Neutral Zone (Carolina Comets)

I get it. I’m a complete fucking asshole.

I’ve been watching Rosie stream for two months now, knowing full fucking well who is behind that black and gold mask, knowing I see her every day at the donut truck.

Hell, it’s what kept me glued to her videos in the first place. When I happened upon her selfies, even though she was wearing a wig and heavy makeup, I knew it was her. Those green eyes I can’t ever seem to stop looking at were a dead giveaway.

I tried. I tried really fucking hard to pretend I never stumbled upon her account. Hell, I went an entire week without seeking her out, but I couldn’t stay away any longer.

So, I caved. I caved, and now I spend entirely too much fucking money a month to watch her parade around her apartment in lingerie. I’m a sick fucking man in a fucked-up situation, and it’s all my fault.

I even skipped out on the donut truck today because I didn’t want to face her after what happened yesterday. She was frazzled in a way I’d never seen her be before, and it got even worse after she let her naughty and cute comment slip. I wasn’t expecting it, and based on her reaction, she wasn’t expecting to say it either. But she did, and suddenly, it was out there hanging between us and making things awkward. I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it since.

The moment the word naughty left her lips, a wave of embarrassment flooded me because she has no clue just how naughty I really am, watching her nearly every night, knowing damn well she doesn’t know I’m on the other side of the screen.

Sure, she coupled it with calling my toothless smile cute, something I’m sure nobody has ever said to me before, but I’m too focused on the other part.

I should just tell her I found her account. What’s the worst that could happen? Besides, maybe she’ll think it’s sweet that I support her and won’t think I’m a total creep.

Yeah, like that’ll happen.

That’s not my luck with women. It’s never been my luck with women. Why would that change now, especially with Rosie, someone who is completely out of my league? I mean, fuck, she’s brave enough to post sexy photos and strut around for strangers while I can barely even talk to her without stumbling over my words. We’re completely different people.

“Incoming!”

I lift my head just in time. A puck goes sailing by, and judging by the wind that comes off it and brushes against my face, it was damn close to hitting me.

“Holy shit!” Miller yells as he strides across the ice. “Fuck, man. Sorry about that. I thought you’d see it.”

“It’s fine,” I tell him.

Though, really, it’s not fine. I could have been seriously hurt, and it’s all my fault. I’m totally distracted out here.

We sat through a couple of hours of video reviews and went over our upcoming schedule, and I’m positive I only retained about fifty percent of everything we covered. Hell, even Miller was taking notes, and I was just sitting there like a sleep-deprived zombie.

Now, we’re out on the ice, and my mind is still racing. I’m not focused on my drills like I need to be, even though I really need to be focused because we’re facing Vancouver tomorrow, and I’d rather not make a fool of myself against my former club.

“You good?” Miller asks.

I nod. “I’m good.”

“You sure? You look a little lost in thought there.”

“Just tired. Late night.”

“You? Mr. Stays at Home Like a Lame Old Man?”

I grin. “That’s quite a mouthful of a name.”

“How about Mr. Boring Old Man?”

“Why am I always an old man? Aren’t we close to the same age?”

“Yes, but you’re still older, and I’m still a spring damn chicken.” He points to me. “Old man.”

“I’m like ninety-five percent sure every guy on this team would kick your ass if they heard you talking about how old they are.”

He puffs his chest out. “Pfft. I could take them.”

“Drop the gloves, then.”

We spin around to find Adrian “Beast” Rhodes glaring at Miller with a challenge in his gaze. I swear I can hear Miller’s asshole pucker from here, and I can’t help but laugh when his eyes expand to roughly double their normal diameter.

“Y-You don’t want this smoke,” Miller says, trying his damnedest to sound tough, but there’s no mistaking the tremble in his voice.

Rhodes grins, and though I’m sure he doesn’t intend for it to look menacing, that jagged scar that runs down his face makes it appear that way. “That’s what I thought.”

What’s even funnier is that despite the fact that Rhodes looks scary and definitely throws his weight around on the ice like nobody’s business, he’s probably one of the nicest, most loyal guys you’ll ever meet.

He looks at me. “What’s up with you today? You seem off. Everything good?”

“He had a late night,” Miller answers for me, an obnoxious grin on his face.

Beast’s brows rise high. “That so? Special overnight guest?”

“Only if you count Carl.”

He frowns at my answer. “It’s so weird that you named your female cat Carl.”

“I didn’t name her. She named herself.”

“Right.” He rolls his eyes. “Just keep your head up. There are idiots out here all over this ice just whipping pucks around.”

He strides backward toward his own set of drills he’s been running all morning.

“Hey!” Miller protests at the insult a full thirty seconds after he skates away, finally catching on to the fact that Rhodes was talking about him. “How rude,” he says, putting his hands on his hips a la Stephanie Tanner.

This time it’s me who rolls his eyes. “Get back to work.”

“Fine,” he grumbles. “But keep your head up—I don’t need my ass beat today. I’m pretty sure Scout wouldn’t appreciate it if I came home with a black eye.” He tips his head, then a slow grin spreads across his lips. “On second thought, hit me. I want to test this theory. Maybe she’ll think it’s hot and jump my bones.”

I shove him. “Go away, Miller.”

“I’m going, I’m going. Nobody is any fun today. Everyone is boring—and moving slow as fuck, which I really don’t like to see.”

I thought it was just me, but as I stand here looking out at the ice, all the guys are a little sluggish. I’d be fine with it if so much wasn’t riding on this season. The Comets have taken several first-round Playoff exits in the years since the team last won the Cup. Everyone is on thin ice, especially our coaching staff. Not a single person on this team wants to see anything happen to our head coach, Heller.

Coach Heller, or Coach Hell as we sometimes call him because the dude can make life a living hell, is the best there ever was, and it would be a damn shame to see him go down because of our mistakes. We all know it’s the nature of the business when a team isn’t performing the way it should be, but in some way, it will be on all our shoulders too.

This season, we need to win. We have to win. For Coach, for ourselves.

There’s no other choice.

An idea hits me, and I’m shocked I’m even thinking about it because when I say I hate going out, I mean it. It’s my least favorite thing ever, especially since I’m usually stuck babysitting all the rookies, but maybe that’s exactly what this team needs: some bonding time.

“Miller!”

He lifts his head my way, then skates back toward me when I beckon him over.

“’Sup?”

“You’re right, we’re slow. We should probably do something about it.”

His eyes light up. “Oh! I know what we could do—Slapshots. All of us.”

I try not to laugh because it was entirely too easy to make him think this was his idea, but that’s Miller for you.

I nod. “I think that’s a good idea.”

“So, you’re in, then? Like you’ll actually come out with us?”

“I mean, if it’s for the team, I guess I could consider it.”

He punches my shoulder lightly. “Nine good?”

I nearly balk at his suggestion. Nine at night? We probably wouldn’t leave until eleven or later…I’ll completely miss RoPlaying streaming.

But it’s fine. Totally cool. It’s for the team, right? And I’d do anything for the team, even miss my favorite late-night activity.

“I’ll check my schedule,” I tell him dryly.

“As if it’s actually full.” He laughs, and I’m not even hurt by his comment because it’s a fair assessment. “All right, then, it’s settled. I’ll rally the troops.”

I nod, watching him skate away and up to Hayes, who excitedly agrees.

I go back to my drills, trying not to freak out about what I’ve just gotten myself into.

I won’t lie, we just arrived and I’m already itching to pull my phone from my pocket and check to see if RoPlaying is online. This is usually the time she starts her streams, and I’m dying to check in on her.

It’s ridiculous. I’m ridiculous for this little obsession of mine, but I’m going to chalk it all up to superstition. It hasn’t escaped my notice that whenever I catch a stream, I score the next game. Might as well keep that going, right? I’ll do whatever it takes to keep us winning games. It’s still early in the season, but we need all the points we can get in a tight division like ours.

Yeah, that’s what it is, I tell myself.

“First round is on me!” Miller shouts through cupped hands, and everyone in our group cheers, drawing the attention of just about every patron in the bar.

To be fair, we’ve been drawing attention since the moment we walked through the doors. Sure, Slapshots is known as the Comets’ frequent hangout, but that doesn’t mean we don’t turn heads whenever we walk in. Add in the fact that there are about fifteen or so of us here and that we had to combine three different tables so we could all sit together, and we definitely have the attention of the entire room.

“Water for me,” requests Hollis, the fiancée of our team captain, Lowell. She lays a hand on her large belly, a grin playing on her lips.

Since she and Lowell are days away from having their second kid, this may be their last chance to come out for quite a while. It’s crazy to me because I can’t even imagine having one child while trying to juggle a hockey career, let alone two of them running around. They’re brave, that’s for damn sure.

Miller sends her a thumbs-up before heading to the bar to place our orders. We’ve all been here enough times for Rod, the owner, to know what we want. Sometimes I don’t even have to say anything, and he just slides a fresh IPA my way.

“That’s a lot of drinks. Should someone go help him?” Wright speaks up. “I mean, it is Miller…”

“Hey!” Scout, Miller’s girlfriend, shouts in his defense, but there’s no denying the smile on her lips. She’s aware Miller is the guy we all love and love to pick on. He’s used to it, and so is she.

“Nah. Let him figure it out on his own.”

“Adrian!” his wife admonishes, sending him a glare.

He sighs, then shoves away from the table, heading toward the bar to help Miller. It’s hilarious to see a man so big and scarred as Rhodes fall at his wife’s feet like he does, but he’s madly in love with the woman he drunk married in Vegas. I remember sitting in Vancouver when the news broke about it. It was all over every NHL website and social media page, going viral over and over again. I’m not sure anyone thought they’d still be together years later, but it’s clear as day that’s not changing anytime soon.

“Can’t believe we managed to get us all together outside of the rink. I don’t think that’s happened since…” Smith, a past player on the Comets turned video coach, tips his head as he thinks about it. “Shit, I’m not sure when. Maybe when I was still playing?”

Emilia, his girlfriend, gives him a soft smile at the mention of his old career. Smith used to be known around the league for racking up assists like crazy, and everyone called him Granny Apple Smith. The dude is going down as a legend for making some crazy goals happen.

“Had to have been before Hayes and Fitzy Baby joined the team,” Wright says, nodding his head toward our end of the table.

“I think you might be right,” Lowell chimes in.

Greer grunts. “That’s because nobody wants to be seen in public with Miller.”

“Hey!” Scout says again, and we all laugh, including her.

“Be nice,” Stevie whispers to her grumpy boyfriend.

The command is quiet, but since I’m sitting right next to her, I don’t miss it, which means I don’t miss when Greer’s cheeks darken with embarrassment. It’s such a rare look for him that I can’t help but laugh, earning me a nice middle finger from the grumpy goalie himself.

“What’d I miss? Why is Greer flipping people off now?”

The baker who banished me plops down in the empty chair across from me, and I guess that answers the question of if she’s streaming.

Her blonde hair that’s normally twisted up in a messy bun is hanging loosely around her shoulders. While she’s typically hidden behind an apron, there’s never been any mistaking that Rosie has a whole lot of curves, and the tight, low-cut, off-the-shoulder black top doesn’t do anything to veil them either. This look is a lot closer to what she wears during her streams, and I’m doing all I can to not take notice—to not let my dick take notice.

I’m failing because it’s really hard to ignore her beauty.

Rosie gives Stevie a one-armed hug, then peers around the table, waving and smiling at everyone who already knows her from the donut truck we all frequent. There’s no mistaking the moment she realizes I’m here, and this time it’s her cheeks that darken.

“Oh,” she mutters. “You.”

A chuckle rumbles out because it’s obvious she’s thinking about our encounter the other morning.

“Me,” I reply.

Stevie snickers, drawing our attention. Her gaze is flitting between me and Rosie, and I have no doubt it’s because she knows what happened. It was painfully obvious the two of them were discussing it while I was sitting at the table.

“What’s up with you two?” Greer asks, not missing the tension between us.

“Nothing!” Rosie says way too loudly and quickly. Then those jade eyes are on me, narrowed and daring me to say something that challenges her answer.

Like the gentleman my momma raised me to be, I roll my lips together and keep quiet.

“Right,” Greer says, not believing anything Rosie says, and I don’t blame him. I wouldn’t believe us either, not with how fidgety Rosie is acting.

Really, it’s for nothing. So she had a slip of the tongue and called me naughty and cute…big deal. No reason to be flustered by it. I mean, I’ve practically forgotten about it by now.

Okay, no. That’s a lie. It’s still rattling around in my head, but whatever. I’m cool. We’re cool.

“Hey there, Rosie,” Hayes says, sliding his arm across the back of her chair and leaning into her.

She shoots him a megawatt grin, the same one she gives me every morning when I show up for my caffeine fix. “Hey there, Hayes.”

He winks at her, and she giggles.

A twinge of annoyance rushes through me at Hayes being so cozy with Rosie. I don’t like it because I know how the young forward is with women. He treats them as nothing more than something to play with for a bit, then leaves them in the dust. Rosie deserves better than that.

She also deserves better than me being a creep and watching her streams, but we’re not going to get into that now.

“I present to you: alcohol!” Miller shouts at the opposite end of the table from us as he sets down a tray filled with glasses. Rhodes sets another tray down beside us, and I automatically reach for the IPA that’s sitting nearest me.

“Hey, Rosie. Glad you could join us. What can I get you to drink?” Rhodes asks. “Miller’s buying, so make sure it’s something expensive.”

“Um…” She taps a perfectly manicured finger against her chin a few times before saying, “Vodka soda?”

“Top-shelf vodka soda—got it. Be right back.” He heads off back toward the bar.

I bring my beer to my lips and take a hefty drink, thankful for the delicious hoppy liquid that slides down my throat. I’m starting to feel a little on edge, and I’m not exactly sure why, but I want it to stop. Hopefully, this will help.

I can feel eyes on me, and when I lift my gaze, I’m surprised to find Rosie staring at me intently. Her eyes are flitting over every inch of my face, and it’s getting hot under her stare. I hate it and love it all at the same time.

When she realizes I’ve caught her staring, she doesn’t hide it. She simply quirks a brow, like she’s begging me to say something.

I don’t. Instead, I look away, grinning into my beer like an idiot. She’s so feisty, and I fucking love it.

“Oh yeah, I forgot to tell you…” Miller starts as he passes out drinks. “I signed us all up for karaoke.”

“What?!”

“How?!”

“They don’t even have karaoke here!”

I have no idea who exactly shouts their displeasure, but I agree with all of them. I’d rather pull out another one of my teeth before singing karaoke.

“I brought my machine from home. Rod said it was cool.”

“Dammit, Rod!” Lowell hollers toward the bar, shaking his fist in the air.

The owner-slash-bartender shrugs, then returns to making drinks.

“You have a karaoke machine?” Wright asks Miller.

“That you brought from home?” Disgust and disbelief drip off every one of Rhodes’ words.

“Scout, how could you let him get a karaoke machine?” Harper asks. “You know that’s just asking for trouble.”

She holds her hands up. “Hey, that was all on him. I walked into his apartment one day and it was just there, and he was singing Shania Twain. He refuses to return it.”

“Because it’s awesome! Besides, someone had to bring the fun tonight, and I volunteered myself.” Miller points at Rhodes, Smith, and Greer. “You three assholes are grumpy about ninety-nine percent of the time.” He moves on to Wright and Lowell. “And you two are just old dudes who are all settled down and shit and never want to do anything fun because of your ladies.” He looks at Harper and Hollis. “No offense, of course.” His eyes land on me next. “Then there’s Fitz and Hayes. They’re just…well, Fitz and Hayes.”

“Hey, I’m fun!” Hayes tries to redeem his image.

“A little too fun sometimes.” The captain throws daggers toward the forward, probably annoyed because Hayes got in some trouble over the summer and we all had to hear about it from management.

I get it. Hayes can be a handful, but he’s still a good kid. A little immature, but weren’t we all at some point?

“He’s fun,” I say, sticking up for him. “But I take no offense at what’s been said about me. I am boring, and I’m totally cool with it.”

“You’re not boring,” Stevie says softly. “You just prefer your own company.”

“More like the company of his hand.” Hayes holds his palm up, waiting for someone to slap it.

And someone does—the curvaceous blonde with lime eyes sitting across from me.

Rosie.

I raise a brow at her, surprised by her betrayal.

“What?” She shrugs, not caring what she’s just endorsed. “See a hand, smack a hand.”

“Gave me cookie, got you cookie,” Hayes says before holding his hand up again, and Rosie slaps it once more.

“That one was a bit cheap because I love New Girl, but see? You can’t deny someone a high five. It’s impossible.”

I hold my hand up, just to test her theory.

She smacks her palm against mine. “See?” she says excitedly. “It’s just the natural reaction.”

“All right. I’ll allow it.” I lean across the table. “But just so you know, that makes the third time you’ve insulted me.”

Her eyes flare as she sinks lower in her chair, covering her face, and I swear I hear an “Oh god” come out of her. I laugh, then take another sip of my beer.

Maybe tonight won’t be so bad after all.