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

by Chelsea Curto

Some people like to talk about the feelings they’re keeping inside. I prefer skating. I always have.

I don’t know how long I stay out there. It could be minutes or hours. I go back and forth, from one end of the ice to the other, only stopping when my lungs burn like they’re on fire.

“I don’t like to sit still. It’s better this way. I can come back stronger.”

“Christ, Red.”

“The only way you’re going to get better is if you take care of yourself. That includes not skating around like a bat o...

looks just as mad as when he left. “Why the hell is your locker room a supply closet?” he asks, and he hands me my helmet.

“Well, that’s bullshit.” He buckles his helmet and moves onto the ice. “You deserve a space just like us. Where’s your shower? And massage table?”

“Sure. Whatever you need.” I don’t know why his agreement makes my heart skip a beat. Why it puts a heavy pressure on my chest, but it does, and I shove the feeling away.

“Take as many seconds as you need.”

“You’re making me feel ridiculously out of shape.”

“Whose fault is that, pr...

“I’m going to blame you, Red. I had plans to eat ice cream with my niece and bitch about the game from the couch, but this is fun too. I love when my ass is frozen and sore.” He puts his hands on his st...

“You’re her hero, and there’s not an honor higher than that. Just think: one day she’s going to be at NASA or some prestigious research hospital, in a room with really smart people, and she’ll tell them all about how she got to spend time with you. That sounds like my idea of hell, but I’m glad she likes it.”

“She likes me a lot, but she loves you. Gave me your entire stat line from college and the ECHL. I know you think you played like shit, but guess what? She still wants your

autograph. She’s still going to be here next week cheering for you and...

“It’s tough to remember that sometimes. I’m hard on myself.”

“You’re such a bad liar.” “Why do you want to grab food?” “Because you’re hungry and tired and you’ve made your fucking point. Do you like sandwiches?” “I love sandwiches.” “Good. You’ve had enough ice time today, and I’m cutting you off.” “And if I don’t agree?” “I’ll throw you over my shoulder and carry you out of here,” he tells me without hesitation. “I don’t think you could lift me.” “Is that a challenge, Red?”

“Why are you being so nice to me?” “Because I’m a nice guy, and I can see how today is getting to you. I don’t want you to sink into some funk just because of one loss. I’m also really fucking hungry, so the faster we get there, the better.”

“Fine.” I give him a small smile, and he answers with a beam of his own. “Show me where these showers are.”

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.

Right there, Red. Atta girl.

“You might be right.” “I’m sorry. Can you say that again? I didn’t quite hear you.” “You might be right,” I repeat, louder this time. “Hartwell thinks I’m right,” Maverick announces to the mostly empty diner. “I’m on top of the world!”

“You could act like the biggest idiot in the world and no one would know.”

“We could keep it our little secret—kind of like you and this sweet side of yours. You show everyone your tough exterior, but I’m starting to see what’s underneath.” “What are you talking about?” “Signing an autograph. Calling Lydia a fire girl—which she is. She’s eight and an absolute hellion. Asking about my arena tour with Rachel. You’re nice, Hartwell, and I’m not sure what to do with that information.”

Awareness blooms in me with his attention. With the proximity of his body to mine and the careful way he’s watching me like he can’t wait to hear what I have to say. It’s a line, I tell myself. A ruse he uses on all the women that come in and out of his life. I’m not special.

Maverick nods, and his eyes haven’t left mine since I started talking. “I've never had a place like that before,” he says thickly. “But lately, I think I might be experiencing it for the first time.”

“Women are loving cowboys in romance novels lately. They probably love them in real life too.”

“Asshat, huh? You need to stop flirting with me, Red. I’m not that kind of guy.”

“You read romance books?” “Yeah. They’re a nice escape from reality. You’re going to make fun of me, aren’t you?” “I’d never make fun of you for liking something. I’d give you shit in different ways.”

“I really don’t believe you.” “Maybe one day you’ll see for yourself.” “Never going to happen, Miller.” “Keep telling yourself that, Red. What about your tattoo? Is it just the one?”

“Darla is the guardian to her granddaughter, and she works two jobs to make ends meet. I leave an extra tip whenever I stop by—I won’t notice the difference, but she does.” I swear to god my heart skips a beat. Maverick has surprised me twice today. He’s still that aloof guy who poses for magazines without his shirt on and gets womens’ numbers whenever he’s out. There’s probably a Rolodex in his bedroom of Sandras and Sarahs.

But he’s kind too. Soft around the edges with a big heart and enough space for everyone he meets. 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’m not sure I could do it.

“You’re never alone, Hartwell. Not anymore. Not when you’re part of our team.”

“Will you let me know when you get home?”

Home Bane of my Existence Excellent. You good? Me I’m good. See you at practice. Bane of my Existence Chin up, buttercup (I can say that now because you aren’t here to beat me in arm wrestling). The sun will come out tomorrow.

I don’t remember the last time I fell asleep with a smile on my face, but leave it to Maverick goddamn Miller to be the one to do it.

I think we should start a book club. Might be fun. Riley

shut the fuck upppp

Hartwell told me women love romance books. Maybe we should read them too.

Riley I’ll add her.

MY MANN

Team dinner tonight. 6 sharp at my place!

But my favorite part of being a professional athlete is having team dinners on Tuesday nights with the people I adore.

Relationships formed, and they were deeper than the connection we had on the ice.

The guys weren’t just my teammates anymore—they were my brothers. Our dinner group grew to five, then ten.

I jerk my head toward the foyer and it feels like all the air is sucked out of the room. Emerson Hartwell is standing in my apartment, looking like a goddamn knockout.

Thank god she doesn’t walk around like this all the time. I’d be distracted as hell.

“I’m afraid not, Red. I’m not sure I can even spell it. Sorry for objectifying you. You look really good, and I didn’t think you would show.”

She does that a lot, I’ve noticed. When she’s deep in thought. When she’s not sure how she’s supposed to react to something. When she’s trying not to smile. Fuck. I want to make her smile.

The woman has more walls up than a castle. She’s determined to keep people out, but I’m dead set on getting in.

Except, all I’m thinking about is her spread out on my bed. That fiery hair all over my pillows and her fingers gripping the sheets. My hands under her thighs, dragging her toward me, and my head between her legs. It doesn’t feel very gentlemanly.

I swear her ass brushes against the front of my pants, and I start reciting the presidents backwards in my head so I don’t get hard while she’s pressed against me.