The Face-Off: Colorado Coyotes #5

Chapter One

Dom

 “Get up, asshole,” a female voice grumbles. Something hard and pointy hits me in the head and I swat the air aimlessly, eyes screwed shut.

 I groan and lift my head from the pillow. Horrible idea. It’s pounding so hard I drop it right back down.

But the high-pitched voice is relentless. “I have to go to work and you’re not staying here.”

Shifting, I force myself to sit up. I squint against the sun pouring into the bedroom, which has yellow-and-white everything. Fuck. My head. How much did I drink last night? And why did an angry woman just throw...a shoe at me?

“Coffee,” I manage to say, sliding out of bed and checking the floor for my clothes.

They’re not there. I look down and find I’m still dressed, which is just weird. The last time I woke up in a woman’s bed fully clothed was...never.

“Buy your own coffee, fuckface.” The woman, a tight blond in a low-cut blouse, sneers at me. “The only reason I let you sleep here was because I couldn’t push your ass out of my bed once you passed out.”

Some of last night comes back to me. Her name is Lauren. We met at Mountain Top, a local bar. We were both there with friends—mine were all teammates and hers were all hot chicks hoping to hook up with a hockey player.

I lower my brows, confused. “Wait, we didn’t...?”

She laughs and crosses her arms. “Not even close. We walked in the front door and then you staggered in here and passed out in my bed. After puking on one of my houseplants.”

I nod, looking down. So that’s how much I drank. “Sorry about that.”

She shakes her head, disgusted. “Just get out. I’m going to be late for work.”

Work. Shit. My eyes widen as I frantically search the room for a clock. “What time is it?”

It’s a home game day, and I was supposed to set my alarm before I went to sleep last night. 

“It’s time for you to get the fuck out of here.”

“For fuck’s sake—”

She loses it. “It’s 8:12 a.m.! And I’m exhausted because you snored all night long. Get. Out!”

When she raises another shoe in the air, I shield my head with an arm and head toward the front door to her apartment.

Damn. She must have been some kind of horny last night to be this pissed off. 

“Might as well take this with you. It’s ruined.” She picks up a plant in a shiny blue pot and shoves it into my arms. “There’s a dumpster behind the building. Just toss this on top of my hopes for a good time last night.”

I recoil, the smell of stale vomit making my stomach turn. “You don’t have to be so dramatic.”

“I’ve had that plant for three years!”

I wrap my left arm around the plant’s pot, turning away from the smell as I dig in my pocket for my wallet. I take it out and manage to pull out two fifties, passing them to her.

“Is that enough to replace it?”

She swipes the money and opens the door, glaring at me. “It’s fine. Have a nice life.”

My throat burns with dryness as I slink away, holding the plant as far away from my face as possible as I take the stairs down to the first floor. After dropping the plant in the dumpster, I call an Uber and walk around to the front of the building.

I’ve been burning the candle at both ends for a while now, not sleeping well on the road and staying out too late when I’m home. But it’s still not like me to pass out before I feed the kitty.

Must’ve been all the vodka shots we drank to celebrate our teammate Sergei’s return from an injury. I’ll never admit it out loud, but hard liquor packs a meaner punch at age thirty-two than it did at age twenty-two.

I’m going to be late no matter what at this point. I was supposed to be at practice at eight a.m. at the college arena our team is using while our new one is under construction. At least it’s not a road trip day. If I’d missed a flight, Coach would have ripped me a new one.

It’s October, so I can still get by with just a T-shirt and a flannel, even though it’s a little chilly this morning while I wait for my ride. I’d give my left nut for a cup of coffee, but I don’t have time. 

My Uber driver is jamming out to some shitty New Age music on the drive to Mountain Top, where I left my car, so I use the time to check my socials and text my teammate Rowan.

Dom: Running late. Cover for me if you can.

Rowan: I’ll try. 

Dom: You feel like death walking this morning? Or is that just me?

Rowan: I’ve felt better. But I stopped after four shots and you didn’t.

I put my phone back in my pocket. No one needs to have last night’s mistakes shoved in their face before they’ve even had a sip of coffee. However, I think I need water more right now. I could down half a gallon easily.

Dehydrated on game day. It’s not ideal, but it’s also not the first time. I pop a couple of mints into my mouth to mask my puke breath until I can brush my teeth in the locker room.

“Anywhere?” the driver asks as we arrive at Mountain Top.

“Uh, I’m the gray Mustang in the back of the lot.”

He glances at me in his rearview as he pulls up behind my car. Sizing me up, I suppose. I probably look as shitty as I feel.

“Thanks, man,” I say as I slide out of his back seat.

I unlock my vehicle and start it up, mentally running through the list of excuses I’ve used for being late in the past year. It’s only happened a couple of times, and both were practice days. Once, I was honest that I overslept. The other time, I got locked out of my own house by a pissed-off woman when she found a note another woman had left me after a night together. I think I told Coach I had car trouble.

When I put my car into reverse to back out of my parking place, it feels like my car is operating at about half power. If karma’s trying to give me legit car trouble to make up for the time I lied about it, today is not the day. On a practice day, karma can deal me a dick punch if it wants to. But not on a game day. I put on my sunglasses and keep driving.

It’s only a twenty-minute drive from Mountain Top to the area, thirty if traffic is heavy, and I’m almost halfway there, ignoring how off my car’s engine seems to be when I look in my rearview and see a cloud of white air. 

It’s smoke, and it’s coming from my car’s tailpipe. Fucking great. I haven’t even had this car for a year. I’ll have to call the dealership from the arena and have them come get it to figure out what’s going on. 

When traffic starts to move and I put my foot on the accelerator, my car lurches and refuses to move any farther. I try to put it in park and drive again, but I can’t. Shaking my head, I put it in neutral and get out to push it, steering it toward the shoulder of the road. White smoke is pouring from the back of the car now.

Shit. I know how to change the tire on a car, but that’s about it. I turn the engine off and get out, walking around to the back where the engine is located.

What the hell do I do? I can’t leave it on the side of the road. It’s too damn expensive to risk anything happening to it. Besides, I can’t exactly call an Uber to pick me up on the side of the road.

I scrub a hand down my face and laugh humorlessly. Actual car trouble. Now I have a valid excuse for being late. Everyone I could call for an assist is at the arena right now, though—they’re all my teammates. It may be time to call Coach and tell him what’s going on.

“Need some help?”

I turn at the sound of a female voice. The woman walking toward me on the shoulder of the road is beautiful, her dark, shoulder-length hair partially covered by a knitted pale-pink beanie. She’s wearing jeans, a long-sleeved black T-shirt and a black apron with “Deb’s Diner” embroidered on the front pocket in white thread. A lanky boy who looks like a teenager walks beside her, an old baby-blue minivan parked behind them on the side of the road.

“Hey there.” I flash her a confident smile. “I just stopped to make a little adjustment on my car. Are you having car trouble, too? I can take a look at it if you want.”

She shakes her head. “No, mine’s good. I just stopped to see if you need help. I saw the white smoke coming from your car a few miles back.”

She’s close enough now that I can see her striking forest-green eyes, which are framed by dark lashes. I sneak a glance at the nametag pinned to her apron. Tess.

“Yeah, it does that.” I wave a hand dismissively, my lateness to the arena forgotten.

“Why?”

I blow out a breath as she waits for me to answer. Fuck. I have no idea why, but I can bullshit my way through just about anything. 

“It’s just a Mustang thing,” I say. 

The corners of her lips quirk up in a smile as she starts toward the front of my car. “You want to pop the hood for me?”

“Um...no, you don’t need to do that. I’ll call for a tow.”

I can practically feel my dick shriveling up inside me. I’m a man. I’m supposed to know shit about cars. She nods at the kid and he opens my driver’s side door and pushes the handle that opens the hood. What’s happening here? 

Tess props the hood open with the rod and the kid joins her at the front of the car. I walk up behind them, still hoping to salvage a shred of my manhood.

“It’s really not a big deal. I mostly just stopped to get some fresh air.”

“Is it driving weird?” she asks, ignoring me. “Does it feel like the engine is working harder than the car is driving?”

I furrow my brow, wondering how she can possibly know that.

“Yeah, it’s doing that,” I admit.

She nods and looks at the kid. “I’m ninety-five percent sure this is a transmission fluid leak. How would you check that?”

The boy looks around and shakes his head. “No idea.”

“Because this car doesn’t have a dipstick,” she supplies. “You have to be underneath it to check the fluid.”

It’s me. I’m the dipstick. It’s not as much fun wisecracking when the joke’s on me, though.

“So what do we do?” the kid asks.

“There’s nothing we can do at the moment.” Tess stands up straight and looks at me. “Sorry I couldn’t do more to get you going.”

“Thanks for trying,” I mutter, shifting from foot to foot in my impatience to get back on the road.

She seems to read my mind, a little wrinkle forming between her brows. “Hey, I wouldn’t drive it any farther. You could do some serious damage to your transmission.”

Shit. I’m already late and this is going to set me back even more. I can’t miss the morning skate.

“You said fluid, though. Can’t I just add some fluid and get it looked at later?”

“Do you have a bottle of transmission fluid in your car right now?” Her amused voice sets my teeth on edge.

“No,” I snap. “But I’ve only got a few more miles to go. I’m willing to risk it.”

“Guess that’s up to you, but I wouldn’t.” She unlatches the rod holding up the hood, returns it to its place and closes the hood. 

Fuck this day. First Lauren and now this.

“Okay. I’ll call for a tow truck.”

I’m typing into my phone to locate one when the kid trips over nothing and falls on top of me. There’s no one more awkward than a teenage boy.

“Oh, shit. Sorry,” he mutters.

He doesn’t weigh enough to knock me over. I return him to a standing position. “You good?”

“Yeah, I just lost my footing.”

“Let’s go, Zee,” Tess says. “I can’t be late.”

I can’t let this emerald-eyed beauty slip through my fingers, so I call after her. “Hey, let me do something to thank you for stopping.”

She waves at me over her shoulder. “That’s okay.”

“Seriously. You like hockey?”

“Nope!” 

She and the kid get in the van and merge into traffic, not even glancing at me as they depart in their minivan with faux wood panels running around its center. That shit is old.

Is that her kid? How does she know so much about cars? Did she reject me because I smell like puke? I’m staring after her when a text comes to my phone.

Coach Maddox: You better be dead. I can’t think of any other legitimate reason for you to not be here at almost nine a.m. on a game day.