Neutral Zone (Carolina Comets)

When Stevie invited me out tonight, I figured it would be fun. I’ve been out with the players a few times, and there are always lots of laughs to be had.

And fine, maybe a tiny part of me was hoping Fitz would be here. I haven’t seen him in a few days, and I’m not sure if it’s because he’s avoiding the donut truck or if it’s for a different reason. If he is avoiding Scout’s Sweets, I don’t blame him. I made it plenty awkward the other day; he has no reason to want to come back.

Now that I’m here and sitting across from him…ugh, I wish more than anything I had magical powers and could make myself invisible because I did it again, stuck my whole damn foot in my mouth, and then some.

“Why, why, why…” I chant to myself as I walk out of the bathroom stall, the same one I’ve been hiding in for the last ten minutes.

Not only did I mess things up with Fitz the other day, I just did it again when I high-fived Hayes for insulting him. I played it cool and shrugged off his comments, but deep down, I’m totally dying inside, and I’m really beginning to believe something is truly wrong with me. It’s the only explanation I have for being off my game like I am.

“Are you talking to yourself again?”

I clutch my chest, whirling around to find Stevie leaning against a wall. She shoves off, stalking toward me with a smirk.

“How did you…” I shake my head, moving toward the sink and dispensing soap onto my hands. I run them under the water for the requisite twenty seconds, then grab a few paper towels. I turn, leaning against the counter as I dry my hands off. “What are you doing in here?”

“Checking on you because, no offense, you’re kind of a mess this week. That isn’t like you at all.”

“Yes, you’re right. I’m always super put together.”

We both laugh because that’s not true at all. Sure, I’m not usually this big of a mess, but put together? That’s not me either.

“Is it okay that Fitz is here?”

“Of course. Why wouldn’t it be?”

She gestures noncommittally. “You know…all your nerves. The slip of the tongue. You calling him naughty and cute. Your intense staring session out there. Is it your crush on him?”

I whip my head back. “My…” I sputter out a laugh. “What crush? What are you talking about?”

She lifts a shoulder. “Well, I mean, I kind of figured you had one. You’re always talking about how hot he is.”

“Well, duh. You have eyes—you can see how attractive that man is. I mean, those eyelashes alone.”

“Ugh, men always have the best eyelashes.”

“And that jaw of his? Perfection.”

“Greer’s is better, but Fitz’s isn’t so bad.”

“And those hazel eyes? Wow. Wow! Talk about mesmerizing. Don’t even get me started on his missing tooth. It’s just…” I sigh. “So hot.”

Stevie doesn’t say anything for several moments, then suddenly, she’s doubled over, clutching her stomach as she laughs louder and harder than I’ve ever seen her laugh before.

“What? Why are you laughing?”

She looks up at me briefly, then drops her head, laughing again. I fold my arms over my chest, staring daggers at her while she continues to laugh. It feels like hours before she finally settles down, but when she does, I am not expecting what she says next.

“You’re totally into him. Like full-blown writing his name and drawing hearts on your notebook kind of into him.”

“What? You’re insane!” I retort. “There is no way. Fitz is just…well, he’s Fitz. Cute, yes, but a crush? No. That’s not… That’s not…”

Oh god.

Realization smacks me right in the face.

Ohgodohgodohgod.

I’ve been a bumbling idiot around him all evening, and I was the other day too. I chalked up the incident at the donut truck to just being tired and exhausted, but now that I’m acting like a fool tonight, maybe it’s more than that. Maybe it’s…

“Oh no. Oh no no no no.” The last time I felt like this was when I realized things about my former best friend. When I realized… “I have a crush on him.”

I look up at Stevie, who doesn’t look the least bit shocked by my revelation.

“I have a crush on Fitz,” I tell her.

“Yes, I know.”

“Like a real, true crush.”

“I know,” she repeats with a grin. “So, what are you going to do about it?”

“Nothing!” I rush out. “Not a thing.”

“What? Why not?”

“Because I can’t! I’m… I’m…”

“A totally single and available girl?”

“Well, yeah. But—”

“A smokin’ hot babe who Fitz would be so lucky to have?”

“Of course, but—”

“No. No buts. You’re going to walk out there and—”

“I can’t, Stevie.”

“Yes, you can.”

“No. You don’t get it. I can’t.” I wring my hands and begin walking the length of the bathroom, back and forth and back again.

Stevie’s brows crash together as she watches me pace around like a nervous lunatic. I’m sure she’s wondering what’s going on because this isn’t me. At least, this isn’t the version of me Stevie knows.

I’ve worked hard over the last few years to not be the timid version of myself I used to be, to not be scared to go after what I want. For the most part, I’ve done that. I went out and got the baking job I wanted. I’ve started putting myself out there with friends. I mean, I’m out at a bar with professional hockey players. Hell, strangers pay me to stream in lingerie for crying out loud! Not to mention I’m going to school for my business degree so I can open my own bakery one day.

This me is so different from the woman I was. I overthought everything. I let so much of life pass me by, and after what happened with Levi, I vowed to never, ever be that person again.

But here I am—scared once more.

When Stevie gets tired of my pacing, she steps toward me, putting a hand on my arm to stop me.

“I…” I blow out a breath. “I’ve been in this spot before. With my…” I swallow a lump that’s seemed to form in my throat. “With my ex-best friend. We… Well, I sort of fell in love with him, and…”

“He didn’t love you back,” she guesses with a sad smile.

I nod. “Yeah. So as you can see…”

“This is super hard for you.”

“Yes.”

She sighs. “All right, I get that. I really do, but being scared? That’s not the Rosie I know. That’s not the woman who dresses like a wet dream and streams for thousands of people every night. That’s not the woman who bosses me around on the regular and takes control of every crazy situation like it’s nothing. That’s not the woman who has been working hard to embrace everything she is. You’re a badass who can do whatever she wants. Own it.”

The longer she speaks, the more my shoulders press back because Stevie is right. I’ve come so far. Why am I letting some guy set me back now?

“I’m going out there,” I tell her confidently.

“Hell yeah you are!” Stevie shouts, hyping me up.

“I’m going to march up to him.”

“Yes!” She whoops loudly, clapping her hands together.

“And I’m going to ask him out.”

“There’s my girl!” She grabs my shoulders, steering me toward the door. “Let’s go get him!”

“Yes!”

Only, when I reach for the handle, I pause because all those fears from before start settling into my stomach again. What if Fitz turns me away like Levi did? What if I’m not enough for him? What if he laughs and tells me to get lost? What if…

“What if he doesn’t like me?”

“I’m sorry, have you seen your knockers? Of course he’ll like you!”

It’s just enough to make me laugh, and all my nerves fizzle away.

I shove my shoulders back and pull the door open. My eyes zero in on the table the rest of our party is at. Everyone is lost in conversation, including Fitz, who is currently laughing at something Hayes is saying. He looks so hot with his head thrown back, his eyes screwed tightly shut, and his adorable toothless grin on full display.

“I want to kiss his face.”

Stevie laughs from beside me. “Maybe don’t lead with that.”

We make our way back to the table just in time to hear them start talking about the game they have on Thursday.

“Puh-lease tell me you’re going to be starting in goal for the next game,” I say to Greer, dropping back down into my chair. “Those two points against Nashville after all the bullshit that happened with you getting injured last season would be so damn good.”

“Not really up to me,” he says. “That’s all on Coach.”

But I can tell from his eyes that he wants to be in goal too, wants to get his revenge on the team that steamrolled him, knocked him out of the game for a few weeks, and then subsequently cost the team a deep Playoff run as they took another first-round exit. Everyone knows it’s too many in a row now, which spells trouble across the board.

“For what it’s worth, Macie agrees,” Stevie says, referring to her hockey-obsessed daughter. Sometimes I think she loves the game more than the guys out there on the ice. “And, of course, she’s hoping for a good scrum or two.”

“Hell, I’m hoping for a good scrum,” Rhodes chimes in. “That fucker barreled over Greer on purpose. I know it, and he knows it too. He’s got a beating coming.”

“Didn’t you whoop his ass already?” Hayes asks.

“Sure.” Rhodes shrugs, then a vicious grin appears on his face. “Doesn’t mean I wouldn’t like to do it again.”

Ryan, his wife, fans herself. “Ugh, I love it when you get all growly like that.”

Several of the guys groan, but I hear no objections from the other wives and girlfriends at the table because I’m sure they feel the same way Ryan does. I know I do.

I’m not one of those people who watch the game just for the fights. Hockey is entertaining in other ways too, but I’d be a damn liar if I said seeing the guys dropping gloves doesn’t make my lady bits tingle in all the right ways.

“Can I be the one to go after him? I’m itching to have my first fight this year.”

My eyes slide over to Hayes. “You’ve never been in a fight?”

“Not in the NHL. AHL, a few times.”

“You’ll get one eventually. We all have to answer the bell at some point,” Lowell says. He would know since last season he had his very first fight himself. He came out with a black eye, a bruised knuckle, and a Gordie Howe hat trick. It was amazing.

“I’ve never been in a fight either,” Fitz says from across the table.

Slowly, I turn toward him. “Never?”

He shakes his head. “Not even in juniors.”

“Damn.” Hayes whistles. “We gotta get our boy in a tussle or two before his career is over.”

“How’d you lose your tooth, then? I always figured it was a fight.”

“I lost a tooth?” He sits forward, his brows wrinkling in fake concern. “I didn’t do inventory this morning, so you’ll have to tell me which one.” He smiles big, poking his tongue right through the gap in his teeth.

Heat rises in my cheeks for what feels like the fifth time in his presence, and I’m really starting to think this reaction from me is exclusive to Fitz.

He laughs, sitting back in his chair. “I took a stick up high.” He points to the faded scar on his chin. “Got me here too. Ten stitches.”

I lean across the table to get a good look at it. When I move, so does he.

He’s right…there…only a few inches away, and I’m stuck. I can’t move. It’s not possible, not when he’s so near and when he’s looking at me like he is.

His eyes are the perfect swirl of green, brown, and amber. Those damn long, dark lashes of his are thick and make the color ten times more potent. Being this close, I can see the dots of freckles under his eyes. It’s just a smattering, and I itch to reach over and trace every single one with the tip of my finger.

“Your eyes…” I hear myself say. “They’re beautiful.”

Said eyes widen, and someone clears their throat, breaking the staring contest we’re trapped in. It’s Greer, his stare bouncing back and forth between us yet again. It lingers on Fitz for a moment longer than me, which has him falling back in his chair. He reaches for his beer and chugs the entirety of it, then drags the back of his hand over his mouth.

“Going to grab a refill,” Fitz mutters before abruptly rising from his chair and making his way across the bar.

“Is anyone else going to say anything about the eye-fucking that just happened?”

“Shut the fuck up, Hayes,” Greer mutters through clenched teeth.

I ignore them both, mostly because I’m already out of my chair and following Fitz to the bar. It’s clear I’ve made him uncomfortable, and we both know it’s not the first time today. I need to apologize.

“Hey,” I say, slipping onto the stool next to him.

He startles a bit, then gives me a tight smile, shifting around on the stool, almost angling himself away from me.

Yep. I totally made things awkward between us. Awesome.

“Hey,” he says tentatively. His eyes go to the empty glass in my hand, and he signals for Rod once more. “Vodka soda, too. My tab.”

Rod nods, letting us know he heard him.

“You didn’t have to do that. Besides, I’m pretty sure it’s me who owes you drinks at this point.”

Fitz laughs. “True, but it’s the gentlemanly thing to do, and I’m pretty sure my momma would whoop my ass if she heard I didn’t offer to buy you a drink.”

“Are you, a grown man, scared of your mom?”

He lifts both brows. “Damn right I am. She might be a tiny Russian woman, but she’s scary as hell.”

“Your mother’s Russian? That explains your first name.”

“Yep, that’s from her. My father is Irish. Quite the combo, huh?”

“Do you speak anything other than English?”

He leans into me, and I find myself matching his movements, eager to hear whatever it is he’s about to say. Those hazel eyes peer into me, and I swear he’s looking right at my soul as he whispers a few things in a language I know nothing about.

Well, fuck me. I swear every word he just spoke—whatever the hell they were—went right between my legs.

“What does that mean?” I ask, hoping he doesn’t hear how breathy that came out.

“I have a pet goat.”

“Oh.”

My cheeks heat yet again, and a laugh bubbles out of me.

“What?” he asks, his lips quirked up in a smile. “What’s so funny?”

“Nothing.” I shake my head. “I just…I didn’t expect that.”

Did I just get totally horny from him saying that? Guilty as charged.

Rod sets our refills in front of us, and I reach for mine as if I haven’t had anything to drink in days. I drain half the glass, then immediately regret it. I’ve not had a lot to eat today, and I’m a bit of a lightweight. I already know this is going to go straight to my head.

I set my glass back on the bar top, then turn to Fitz, who is slowly sipping on his beer. “So, do you really?”

“Hm?” He shifts until he’s facing me.

“Do you have a pet goat?”

“Oh, no. But there’s a guy who is a season ticket holder for the Comets, comes to all the games and spends a shit ton of money at the events, and he has several pet goats—like a whole litter of them.”

“A litter?”

Fitz nods. “At least eight, but it could be more by now. Who knows.”

“He sounds amazing. I’ve always wanted a big farm with lots of animals.”

“Really?” He tips his head, studying me. “You seem like more of a big-city gal to me.”

I shrug. “I mean, sure, I like living in the city, but being somewhere quiet with land would be nice too. And great internet, of course.”

He laughs. “A necessity at this point.”

“Sometimes I love the internet and sometimes I hate it. It’s this great place where everybody can be whoever they want to be, but it’s also dangerous for that exact reason.”

“A double-edged sword, that’s for sure. I don’t get on social media often, but sometimes I’ll see the comments on the team’s pages and…” He shudders. “They’re something. And creepy.”

“Oh, trust me, I am well aware of how creepy people can be.”

During my last live stream, I had no less than ten people tell me they wanted to jizz all over my tits. The saddest part is that’s a tame night for me. The messages that fill my inbox… They’re downright pornographic.

There are some diamonds in the rough, though, like ShootsAndScores. Every time I sign off my streaming videos and he’s been watching, he sends me a note that always feels so…genuine compared to the rest, like maybe he’s not watching me just for my tits. Like last time when he chose my nail polish color. It wasn’t the usual “pink to match the head of my swollen cock” comment. He was one of the few who wasn’t a total perv. While that shouldn’t be unique enough to make him stand out, it is.

“So, do you know anything else in Russian?”

“Not a damn word.”

I bark out a laugh. “You can only say I have a pet goat?”

“Much to my grandmother’s dismay, yes.”

“Does your mother speak Russian?”

“A little. When my grandparents came over to the US, they tried hard to blend in and only speak Russian at home or whenever they absolutely needed to. So, my mother grew up speaking English and only picked up a little bit of Russian over the years. Whenever she’d read to me and my sister at bedtime, there was this book about this bad goat, Billy B. Bad or something like that. She’d read some parts in Russian and some in English, something her mother would do with her. I don’t remember the entire story now, but I still remember how to say I have a pet goat in Russian because that was the opening line of the book. My sister knows more and even studied it in college, but I just don’t have the knack for picking up other languages.”

I don’t say anything because I don’t know what to say. It’s not only the most I’ve ever heard Fitz say all at once, it’s also the most I’ve ever learned about him. Seeing him open up and talk like this…I’m not used to it, and I wish he would do it more.

“What?” he asks after several seconds of silence.

I shake my head. “It’s nothing. It’s just…you don’t talk very often, so I’m taking it all in.”

“Yeah, I’m, uh, I’m not big on talking. I like listening more. I’m more of an observer. A…”

“A loner?”

When his brows shoot up, I realize how awful that came out.

“That sounded so bad, like I was calling you a loser or something. I wasn’t. I would never. There’s nothing wrong with being a loner. Hell, I’m a loner. In fact, if I wasn’t out tonight, I’d be at home sitting in front of my co—what? Why are you grinning at me like that?”

“It’s nothing. You’re just, uh…” His cheeks flush. “I like it when you ramble.”

Now it’s my cheeks that heat up.

He likes it when I ramble? Well, I like that he likes it when I ramble. Hell, I’m beginning to suspect I like everything about him. Minus the running, of course. That part is just gross, and you cannot change my mind on that.

“Thank you.” I tuck a loose strand of hair behind my ear. “I think.”

He chuckles quietly. “You’re welcome. It’s cute.”

I cover my face, groaning into my hands at his reference from the other morning, and I hear him laugh. No, I feel him laugh, my entire body vibrating from the rumble that leaves him.

Then he does something I’m not expecting. He wraps his hands around my wrists and pulls at my arms. All at once, every fiber of my being is on fire, and if this is what it feels like to burn, I’ll do it every day for the rest of forever.

“Come on, no hiding. I didn’t hide.”

He tugs gently on me again, and this time I let him pull my hands away.

“Because you couldn’t. I banished you.”

Another laugh rolls out of him. “Yeah, you did. That was very naughty of you.”

There is no doubt in my mind that I look like a fucking tomato with how red my face feels. I try to hide again, but he doesn’t let me. In fact, he doesn’t stop touching me at all. He just holds my wrists in his hands and… Is that his thumb rubbing against me?

I glance down just in time to see him swipe it over the inside of my wrist twice before he realizes what he’s doing and yanks his hands away.

I miss his touch instantly.

“I’m sorry,” he says. “I didn’t mean to embarrass you.”

“And I didn’t mean to embarrass you. I’m not usually so…”

“Frazzled?”

I nod. “Yeah, that. It was just an…off morning for me.”

“I know. That’s why I didn’t think much of it.” He shrugs, then brings his beer up to his lips, taking a healthy sip before setting it back on the counter. How he makes drinking a beer that smells like a skunk’s ass so hot, I don’t even know, but watching as he swallows…the way he drags his tongue over his lips…it’s mesmerizing. I swear I could watch a ten-hour movie on this alone.

Holy crap, my crush on this man is so bad. Like beyond bad. The last time I felt this way about someone was…

I swallow back the lump that’s formed in my throat, trying to ignore it, trying to ignore all the old insecurities that are rising. I don’t need them. I don’t want them. They aren’t true.

I’m Rosie Calhoun. I am a badass who goes after what she wants, and right now, I want Fitz.

“Well, now that we’ve gotten all that out of the way…I was wondering if—”

His cell buzzes against the bar top, drawing both of our attention.

“Sorry,” he mutters, grabbing it and turning the screen on. He sits forward, his eyes attached to whatever’s happening. A small smile plays at the corners of his lips. “I’m sorry,” he says again, completely enamored by whatever is on his screen, which I can’t see from my vantage point. “I, uh, I have to go. Someone needs me.”

He’s up and out of his chair, leaving before I can even ask if everything is okay. He stops to quickly say goodbye to the rest of the raucous crowd we’re with, then he’s out the door and disappearing into the night.

I’m Rosie Calhoun. I am a badass who goes after what she wants, and right now, what I want just walked out the door to go home to someone else.

Lucky me.