Maven adds. “And he’s one of the quiet ones.”

MY SHAYLA ilovehim

He is hot. Gorgeous and strong and an incredible athlete. An absolute pest who won’t go away, but I can’t help but be curious who he is behind closed doors. Large hands that could rest on my thighs and nudge them open. A firm chest to lean against as he slipped a long finger inside me and a boyish laugh when I shuddered against him. Gentle encouragement and praise.

“You gonna finish that sentence, Red, or just leave me hanging?” a deep voice asks.

HES SO HOT IM OBSESSED

There’s Maverick Miller, holding three beers in one of his hands and grinning at me.

Fuck. Those damn lips. Plump. Painted pink. Kissable to the point of being a distraction. And fuckable.

Now that I’m standing in front of her, I start to imagine what she would look like with my cock in her mouth.

I wonder what it would feel like if she left lipstick marks on my shaft while she sucked me down until...

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’m a big boy, Red.” “I’ve heard you’re small. Average at best.”

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

“Your charm. It makes people do things for you because of who you are.”

The touch jolts me, and I feel like I’ve been short-circuited. Shocked awake and buzzing with energy.

I smile and put my hand over hers. I guide her fingers over the curve of the heart and the hook of the J, and I hear a quiet hitch in her breathing.

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.”

“I can pay for this,” she tells me, and I shrug. “I know you can, but I wanted to.”

“I’m going to win you over one day, Hartwell,” I call out. “Just you wait.”

You know what else is big?

My favorite girl is here? How did you convince him to let that happen?”

“I thought you enjoyed our chat, Red.”

I don’t like that he’s making her laugh and I don’t like how close they’re standing.

“Always,” Hudson says. The grin I give her earns me an eye roll, but I don’t care. At least she’s looking at me.

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. Simon Buttecker is going to be pissed, and that makes me giddy.

“Pleasure seeing you here, Red,” I say, and she snorts. “What are you doing time for?”

She takes a sip of the orange drink, and I watch the bob of her throat when she swallows. A drop hangs to the corner of her mouth, and her tongue sneaks out to lick it away. That’s distracting.

“Hey.” I tap her skate. “Sounds like someone had a good time last night.” “With my new friends, yes.” “But you enjoyed yourself while I was in the area, so we’re getting somewhere.”

“Chin up, buttercup. We’ve got time to turn this shit show around.” “If you ever call me buttercup again, I will end you,” she says, her arms folded across her chest and an evil gleam to her eye. “Atta girl,” I say when I jump back on the ice, grinning when her cheeks turn as red as her hair.

I’ve given everything to hockey. I’ve missed out on birthdays and family events because of practice and games. I’ve sacrificed blood and sweat and tears. Pushed my body to the brink of exhaustion time and time again, only to come up short on the biggest night of my life. I’ve never been this angry or disappointed in myself.

Whenever I lost a game as a kid, my dad and I would trudge out to the pond in our backyard. The bitter Michigan air nipped at our noses and our fingers turned red with cold, but we didn’t care. We’d replay the game in slow motion and break down where things went wrong or right. Debate if I should’ve made the extra pass or taken the wide-open shot.

My dad might not be here to decompress with me tonight, but I know what I need to do. The only thing that is sure to clear my mind and get me back on track before our road game later this week.