Faking It with the Forward: Wittmore U Hockey

Sweat drips off my chin, and my arms feel like they’re made of gelatin, but it doesn’t stop me from saying, “Add ten more to each side.”

Reid’s standing over me, his red headphones hanging around his neck. “Are you sure, Cap?” he asks, eyeing the weight on the bar.

Jefferson’s nickname has spread through the group and now everyone is calling me Captain or Cap, only occasionally tagging on the “America.”

I don’t deserve the title. Especially not this week. Not after the debacle in the coffee shop.

Fuck. I acted like a fucking pussy.

“I’m sure,” I say, wanting to feel the burn.

Seeing Shanna on campus messed with my head. I’d managed to avoid her since arriving back at school. She no longer hangs out with my circle of friends, instead immersing herself in her sorority and some of the frats on campus. Seeing her in the coffee shop had been a jolt. I probably would’ve kissed anyone standing next to me.

But it wasn’t anyone. It was Twyler.

She’d been shocked, her standard bitchy expression replaced by utter surprise. That, her big blue eyes, and… Jesus, her mouth. I hadn’t expected a kiss like that. Or to still be thinking about it a day later.

I definitely didn’t expect to get a semi every time I think about it.

It’s not the only thing I can’t forget. There’s also the date I agreed to make between her roommate and Reid. Meddling in my teammates’ love lives isn’t something I want to do, but a deal’s a deal.

“How’s that?” Reid asks, hands on either side of the bar, ready to spot me.

I push the weight up and over the bar, feeling the burn instantly in my biceps. It’s a good sensation. Something real and true. Not like what happened between me and Shanna.

We’d met through a group of friends and up to that point, girls had never been on my radar. I’d been completely consumed by hockey since I was a little kid. Not that there was any other option with my dad. As a former professional player and then my coach, he put skates on me as soon as I could walk. The NHL was our goal. In middle school he moved me to a school for kids that specialized in sports or specific talents. I went half day and the teachers cooperated with sending me work when I was on the road for games and tournaments. There was no time for girls either, but Shanna was determined and undeterred by my chaotic schedule.

She went out of her way to get to my games. Met me after practice or was happy to just do homework together. It felt like I’d met this person that understood how important my future was and she was willing to do what it took to be with me.

She was positioning herself for a specific role, hockey wife, and I was ready for it.

Until I realized the position was more important to her than I was.

Behind my head, Reid’s phone is blowing up in his pocket, the vibration going off every few seconds.

“Avoiding someone?” I ask, when he ignores it.

“Darla.” He grimaces. “She’s been calling all week.”

Shit. I thought that was over. Guess that makes two of us dealing with lingering relationship drama. “Is that a bad or good thing?”

“I dunno.” He watches the bar as it rises and falls. “Bad, I think. Easy, obviously, but I think we’re done.”

I understand. Things with Shanna felt easy too. Comfortable. Until it wasn’t.

“Maybe it’s time to move on.” I huff out, pushing the bar up again.

He grunts, not committing one way or the other.

“What about that chick, Nadia?”

“Nah,” he says. “I don’t think she’s interested.”

“Why do you say that?”

He shrugs. “I followed her socials and slid into her DMs, but nothing came of it.”

I push through the last two, arms wobbling from the pressure. Reid spots me, but never touches the bar, not until he helps lift it over the rack. “Jesus,” I breathe, sitting up and wiping the sweat off my face with the hem of my shirt. “Brutal.”

“Beast mode, man.” He gives me his fist and even though I can barely lift my arms, I save face and bump it.

“She could be playing hard to get.” Or abiding by the rules her best friend set up, I want to say, but can’t. “Maybe,” I say, trying to find the right tone, “you should ask her out.”

His eyebrow raises. “Ask her out,” he repeats.

“You know…” the word feels weird on my tongue, but I push it out anyway, “…on a date.”

“You want me to ask a jersey chaser on a date.”

“It’s one way to let Darla know it’s over.”

“I don’t know, man.” He grabs his water bottle and takes a drink. We’re quiet for a minute, nothing but the sound of the other guys moving around the gym. I’m going to have to tell Twyler this isn’t happening. These guys don’t date. They fuck around, more serious about the game than settling down. Which is how it should be. Committing to a woman is a distraction, like Darla blowing up Reid’s phone all day. I’m about to tell him to forget it, and I’ll just have to make it up to Twyler another way, when he wipes his forehead and says, “You know what? I’ll do it. She’s hot. I had fun with her the other night. One date won’t be the end of the world, and you’re right. Maybe it’ll send a message.”

We part, him heading to the free weights and me to the treadmill. Once I’m finished, the gym is pretty cleared out, and I see a notification on my phone from Shanna.

It’s the third time she’s contacted me since the coffee shop. One was a text telling me she was glad to see me. The next was a throwback photo on her Chattysnap where she tagged me, and now a video of a badger winning a fight against a leopard with the note: This is how I see you on the ice!

Running my fingers through my hair, I can’t help but see the irony in the fact I’m giving all this advice and telling my teammates how to handle their shit, when it’s pretty fucking clear I have my own ex that needs to get a message.

I shower and change, grabbing my bag to head out. Passing the training room, I stick my head in. Twyler’s bent over, organizing the supply closet. Damn, Nadia’s right, she does have a pretty amazing ass.

My dick twitches.

She turns, and I straighten, dragging my eyes, mind, and cock out of the gutter.

“Hey,” I say, leaning against the door.

“Oh, hey.” I watch as her skin turns pink, something that happens every time she looks at me.

“Just wanted to report that I think the date’s a done deal. Reid should reach out to Nadia tonight.”

Her eyes light up. Which is saying a lot, they are the most expressive part of her face. “Really? That’s great.”

“Sure, told you I’d take care of it.”

“Well, thank you. Even if it doesn’t work out, I just want her to give it more than a one-night stand, you know?”

“More than a jersey chaser.”

She nods and closes the cabinet doors. I’m still standing there when she grabs her jacket and zips it up.

“Are we good?” I ask, stepping into the room. “I know that was out of line the other day. I really am sorry. I know you think that I think I’m god’s gift, but under normal situations I wouldn’t just kiss someone without asking. Especially someone that has made it clear they’re not into me.” I give her a small grin. “I’m all for consent.”

Her eyes linger somewhere between my mouth and chest. “We’re fine.”

“Promise?”

“Mmhm.” She slings her backpack over both arms.

She doesn’t sound sure, but I let it drop. We walk out together, and then turn, taking the same path back to Shotgun. “For the record,” I announce. “I am not walking you home. Just headed the same direction.”

She cuts me a glare. “I know.”

We continue in silence. Normally I have no problem talking to people. Girls. New faces. Adults. But Twyler is tough to crack and dare I say it, immune to my charm. My phone buzzes and I ignore it, afraid to even look.

“I’ve been thinking about something,” she blurts as we cross the street, leaving campus and walking into our neighborhood.

“Oh, yeah?”

“You said that you know I don’t like guys…”

“Right. I mean, whoever you’re into, or not into, it’s not my business.”

She stops walking and takes a deep breath. Closing her eyes, she says, “That’s the thing, I do. I do like guys. Men.”

Huh. I take in her sporty vibe. It’s not screaming, I want to kiss girls, but it’s also not encouraging anything else. Asexual, maybe? I haven’t thought too much about it. Then I think back to that outfit at the party and how my body responded to her and… well, fuck.

“What are you saying?” I ask, trying to gauge where this conversation is going.

“I’m saying that there’s this assumption I’m not into men, but I am.” Her chin juts out. “I’ve had a boyfriend before.”

A boyfriend. Noted.

“Okay.”

“I’m just more comfortable like this,” she tugs at the workout pants, “and it works for the job. It’s not some kind of sexual identifier.”

“Of course not.” As someone who spends their days in workout clothes or practice uniforms, I get it.

“I just…” God her face is so red and her hands twist around the straps of her backpack. “…I want to make that clear.”

“So, what you’re saying is that you’re into guys, but you’re just really awkward.”

“What?” Her jaw drops. “I never said that.”

“Okay, I inferred it.” But I hear what she’s saying. We’ve been making a lot of assumptions and jokes—treating her like a kid, or one of the guys, when so far, she’s proven that she’s a smart, capable woman. “But that explains the kiss. Because that wasn’t the kiss of a woman who isn’t attracted to men.”

Or me, but I’m afraid she’ll punch me if I say that out loud.

Her cheeks go red again and that’s when it clicks that her normal bitchy expression is a shield to hide her vulnerability. The phone in my hand buzzes. Shanna. I press the device against my forehead and mutter, “Not again.”

“Something wrong?” Twyler asks.

“Apparently, kissing you didn’t do anything to deter Shanna. If anything, it seems to have fueled her interest again.” The phone buzzes again. “Shit.”

“I told you no one would believe it.”

I laugh. “That’s where you’re wrong, because this?” I hold up the phone. “This is insecurity. And you made her insecure.”

“Unlikely.”

“You hide behind that bitchy scowl and that ancient hoodie.” I rake my eyes down her body. “I told you before, you don’t see yourself clearly, Sunshine.”

She scowls. “Don’t call me that.”

Fuck, she’s cute riled up, but any follow up is cut by the buzz of my phone.

“Is that her again?” she asks, peering at the screen.

“Yep.”

Studying me for a minute, Twyler holds out her hand. “Give me your phone.”

“What? Why?”

She makes a grabby gesture with her fingers, and I relent. I think she’s going to look at the messages, but she doesn’t, instead saying, “Give it.”

She opens my Chattysnap app and turns on the camera. She shocks me by grabbing a fist full of my shirt and dragging me down. “Get closer,” she says, then arranges us for a selfie, faces pressed close together. She smells good, like something fresh and clean. Without a second glance at her hair or the angle, she presses send and shoots it out to the universe. “There.”

I raise my eyebrows. “You posted that?”

“If she’s texting you, she’s watching your social media.” She shrugs like this is the most obvious thing ever. “Now she knows why you’re not answering. You’re with me.”

I blink, trying to figure out what’s happening. “How do you know that?”

Twyler presses the phone back in my hand and laughs. “I live with Nadia, the queen of making men and women jealous on social media.”

“Interesting.”

She starts to walk forward, but I grab her by the arm, dragging her back. “Wha—”

“One more.” I position us this time, pulling her close. She doesn’t smile, but rolls her eyes at the camera, and that’s when I turn my head, kissing her on the temple as I snap the picture.

“Reese!” she shouts, pushing me off.

“You started it,” I call as she storms off toward her house. I smile and wave when she reaches the front porch. She flips me off, then turns, slamming the door behind her.

Twyler Perkins may like guys, but I’m definitely not one of them.