Parental Guidance (A Hot Hockey Romantic Comedy) Read online

  They were speeding down the runway when his phone pinged with a message from Zara. It was a picture of her and Anchovy sharing a pillow with the Ice Knights ball between them. There weren’t any words, but he didn’t need them. Just seeing her put that goofy-ass smile on his face.

  …

  For being so small, packing up her miniatures scenes for the Friends of the Library cocktail party was a giant pain in Zara’s ass. Each had to be double-checked for flaws, surrounded by protective Bubble Wrap, and then placed inside boxes that were padded so nothing would move during delivery tomorrow. And she had to do all that while Anchovy kept trying to hand her his Ice Knights tennis ball—no doubt because he could feel the stress stringing her tight and figured a game of catch would loosen her right up.

  Good thing being a woman often meant being a stellar multitasker, because she was able to toss the ball, box up the last of the scenes, and dance horribly without even a hint of coordination as Beyoncé sang. She’d just poured a glass of wine, raised a glass in celebration of the end of her period, and switched from Queen Bey to an episode of Law & Order (she really needed to find a new show, but there were so many episodes) when her phone buzzed with a FaceTime request from Caleb.

  She tapped accept without thinking twice about her hair or her lack of makeup or that she was in her ratty sleep T-shirt again. “How’s Detroit?”

  “The food’s good,” he said as he moved around what looked like an upscale hotel room. “Petrov is originally from here, and he took us to this takeaway place called Chef Greg’s Soul-N-the Wall, where he actually broke this crazy-strict nutritional regimen he’s been on to get a Boogaloo Wonderland hoagie sandwich that was loaded with beef, sauce, cheese, and caramelized onions. The damn thing smelled so good, I had to get one, too. It did not disappoint.”

  She curled her legs underneath her and propped the phone up on the edge of the couch. “And now you’re tucked back up in your room?”

  “Yeah, the coach is a stickler for curfew and he sets an early one. What are you doing?”

  “You know me.” She flipped the camera so he could see the screen of her TV. “It’s Law and Order time.”

  “You’ve got a serious problem,” he said, settling back onto a bed, draping his arm overhead so it rested against his upholstered headboard.

  The move gave her a very good view of his biceps, and the ornery glint in his dark eyes was all the proof she needed to confirm that he knew it. Hell. That wasn’t fair. Like she hadn’t spent enough time thinking about him since he’d walked out of her apartment the other night.

  “What can I say?” she said, fighting not to fan herself right here and now. “I like what I like.”

  “What else do you like?”

  Long walks on the beach, chatting with friends over tea, coming all over his face…the usual. Thank God her brain engaged to save her from herself before she could say that out loud. “Baby Ruths and red wine, as you found out the other night.”

  “And that T-shirt.”

  “What’s wrong with this shirt?” She looked down, tugging her shirt lower and holding it out a bit to make sure it didn’t have chip crumbs or anything on it. “It’s comfy.”

  “Don’t worry, I like it, too—especially how well loved it is.”

  She glanced down again, trying to figure out what he meant, and that’s when she saw it. The dark shadows of her nipples were clearly visible under the threadbare cotton because of course they were. Things couldn’t be simple and uncomplicated when it came to her. She had to have an auto headlight function when it came to Caleb Stuckey.

  “When did you realize?”

  He didn’t even bother to look guilty. “That first night we watched TV together on FaceTime.”

  “And you didn’t tell me?” She wasn’t sure whether to be embarrassed, annoyed, or turned on. In truth, she was a little of all three—okay, a little of two and a lot of the last one. “Is that why you had to change clothes while I was watching?”

  “Oh, you noticed that?” he asked as he stood up. The view on her phone was jostled a bit while he set his phone down on something and then stepped back and peeled off his shirt before dropping it to the floor. “And have you thought about it since?”

  Warm desire flowed through her as her nipples, the ones she’d bet good money he was staring at right now, stiffened against her sleep shirt, the soft material not providing nearly enough of the rough friction she wanted right now. Caleb’s phone was angled so she only got a view of him from the waist up, but there was no mistaking what he was doing. His hands dropped lower, out of the frame, and he pushed down his pants or jeans or shorts or whatever the hell he’d been wearing on his lower half.

  Hot in here? Yes, yes it was. “What are you doing?”

  “Getting ready for bed.” He flipped off the overhead light, leaving only the bedside lamp.

  The change in lighting did nothing to hide the lines of his body or the dark hint of the best kinds of trouble in his eyes. She should end the call. Say good night. Stop this while she still had the self-control to do it.

  Who are you kidding?

  “Why, does it bother you?” He picked up the phone and brought it close to his face so her view was now from the shoulder up. “Is that better?”

  Oh, she was way past that. Her body was primed and aching for him. “You’re tormenting me on purpose.”

  “I’d never do that.” He walked back to his bed, sitting down so he was resting against the propped-up pillows. “I’m just trying to even the score, since I’ve seen you without a stitch on. It seemed the gentlemanly thing to do.”

  As if to prove his point, he kept the phone angled so all she got was him from the muscular shoulders up, which let her take in the dark scruff covering his jaw. She didn’t even have to think hard to recall the feel of it against her inner thighs.

  Her core clenched, and it took everything she had not to slide her fingers underneath the elastic waistband of her panties right then. “Are you naked, Caleb?”

  “I’m not telling,” he said, his voice rough and ready. “This is all the view you get tonight.”

  “I know you’re just trying to get me worked up.” Which she’d passed five minutes ago and was now at the door of press-me-against-any-horizontal-surface-and-fuck-me. “It’s not working.”

  His gaze dropped from her face to her chest and back up again. “Really?”

  “It’s cold in here.” She twisted the side of her sleep shirt around one finger, the move tightening the material across her breasts. If he wanted to play let’s tease, she could do that.

  His jaw tightened, and he moved his hand holding the phone, allowing her to watch as his hand slid over his pecs and down lower out of view. “So the flush in your cheeks is from the chill?”

  Breath quickening, she ached for him. “Absolutely.”

  “Zara, you’re damn good at just about everything I’ve seen you try, but you’re a very bad liar. When I get back, we’re going to have to have a long talk about that.”

  He moved the phone again, giving her just enough of an eyeful of his chest and abs to make her sigh out loud. Damn, he was good at this—and the cocky bastard knew it. Time to give him some of his own back.

  “Good luck in the game tomorrow.” She traced a finger across the scooped neckline of her sleep shirt, accidentally pushing it down lower, showing off her breasts from the top swells to almost her nipples. “I’ve gotta go and take care of something before bed.”

  “Gonna tell me your plans?” he asked, his hot gaze roaming her as good as a touch.

  “You’re not the only tease, Caleb.” She dipped her finger lower, under the soft cotton of her shirt, letting her finger graze the stiff tip of her nipple as he watched—not to give him a show but because watching his reaction to the move was a huge turn-on. “Good night.”

  He let out a harsh groan. “Night, Zara.”

  She ended the call wired, on edge, and desperate for relief. Ever so grateful that she’d alrea
dy taken Anchovy for his last walk of the evening and that the big dog was asleep on his cushiony bed instead of hers for once, she headed straight for her bed. She had her fingers between her legs when the first buzz sounded on her phone. Ignoring it, she circled her clit, slow and soft, making that tight high-wire feeling last as long as she could.

  The second buzz, however, pulled her straight out and she grabbed her phone, more than a little annoyed. That changed as soon as she opened her text messages. The first was a pic of Caleb from the abs down, the thick outline of his hard dick against his boxer briefs breathtakingly visible. The second photo was a side view without any underwear. While his junk was hidden by the way his hips were shifted away from the camera, she had the perfect view of his high, muscular ass in profile.

  Her brain stopped functioning, but her fingers didn’t. Forget drawing it out. She rubbed faster, circling her clit and dipping down between her folds to slip a finger in her slick entrance before going back up to her clit, repeating the process while she looked at the photos until her orgasm hit. She was still trying to catch her breath when she took a picture of her own and hit send before she could second-guess it.

  …

  Caleb was already in the shower, his hand around his cock, when his phone dinged. He reached out past the shower curtain and grabbed it without losing a stroke. It was a photo of Zara’s slightly spread legs from just above the knees down—nothing he wouldn’t see at the beach except for one thing. Her black panties were around one ankle.

  The water beating against his back could have been ice chips at that moment and he wouldn’t have cared, even if he’d noticed. His girl was tormenting him in the best way possible. He set his phone down outside the shower before he dropped it and planted his hand against the tile wall.

  Hand gripping tighter, moving faster, he closed his eyes and pictured sliding those panties off her. He’d toss them to the side, yank her down to the edge of the bed, and feast on that perfect pussy of hers. Her hands in his hair, her hips raising off the bed to help put his mouth exactly where she wanted it. Hearing her soft pants and the low, husky pleas to lick here and suck there. Then he’d reach down to squeeze his dick as she came all over his tongue.

  The fantasy played in his head, so real he could almost taste her on his lips as he jacked his cock rough and fast until he came in a rush of sensation that left him breathless with his forehead pressed against the shower wall.

  Zara Ambrose was taking over his brain, his fantasies, his plans. Hell, he’d already added taking her to Chef Greg’s Soul-N-the Wall someday to his list of must-dos in the next off-season. If he kept going like this, he would end up like Phillips, in a messy situation with a woman who couldn’t be his.

  He only had her for two more dates. That’s when rule number one would kick in—no relationships.

  He was starting to fucking hate rule number one.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Caleb had three new stitches and a beauty of a shiner thanks to a high stick in the Detroit game when he walked into Fido’s Café on Forty-Third Street and Westin Avenue for date number four.

  Calling it a café was a local joke. It was a dog park surrounded by benches, and some entrepreneurial food truck vendors had set up on the street beside it. Every Saturday morning, the place was packed with dogs in the fenced-off play area making furry friends and their human counterparts milling around, trying to do the same.

  He scanned the massive outdoor brunch crowd for a short redhead with a giant dog, spotting Anchovy first—or was it that the Great Dane spotted him? Either way, the beast came galloping across the green space outside of the fenced-in section, pulling Zara behind him. Bracing himself, Caleb prepped for the onslaught as an older woman next to him let out a squawk of alarm and a pair of young dads yanked their toddler out of the way. Anchovy was clueless to all of it. The dog didn’t stop until his paws were on Caleb’s chest and the dog’s wet nose practically touched his.

  “Hey there, fella.” He scratched Anchovy on his special spot behind his ears. “Miss me?”

  It was a rhetorical question when it came to the dog, but he really wanted an answer from Zara, because he sure as hell had missed her. The air around them was electrified as he watched her, wondering if she was wearing black panties again today. Were her nipples already straining against the material of her bra? Had she woken up wet, knowing they were in a countdown to getting to see each other again? Fuck, even thinking those questions had his dick getting thick against his thigh as he adjusted his stance before he embarrassed himself.

  The dog must have realized there was an undercurrent, because Anchovy went back down on four legs, then sat down on the ground.

  “Oh my God,” Zara gasped, taking off her sunglasses and peering up at him. “Your face.”

  His hand went to the bandage covering his stitches. It looked worse than it was. “It’s nothing.”

  Raising herself up on her tiptoes, she took a closer look. “It was that asshole who got away with that high stick, wasn’t it?”

  He was about to answer when the meaning behind her words sank in. “You watched my game?”

  “It might have been on.” She took a half step away and slid her sunglasses back on. “You know how Anchovy likes to sit on the remote.”

  “Don’t try to cover it up,” he said, his ego growing twelve sizes in three seconds. “You interrupted your Law and Order binge to watch my game.”

  “Fine. I was curious,” she said. “Before I met you, I’d never watched a game before.”

  He almost fell over. “Never?”

  “I’m more of a baseball person.” She fanned her face with both hands. “There’s nothing like those pants.”

  Caleb had spent his life in locker rooms; he knew when someone was busting his chops. “I’m going to take this as a challenge to win you over to the hockey side of things.”

  They spent the next half hour talking hockey while Anchovy played with a bunch of other dogs in the park. She’d just finished a question about the point of icing when a guy in a T-shirt emblazoned with the Doghouse Boot Camp logo on it blasted a whistle.

  “Bramble daters! Bring your good boys and girls over here—it’s time for Doghouse Boot Camp.”

  “I’ll give the Bramble app one thing, the dates are definitely not your typical dinner and a movie,” Zara said, getting up from their bench and holding out her hand. “You ready for date number four?”

  He took her hand, entwining his fingers with her much smaller ones as if it was the most natural thing in the world. “I don’t know about Anchovy, but I am.”

  …

  Zara fought to hold in her laugh as Anchovy broke down Caleb one treat at a time.

  Hands on his hips, ultraserious expression on his face, Caleb told the dog to sit. Anchovy just stared at him and wagged his tail.

  Caleb nudged the stubborn dog’s hind end. “Sit.”

  Her devious little beast didn’t sit. Instead, he did that whole puppy-dog-eye thing, and the big tough hockey player folded like a half-cooked pancake and gave him the treat anyway.

  “You can’t do that,” she said, doing her best to sound serious because she was right. “He’ll never learn.”

  “It won’t hurt anything,” Caleb said as he fed the dog another biscuit.

  Zara scoffed. “You saw how people scattered when he came sprinting over to you—he scared them half to death. He needs to learn some manners.”

  “He’s got some, it’s just that they’re his own.” Caleb reached out and patted the dog on the head.

  Anchovy, traitor that he was, immediately sat down, gazing up adoringly at them both. What in the world was she going to do with them? They were both nothing but trouble. Of course, she only had Caleb for one more date. The fizzy little champagne bubbles popped one after another, leaving her deflated when she should have been elated.

  She was nearly to her goal of completing five dates to help her dad get his SAG card (he was already filling out his paperwork)
and to get her as Gemma’s plus-one to the Friends of the Library charity ball. Plus, she had the added bonus of her vagina cobwebs being utterly and thoroughly cleaned out—which sounded gross when she thought it out loud in her head that way, but what the hell, it was true.

  Caleb continued. “I just know that some people—and dogs—learn a little differently than others.”

  Her chest tightened as she pictured him alone in front of that classroom. If she had access to a time machine, she would love to go smack that teacher up side the head. “So what was your mom’s reaction to that teacher who was such an ass?”

  “She told me to buckle down, try my best.” He squatted next to Anchovy, keeping all his attention on the dog, as if looking at her and saying the words was too much. “That’s Coach Britany’s answer to just about everything—figure out your goal and work harder. The thing was that I hadn’t been slacking. It’s a processing thing, not a lazy thing. I don’t know that she understands that even today.”

  Emotion clogged her throat and her chest burned as she took the three steps over to him. For once, she towered over him, but she’d never felt more helpless. The lasting hurt of old wounds was something she knew all too well, and if she understood how to heal them, she would have done so by now. But she didn’t. So she did the one thing she could to try to help—she ignored the little voice in her head warning her that she was on the edge of breaking the no-relationship rule and reached out to him. She combed her fingers through his thick hair, pulling his head close so he leaned it against her waist. They stood like that, her, Caleb, and Anchovy, an unbreakable triad if just for that minute, before breaking apart.