The Hockey Star Who Sent His Teammate to My Bed

Mason spent last night on his knees, swearing Fallon was nothing. One dinner. One mistake. Never again.

I cried in all the right places. I let him hold me.

Then I set my alarm for team skate.

---

Once a month, the front office joined the players on the ice. Bonding, the coach called it. Mostly it meant interns falling down and defensemen laughing at them.

I came out of the women's locker room in black leggings and a fitted long-sleeve top that zipped to my throat. It hugged everything. I'd picked it on purpose.

The noise on the bench died.

Rory Kowalski, our backup goalie, let out a low whistle. "Okay. Who is that?"

"That's Camille from hockey operations," somebody said.

"That's Mason's Camille," Rory corrected. He skated over and slapped Mason's helmet. "Bro. How'd you land her? You trade up in your sleep?"

The guys laughed. Mason grinned like he'd scored a hat trick.

Across the ice, Declan was lacing his skates. He didn't laugh. His fingers yanked the laces so hard one snapped in his hand.

I stepped onto the ice and wobbled.

Mason was there in two strides. His hands landed on my hips from behind.

"Easy, babe. I've got you."

"I'm fine."

"You're leaning back." He pressed his chest against my spine and put his mouth right by my ear. "Weight forward. Bend your knees. Trust me."

"Trust you," I repeated.

"Always."

He pressed his lips to my forehead, slow and loud enough for the whole bench to hear. Then he lifted his eyes and stared straight past me.

At Declan.

A puck cracked against the boards. Hard. Everyone flinched.

Declan stood at center ice, stick still raised from the slap shot. He hadn't aimed at the net. He'd aimed at the glass two feet from Mason's head.

"Jesus, Dec," Rory said. "Who pissed in your Gatorade?"

"Slipped."

"Slipped? You don't slip."

Declan turned his back and skated off without a word. Two of the vets exchanged a look. Coach frowned from the bench and scribbled something on his clipboard.

Mason squeezed my waist. "Ignore him. He's been weird all week."

"Has he?" I said. "I wonder why."

---

Twenty minutes later, I slipped off the ice and into the staff lounge. I needed a minute without Mason's hands on me.

I'd barely filled a paper cup with water when the door swung shut behind me.

I turned. Declan stood there, still in his skates, chest rising and falling.

"You can't be in here," I said.

"Watch me."

He crossed the room. The cup fell out of my hand and water splashed across the floor. My back met the wall, and then his mouth was on mine.

Not gentle. Not careful. He kissed me like he'd been holding it in since the night on my couch.

I shoved at his chest. He didn't budge.

I made my eyes sting. It wasn't hard. Tears ran hot down my cheeks, and I twisted my face away.

"Declan—stop—"

He caught my jaw and turned me back. When I opened my mouth to protest, his tongue slid inside.

A sob broke out of me. I pounded a fist against his shoulder.

He kissed me deeper.

Then, all at once, he tore himself away. He stumbled back three steps, hands up, like I'd burned him.

"Fuck." He dragged a palm down his face. "Camille. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

I pressed my knuckles to my swollen mouth. "What is wrong with you?"

"I don't know."

"You don't know?"

"I watched him put his hands on you, and I—" He stopped. His jaw worked. "It won't happen again."

"You said that last time."

His eyes dropped to the floor. He backed out the door and was gone.

I stood alone and wiped my face with the back of my wrist.

Then I smiled.

---

I walked back toward the rink without fixing my hair.

Mason was leaning on the boards, laughing at something Rory said. He turned when he heard me. His eyes went to the loose strands around my face. To my mouth.

His smile didn't move. Not even a little.

"There you are," he said. "Feeling better?"

"Much."

"Good. Grab some water. You look flushed."

He patted my arm. Then he excused himself, calm as a Sunday, and walked straight down the hall toward the locker room.

I counted to ten and followed.

---

The locker room door was cracked. Of course it was.

"You think you can just take whatever you want now?"

Something metal slammed. A locker door.

"You had your one night," Mason hissed. "One. That was the deal. And now you're dragging her into back rooms in the middle of team skate?"

"I didn't drag her anywhere."

"Her lipstick's gone, Declan. Her hair's a mess. Half the bench probably noticed."

"Then stop putting on a show." Declan's voice was ice. "Hands on her hips. Kissing her head. Staring at me the whole time. What was that?"

"That's my girlfriend."

"Is she?" A dry laugh. "You told me to seduce her. You begged me. And now you can't stand it?"

"Watch it."

"Weren't you having a great time with your side piece last night? How's Fallon, Mason? Does she still laugh at all your jokes?"

A thud. A body hitting a locker.

"Say her name one more time—"

"Declan?"

The voice came from behind me. Bright and sweet.

I spun around. A tall blonde in a cream coat and designer sunglasses walked down the hall, heels echoing on the concrete. She pushed the sunglasses into her hair.

Fallon.

She didn't even glance at me. She pushed the locker room door wide open.

Mason had Declan pinned against the lockers by the collar. They both froze.

"Baby!" Fallon sang.

She crossed the room, peeled Mason's hand away like it was lint, and threw her arms around Declan's neck.

"Surprise. I told you I'd come see you practice."

Declan stood rigid. His arms hung at his sides.

"Fallon," he said slowly. "What are you doing?"

"Visiting my boyfriend. Is that a crime?" She laughed and squeezed him tighter.

Over Declan's shoulder, her eyes lifted.

They found Mason.

Just for a second. A tiny curl at the corner of her lips. Mason's throat bobbed once, and he looked away first.

My stomach went cold. Not from hurt.

From understanding.

This was their backup plan. If the story ever broke, Fallon was Declan's girl. Mason was just a friend in the wrong photo.

And Declan was the fall guy twice over.

I stepped into the doorway.

Declan saw me over Fallon's blond head. All the color left his face.

I let my lips tremble. I let my eyes fill. I stared at him like he'd just ripped my heart out with his bare hands.

"Your girlfriend," I said quietly.

"Camille, wait—"

Fallon turned, still hanging on his arm. "Oh, hi! Are you staff?"

Declan opened his mouth. Looked at Mason. Looked at Fallon's hand on his chest.

And said nothing.

He couldn't. Not without burning Mason. Not without burning himself.

I turned and walked away.

Behind me, I heard him say my name once more, low and desperate.

I didn't stop.