one

“Hmmm, check that out.”

John Tavares wiped sweat from his face with a towel and turned away from the sight he’d been admiring.  “I know, right?” he asked.

James Neal took a swig of pink liquid from a Biosteel bottle and nodded.  “Eight and a half.”

“Nine!” John argued.  He took another look at the girl running on the treadmill across the the gym.  The space had been converted from a warehouse - it wasn’t a plush, fancy gym that doubled as a spa.  It was a place people came to work hard, and this girl was no exception.  Her bright, multi-colored sneakers pounded out what looked to be an eight minute pace.  Tight black running capris showcased strong, toned calves and thighs earned from many miles.  The easy lope of her stride ended in a fantastic ass that was nearly covered, but not close to concealed, by a pink and black striped workout tank top.  John admired the way her sports bra seemed to be losing it’s fight.  A few pieces of long brown hair escaped her ponytail as she bobbed her head to the iPod in her armband.

“Eh, eight seven-five,” James shrugged.

A fresh bottle of sports recovery drink nudged John’s shoulder as they were joined by another guy.

“Think she needs help stretching?” Steve Stamkos grinned.  He twisted the cap off a Gatorade without even trying.

John spun away, feeling like a creep for leering at a girl who was only trying to work out.  It wasn’t her fault hockey players invaded her gym in the off-season, taking over like they owned the place.  Instead, Gary Roberts owned them.

This was John’s first summer doing the famous Scary Gary workout regimen.  He’d been to camps with Robs but never undertaken the full, several-month program designed to turn hockey bodies into weapons fine tuned for on-ice work.  John had known James and Steven for a while and saw them benefit from Gary’s guidance.  After taking the Islanders to their first playoffs in nine years, John had a renewed desire to improve his performance.

So far it was agony.  They’d been pushing sleds and lifting weights and doing burpees until John thought he would throw up a lung.  Nealer and Stammer laughed, their own chests heaving.  They said it got easier.  John didn’t believe them.  He glanced back at the girl and reconsidered; if she showed up every day, he might find it easier to do the same.  As he was thinking, she pushed a button and her pace slowed.

“Ooh, go talk to her!” James’ face lit up like a kid with a bad idea.

“What?  No!”

“Come on, Johnny.  It’s already June, there’s no time to waste.  If you don’t lock up a girl before they’re all gone, you’re gonna spend all summer watching me get laid,” James smacked him on the arm.  “A week and she’ll be loved up with some noob playing ECHL in Toledo.”

John rolled his eyes.  Neal had been home a week, fresh off a crushing defeat by the Bruins, and already he was acting like he’d missed half the summer.  If he knew what it was like to go out in the first round... well, James did know.  It had happened to the Penguins last year.  But this year, it was the Pens who sent the Islanders packing and John was still pretty pissed about it.

“If you don’t, I will,” Steven said.  He pulled his hat off and raked a hand through his short blond hair.  In a mesh top with no sleeves, Stammer looked halfway to August already.  He called in the Sunshine State Headstart.

The girl dropped to a walk, checking her stats on the display.  She picked up a white towel from the handlebar and wiped it slowly across her brow, down the curve of her throat and over the glistening skin of her chest, dangerously close to what John could see was excellent cleavage.  Stamkos cleared his throat.  John sighed heavily and set off in her direction.

What am I going to say? he was still wondering when he arrived at her elbow.

“Uhhhh, hey,” he managed.

She turned and his heart skipped a beat.  However good she looked from far away, it was double up-close.  Neal would demand a recount on his eight seven-five when he saw her.  She had thick, dramatic eyebrows framing wide eyes - almost too big for her face, she resembled a Disney princess.  Her small nose was upturned, her lips soft and pink.  Rosy cheeks, flushed from exertion, and a sprinkling of freckles made her look every bit the summertime fantasy.

“Hi.”  She stopped as the belt did.

“I, um,” John stuttered, searching.  He felt the bottle in his hand.  “Thought you could use this.  Nice run.”  He handed her the drink Stamkos had bought him.

“Oh, thanks.  That’s sweet.”  She popped the cap, tipped her head back and took a long, slow sip. Standing a few inches higher than him on the treadmill, John had a perfect view of her elongated throat as she gently swallowed.  The edge of his vision blurred.  If he tilted his head down, her chest was begging to be noticed.  Her lips coming free of the bottle made a wet, juicy noise.

“Mmm.  You were right, I did need that.”  

Meghan considered the guy standing before her.  He was about six feet, two hundred pounds, pretty standard around here.  Patches of his gray t-shirt were soaked through with sweat and the edges of his shaggy brown hair were matted and slick.  He had a strong face: prominent brows, lantern jaw with a five o’clock shadow at one in the afternoon.  What surprised her most were his kind eyes and the low, rumbly tenor of his voice.

Of course, it wasn’t that surprising.

“I’m Meghan,” she stuck out her hand.

“John,” he said, his big paw enveloping hers.  She used the excuse to let him help her down from the treadmill platform.  Once they were on even ground, he had about three inches and plenty of weight over her.

“Nice to meet you.”  She stayed close.  “First time here?”

John hadn’t expected Meghan to be so tall.  Or so friendly.  He didn’t usually approach girls so they didn’t usually talk back.  Funny how that worked.

“Yeah, I’m training here for the summer.  With Gary.”  Was it his imagination or did Meghan’s eyes drop quickly, checking out his physique at the mention of his coach?

“He’s pretty intense,” she said.  “See him in here trying to kill guys all the time.”

“Well, I’m trying not to die.”

John smiled shyly as he said it, a total humblebrag. Meghan thought that was adorable, so she reached out and squeezed his bicep just below his sleeve.  John flinched as her fingers pressed lightly against his burgeoning muscle.  

She lifted her brows, impressed, but she said, “Since you might not make it, I should give you this now, then.”

“Give me....”

John didn’t get to finish his question before Meghan’s lips were pressed to his.  Her hand moved from his arm to the side of his neck, barely touching him, just enough to keep him still.  Her mouth was sure though and most of all it was on his.  That blurriness was back, he quickly shut his eyes to keep from getting dizzy.  John inhaled deeply, as if winding up to take this kiss to the next level.  Then it was over.

Meghan took a moment, savoring the feel of John’s mouth of hers.  John’s dark eyes blinked back at her, too surprised to try to hide it.  She licked her lip as it was curling into a smile.

“Just in case,” she said.

John’s blood rushed in his ears louder than the goal horn blaring.  The nine who was really a ten had just kissed him inside of two minutes.  That was so many personal bests John could have given up hockey on the spot.  But only if it meant getting to do that again.  What was the protocol after a girl just up and kissed him?  Could he do the same?  Like right now?  Would throwing her over his shoulder and carrying her out of the gym be too forward?  After all, she started it.

Meghan waited, willing John to play along, hoping she hadn’t gone too far.  She didn’t want to overstep.  This kind of stuff always confused her - she didn’t know where to stop.

“Wha... what if I survive?” John managed to say.

Meghan’s everything unclenched.  Scott free.

“Then,” she let her fingertips drag over his collarbone into the damp spot between his pectoral muscles, “I’ll probably see you around Nealer’s house.”

She spun on a heel and made it one, two, three steps....

“Bahahahahahahahaha!”  Across the room, James and Steven were a heap against the wall.  In mid-collapse from laughter, they were hitting each other, covering their faces and losing their shit.  Meghan marched right over, ripped of James’ ball cap and started beating them both with it.

“You guys are such jerks!” she yelled as they howled.

Rooted to the spot where she’d kissed him, John felt his face turning red.  This was all some kind of joke.  He didn’t know what but he knew he didn’t like it.

“Oh God, Tavares, that shit was fucking priceless,” Stammer wheezed.

“I thought you were gonna propose,” Neal held his hands out like an offering.  “Here’s a Gatorade, will you marry me?”

Meghan gave up on the hat and shoved James into Steven, sending them both crashing to the ground.  Then she turned to John.  “I’m sorry.  They are children but I couldn’t resist.”  

She motioned for him to come closer and for some reason, John’s body wanted to.  His brain did not.

“I’m Meghan,” she put her hand out again.  “James’ roommate.”

John looked away, embarrassed.  Of course the ten would know these two guys.  Of course they’d send John on a fool’s errand.  Always playing, always chirping, hockey players were.  It didn’t stop when the season ended.  He felt the hot red blush of shame creeping up his neck, right where she’d touched him before.

Aw shit, Meghan thought.  John didn’t look too amused by the boys’ prank.  On one hand she felt bad for the very handsome guy who was probably too nice for this crowd.  On the other hand, Tavares better learn quickly to watch himself or he’d never last the summer with these fools.  Meghan told herself she’d done him a favor.

Could have done it without the kiss, her practical brain said.

Her impulsive brain, along with every nerve ending in her body, smiled.  The kiss was a favor for myself.  Meghan slid her hand into John’s even though he hadn’t returned her handshake and squeezed.  

John was embarrassed for being embarrassed and squeezed her hand back.  Thick skin, he thought.  Toughen up.  “I should’ve known.  They’d never just let me try to pick up the hottest girl in town.”

“Oh, they’ve tried before,” she said.

“So we all struck out?  I feel a little better,” John chuckled, his voice so low she felt it as well as heard it.

“A kiss is first base, John.  You’re the only guy with a hit so far.”

____

That night, over a fresh round at the Tap and Tankard, John was peeling a label off his bottle when James set his beer down loudly.

“I still can’t believe Meghan fucking kissed you!”

John, eyes down, smiled like the Cheshire Cat.  Maybe being the butt of a joke wasn’t so bad.

“She’s good,” Steven said, tipping his bottle as if to toast her.  “Looks good too, man.  She look like that last year?”

James scoffed.  “Don’t act like you don’t remember.  She hated that nasty long hair of yours, wouldn’t let you near her.”

Steven nodded slowly, a smirk coming to his face.  “Oh yeah.”

John had been thinking about Meghan all day.  While he was eating and driving and once, guiltily, while showering.  He didn’t get kissed by hot girls everyday, certainly not  ones just sticky enough with sweat to give him a clear idea of what she’d look like in bed.  When he remembered the kiss, which was constantly, John remembered a hint of salt cutting her sweetness.  That and the way she’d squeezed his hand - Let the guys laugh, he thought.  It might be the most action he got all summer.

Still, he didn’t want to seem too eager.  He asked, “You live with her?”

Neal rolled his eyes.  “She lives with me.  I’ve known her for years and we were always friends.  She did a year working abroad in London and just got back in May, needed a place to stay that wasn’t her parents.  I bought a pretty big house, so I told her she could move in.  Rent free if she cleans the place in one of those French maid outfits.”

John gave him a skeptical look.

James laughed.  “Same thing Meghan said.  But she does keep it neat and she’s wicked on the grill.  it’s kinda nice having someone around.  Also, nothing gets a one night chick out of your bed like another hot girl making breakfast, you know?”

John did not pretend to know.

“Anyway,” James said.  “She looks great around the pool.  Got about ten of the smallest bikinis you’ve ever seen.”

“So we’ll be over tomorrow?” Steven suggested.

James tipped his beer toward the boys.  “To summertime.”

____

Meghan woke up with a feeling.  Call it a hunch.  She put on her favorite bathing suit - white with black polka dots on the bottom, orange and white striped triangle top held up by thin polka dot ties.  She wasn’t really tan yet but a month of working out at Roberts’ gym was visible in the lines of her body. Meghan saw herself as far from perfect, but she also saw the way James and Steven looked at her.  Must be doing something right.  From her closet she took a little white cotton cover-up, hemmed too short and cut too deep to be a dress.  It barely skimmed the tops of her thighs.  She ran fingers through her hair, swiped on some clear gloss and headed downstairs.

It was Saturday, after ten in the morning.  Normally she woke before James but he’d had an early workout.  As they both settled into a relaxing summer routine there was less need to sleep in every day.  And less to do once they were awake, besides lay at the inground pool in the backyard.  Even if she hadn’t felt an easy companionship living with James, she would lived here for the pool.  This morning she heard  voices coming from downstairs.  Time to test her hunch.

Meghan waltzed into the kitchen.  James was shirtless, drinking milk straight from the half gallon container.  She smiled - if she had a dollar for everytime he did that, she’d be rich.  Other girls would be flat on their backs, legs in the air, screaming his name.  Instead of his customary wolfish grin, James just rolled his eyes toward the table.

Where John was sitting.

“Hey guys,” Meghan said casually, giving herself mental points.  She’d had a feeling John would show up today. Passing the table, she could not resist the urge to ruffle John’s tidy hair with her fingers.  It was soft and thick - gorgeous, really.  And now just a little bit messy.

“Morning,” John started to say politely but it caught in his throat, turning into a cough.  Meghan was barefoot and bare-legged, smooth skin from the floor all the way up to a place he knew he shouldn’t be looking at a girl he just met.   Her fingers in his hair were another story, one he’d have to continue on his own in a bathroom somewhere.  John turned away and locked his eyes on the water bottle in his hands.

James shot Meghan a glare.  She winked at him.  “You guys hungry?”

“I am,” Steven said, letting himself in the front door.  His red sleeveless workout shirt was plastered to his body with sweat, every muscled bulge and sculpted flat standing out in bas relief.  In case that wasn’t enough, his chest heaved as he caught his breath.

Meghan stopped and looked at him.  “Did you just hose yourself off in the yard?”

“For your information,” Steven flexed one arm dramatically, “I ran here from my house.”

It’s going to be a long summer, Meghan thought.  If she asked Steven to drop and give her ten, he’d do twenty.  If she dared these guys to wrestle each other, they would.  There was so much testosterone in the kitchen she could barely get to the stove.  A long and glorious summer.

She bumped James’ hip to move him out of the way, but instead he caught her around the waist and pulled her in close.  The guy loved to touch.  If only the girls he brought home knew he was a softie on the inside they’d never leave in the morning.  Maybe he’d find a girlfriend this summer, someone to direct his attention toward rather than spreading it all over town.  His hand slipped down, just over the curve of her ass.  She smacked him hard.  Maybe not.

Meghan moved efficiently, laying ingredients from the fridge onto the counter: eggs, ham, butter, bread, orange juice.  John needed something to do other than try not to watch her, so he got up.

“Can I help?” he asked.

“Ohhh how cute!” James laughed, filling a glass with juice this time.

“Shut up, Neal!  We’ve all seen how Paul Martin has to make you breakfast, you’re obviously hopeless.  I, for one, appreciate a man who can take care of himself.”  Meghan smiled at John, passing him a cutting board and the ham.

“You’re much prettier than Paul, I love having you take care of me,” James said.

Meghan shrugged.  “I don’t know, Paul had a great beard going there in the playoffs.  Something kinda Justin Timberlake about that guy....”

“No.” James snorted.

“What’s he up to this summer?” she batted her lashes.  “Maybe he wants to visit?”

“Gross!” James tossed his empty cup in the sink and walked out, calling, “Holler when breakfast is ready.”

Meghan shook her head, laughing.  John was carefully slicing thick pieces of ham, his brow furrowed in concentration.  His dark hair contrasted with his clean shaven face - Meghan bet he could grow a solid beard - but there was no hint of chest hair at the collar of John’s green tee.  Meghan knew she wouldn’t have to wait long to check him out shirtless.  John really was quite gorgeous - well built, as hockey players always were, but a little soft at the edges of his features and a little shy in his smile.  How she’d never noticed that on TV was a mystery.

John paused the knife to glance up at her, surprised to find they were alone in the kitchen.  She quickly looked away as if he’d caught her.  He hoped he’d caught her.  John could definitely spend the next three months looking back at her.

“Is this okay?” he gestured to the small pile he’d cut.

“Perfect.”  She kept her eyes down.

John felt a flutter in his chest.  Do I make her nervous?  He wondered.  That seemed impossible - she ran with the big dogs, the Neals and Stammers of the world.  Compared to them he’d never even get noticed.  Of course, Meghan had kissed him already.  That was notice.

“I, uh, I can also butter toast,” he said proudly, half-joking.  “I’m really very capable.”

“I bet you always make a girl breakfast.”  Meghan pushed a plate toward him, giving him a flirty smirk.  If he wanted to be one of the boys then she would treat him that way.

I’d make you breakfast, he thought lamely.  Nice line.  That would really wow her.  He would have made any girl breakfast, of course, especially if she stayed over the night before but that didn’t happen much.  It was too easy to lose his life in the cycle of the hockey season.  Last summer there had been a girl here at home, but she was gone now.  They had only lasted as long as John felt like putting in all the effort.

That was his problem.  He was a little shy, a little reserved until he got to know people.  As a result, he usually ended up with a girl that was pretty meek.  They would get along great but once John stopped working at it, the spark died quickly.  What few girls there had been didn’t know how to ask for what they wanted.  John wasn’t that creative so when he ran out of ideas, they ran out of steam.

Across the island, Meghan tipped a big skillet full of eggs up and scraped half the contents onto two plates.  The rest stayed in the pan.  She put the two plates in front of John; he loaded them with toast as Meghan poured two glasses of juice and set them opposite each other on the table.  Then she took one plate and sat down.

John grabbed the other dish and joined her, looking over his shoulder.

“Should we...,” he started to ask about calling for the guys.

Meghan took a sip of juice.  “Nope.”

The same hunch that made Meghan guess John would turn up soon after being kissed led her to believe he was different than James and Steven.  They were loud, outgoing, life-of-the-party guys.  It was a lot to compete with, which is why she had boobs.  Also she wasn’t competition for them - she was companionship.  Meghan was one of a few girls who were not conquests around here.  Sure they joked and suggested and she knew if she gave either of them an inch, they’d take six or eight or... well, she figured they were closer to ten.  Hockey players were big guys.

John though, he seemed sweet and a little shy.  That didn’t match up with the nomination for NHL MVP he’d just received - and lost.  Usually those accolades came with a healthy dose of swagger.

“So, Long Island,” she said.

“Yeah.”  John fought the urge to roll his eyes.  Regardless of his opinion of the Islanders and the place, they were his team.  He was a franchise guy, loyal to the bone and tried to be optimistic.

“You guys had a great run this year.”

“Thanks,” he said.  For once it was true.  First playoffs in nine seasons, a strong show despite their first round loss.  John figured they had to start somewhere.  “I wish we could win more, but I don’t know if it would draw people.  The whole thing is a little depressing.”

“What about Brooklyn?  That’ll be exciting.”

“Definitely.”  John’s enthusiasm was genuine.  “Bigger stage, fresh audience.  I just hope we’re playing well by then, so we can start strong.  We don’t want to do the whole expansion team thing.”

“You can all be hipsters.  Get some skinny jeans, a bike.  I bet you can rock a mustache.”

He laughed.  It was admittedly a weird spot for a hockey team, but it could not be worse than where they were now.  “Only during November.”

Meghan was glad to hear a cheery note in his voice.  When James was in Dallas, he’d been frustrated.  Steven couldn’t carry Tampa Bay any more if they were a backpack.  She hated seeing these guys caught in tough situations even if it was part of the game.

“That’s okay,” she said.  “One look at you and the New York media will forget all about Lundqvist.”

“Hey!” James said accusingly, following his nose to the food.

Meghan groaned.  “Damn, they’re still here.”

____

Half an hour later, Meghan hit the water with a splash.  She’d barely made it out of her coverup before Steven’s arms were around her waist and her feet were in the air.  So much for warming up before a dip.  The pool was pretty chilly this early in the summer and she came up sputtering.

John had barely gotten a glimpse of her bikini before Steven was all over her.  Mostly he’d noticed was there wasn’t much swimsuit to go around, just a lot of bare skin in Stammer’s hug.  

“Aaaaayyyyyyyyyyeeeeeeee,” she squeaked swimming for the ladder.

John felt like he was in every movie ever where an awkward kid saw his hot babysitter, stepmom or friend’s older sister climbing out of a pool.  Her breasts filled the triangles of her top, round and heavy looking like ripe fruit.  Her waist was smaller, her stomach taut.  Those thighs he’d admired at the gym did not disappoint.  Bright pink polish tipped her toes, which John quickly forgot as she turned aside to grab a towel.  Fantastic ass.  He could hardly believe he’d given her less than a ten that first day.

Two lounge chairs away, James watched John watching Meghan get out of the pool.  Of course he watched Meghan too - that never got old.  She had an excellent shape, one she earned rather than bought or was born with.  The physicality appealed to James in a primal way - he was an athlete, born to sweat and push.  Two of his favorite activities, especially when girls were involved.

It was such an easy mark: John was hot for Meghan.  James smiled to himself.  They’d all been there, all been turned down.  John was a more serious guy and maybe that’s what Meghan wanted.  Still James was sure that she knew better than to date hockey players.  She was a tough cookie, a relentless flirt and full of sass - the male version of them, really, except she didn’t give it away for free.

John looked away as Meghan sat sideways onto the chair next to him.   She produced sunblock, pulled her hair over one shoulder and held the bottle out.

“Would you do my back?”

John blushed.  James barked a laugh, which was helpfully drowned out by Steven’s cough.  Stamkos was watching too, rolling his eyes.  But it was John with his hands gliding over the smooth plane between Meghan’s shoulders, along her spine.  She hooked the tie of her top down so he got every inch of her skin.  Maybe John had the right idea... if he could handle it.  Meghan certainly wouldn’t be easy.  James figured if she didn’t fall for him, she wasn’t falling for anyone.  After all, she liked him enough to live with him; that was 99% more than any other girl he knew.

“I could’ve done that for you, Meg,” Steven said as she closed the bottle and stretched out, face down on the chair.  Three sets of eyes traced the outline of her body.  

“Maybe later,” she said without turning her head, “after I shower.”

Meghan relaxed into the chaise like it was any other day, but she was thinking about John and his very strong hands on her back, rubbing gently like he was afraid of bruising a delicate fruit.  She hadn’t really gotten to look at him, not with the boys all looking at her.  It would have to be more subtle.  Already she knew James was desperate to embarrass them both - if he so much as thought she and John were into each other, he’d never let it go.  It was the middle of June.  Plenty of time for the summer.

John flipped through an issue of The Fourth Period, letting his eyes cheat toward Meghan every time he turned a page.  Water beaded on her skin.  He knew she’d be warm to the touch, and smooth - not that he’d ever touch her.  But there was a lot of bare flesh just starting to tan.  The single string across her back was a cruel tease; he was basically one shoelace away from seeing her topless.  Another small lace held the bottom together at the hip, covering less than a finger-width of her body.  The polka dot material of her suit was runched at her backside, displaying the perfect rounds of the bottom of her ass.

He flipped another page, desperate for a distraction.

“We should throw a party this weekend,” James said, jerking his thumb toward the house behind them.  “First of the season, break in the place.”

“Invite that girl from your photoshoot,” John tapped Steven’s arm.  

“Girl?” Meghan asked, lifting her head.  “Photoshoot?”

“For this,” John waved The Fourth Period at her.  She pushed up onto her elbows and reached for the  magazine just as John got a full view of her breasts hanging in that bikini top.  He looked away, the magazine fell to the ground.  Meghan scooped it up.

“Mmmmmm, Toews,” she said, rolling onto her back.  The move twisted her waist like she was moving in bed and everyone of the guys thought the same thing: sex.

Meghan skimmed the pages, opening it to the Jonathan Toews feature.

“You would like him.  Stick up his ass,” James said dismissively.

“Best two-way forward in the League, a Cup, a Conn Smythe and Olympic Gold?  I think God likes Jonathan Toews too,” she shot back.  “I hope they win again.”

“Well me too,” James admitted.  “Fucking Bruins.”

“Fucking Bruins,” she agreed.

Out of nowhere John said, “Fucking Penguins.”

Meghan burst out laughing.  that made John’s heart skip a beat.  If he could be funny, he could be cool and if he could be cool, maybe he could stop being such a dork all the time.  He laughed too, nervous and embarrassed.  And he really did hate the Penguins for knocking out the Islanders.

“Fucking right!” James replied.

Stamkos flipped over.  His team hadn’t made the postseason at all, he’d finished second in goals and second in points for the entire League.  Huge numbers.  No playoffs.  “Fuck all of you.”

“Including your mystery girl?” Meghan prodded.

“I, well, she...,” Steven suddenly looked flustered, shaking his blond head.

John laughed.  “She turned him down.  Like, a lot of times.  He’s still trying.”

“Wait. What?” Meghan swung her feet down so she was sitting, facing John, pink polished toes almost under his chair.  “Who is this girl?”

“Her name is Kaylynn.  She was an assistant on this shoot last month and she said no when I asked her out,” Steven shrugged.

“She knew who you were, saw you all styled up and she still turned you down?” Meghan blinked in disbelief.

“It does happen,” he said, embarrassed.

“So he stalked her on Twitter, followed her to a bar and literally knocked her over,” John added, chuckling.  It was the kind of spastic thing he might have done himself, but not Stamkos.  “She didn’t like that any better.”

“Oh Steven,” Meghan grimaced.  James was sitting up too, watching this story intently.  He and Meghan were thinking the same thing: Stamkos had serious game: high-profile, famous, Canadian hero game.  This was wrong.

“I saw her again though - totally accidental, I promise!  We had coffee, then we went for drinks the other night.  She’s still... resisting.  She said she’d think about seeing me again.”

“Can I make a suggestion?” she asked.

“Please,” he said heavily.  “Anything.”

Meghan’s heart broke a little.  Steven was so honest and sweet - if he was into a girl, she had no doubt he would go down hard.  “Tell her to bring a friend to the party.  That way it’s casual, not really a date.  No pressure.”

“What if we hit it off though?  Won’t her friend be a third wheel?”

Meghan patted his arm.  “We’ll take care of the friend.  And by ‘we,’ I mean ‘James.’  Plus, if your girl is more relaxed, she’ll have a better time.  Show her you care more about her night than about your own.  And, you can win over her friend while you’re it - girls always listen to their friends.”   

 

Steven was smiling shyly, clearly excited to have a plan that was female-approved.  “You’re a genius,  Meg.”

She rolled her eyes.  “This may be the first sign of the apocalypse: girls don’t want to get laid by insanely hot, ripped, rich guys.  Jeez.  I hope that never happens to me.”

“We can make all your dreams come true,” James offered, patting his lap.

Meghan flopped back.  “By calling up Crosby.”

No no no, John thought in a mild panic.  Girls fantasizing about Crosby was one thing.  A girl suggesting that three guys who were friends with Sid should invite him over was something totally different.  If they asked him, he would visit.  And Meghan would have him in no time flat.

John felt he had a lot in common with Sid - except, you know, the world famous part.  They were both the faces of their teams, nice guys, if a little square.  Sidney had this laugh, more of a giggle really, or even a bray.  It was a honk, actually.  The least manly laugh John had ever heard.  It made him feel infinitely better about his own awkwardness that Crosby laughed like a goose.  Maybe Meghan was into that, maybe she liked dorky guys.  That would explain why she was mostly naked next Neal and Stamkos, rather than underneath or on top one of them.  Come to think of it, Sid and John looked a little alike: dark hair, dark eyes, fair skin, similar build.  If Crosby was her type, maybe John was too.  The more he thought about it, the more he liked this idea.

“You’re already over Toews?” James pointed to the magazine laying open by her leg.

“Mmmmm,” she said again.  “Call them both.  We can have the most boring threesome ever.”

Neal and Stamkos both laughed while John, in the middle of a sip of water, almost choked.  

“We’re more fun than they are,” Steven said.  “And we’re already half naked.  Just sayin’.”

John knew Steven was kidding.  Hoped he was kidding.  It would never happen anyway - not unless it was over John’s dead body.  No way the third person in a Steven/Meghan threesome would be anyone but James.  No way John would ever be able to do that anyway.  Of course they were kidding.  But these were the thoughts in his mind.

Meghan’s too.

“Way more fun,” James added.

“Sorry Neal,” Meghan replied.  “I’m only into guys who wear number 91.”

____

It didn’t take long for the boys to pass out in their pool chairs.  Meghan figured Gary Roberts had been rough on them that morning, as he was everyday on everyone.  She could see all that work was definitely paying off.  James was on his stomach, towel over his face and his feet hanging over the edge of the too-short chaise.  Steven lay on his back with his hands behind his head, arms on full, glorious display.  His biceps had biceps.  Meghan tiptoed over and took a picture with her phone.

John lifted his head - he’d been drifting in and out of sleep, flat on his back like a vampire.  Meghan was coming around his chair.

“Hey,” John said, sitting up.  He rubbed a hand through his floppy hair.  

Meghan felt the movement between her fingers, and maybe between her legs.  John’s nap had provided her the perfect opportunity to admire him without any boys keeping score.  John’s shoulders were the broadest part of his body, giving the illusion she could climb him like a wall.  He didn’t have any hair on his chest but Meghan bet he would someday.  The flat, tight abs of an athlete would never get boring and his thighs were big, their thickness obvious beneath his swim trunks.  Even his calves were gorgeous.

“Hi sleepy.”  She climbed back into her spot.  “Didn’t mean to wake you.”

I’d love to wake up to you every day, John thought.  He got to his feet.  Everything hurt - the dull ache of overuse throbbed throughhis body.  Roberts’ training program was not for the faint of heart.  John barely had time to reset from the grueling season and now he was waking up to scorpion lifts and sled pushes.  

Meghan watched him move toward the edge of the pool, back to her, testing and flexing muscles in order of soreness.  She had a vision of digging her thumbs into the lateral muscles where his neck met his back.  As if reading her mind, John rolled his head forward.  She could have massaged him with her eyes closed just by following every line of ropey muscle.  Of course she’d have to do it on a bed or a table, or the floor, or this lawn chair....

Stop, she shook it from her mind’s eye.  That didn’t stop John from continuing to rotate his shoulders or lift onto his toes in a calf raise.  Meghan almost laughed.  Shameless.

He jumped into the water and she wanted to follow.  She also wanted to be examined by a psychologist because Meghan had no idea what had gotten into her.  She didn’t date James’ friends - mostly because James’ friends were her friends, and they were mildly douchebag-esque in their hurry to live their 20s to the max.  She also didn’t date hockey players.  It didn’t take a genius to figure out that a guy who could have any woman would likely have every woman.  They would grow out of it, probably.  Maybe Steven already was if he’d been chasing some girl for weeks.  James though, he’d been home less time and already she’d woken up to an empty house on two mornings.

John swam the length of the pool underwater then again with a breaststroke.  It wasn’t that big.  The weightlessness and motion helped loosen his sore muscles.  He thought about getting a massage - the good kind, in a spa, not the kind the trainers at the gym gave.  Though sometimes it was safer to have a guy do it - no chance of embarrassing himself by popping a hard-on.  He could embarrass himself plenty in public if Meghan kept wearing those bikinis all summer.  Maybe she gave massages.  Maybe he’d get traded to Pittsburgh.  Maybe tomorrow he’d wake up as the Queen of England.

He felt a wave and opened his eyes underwater.  Meghan was blur, a twisting explosion of bubbles with flashes of swimsuit and skin.  The bubbles rose as she did, stretching her body toward the surface.  John’s head broke the water a moment later, having watched her instead of breathing.

“Wooooh, it’s cold,” she said.

“It warms up,” John promised.

Meghan slipped under and made for the shallower end.  She took a seat on one of the three steps, reclining back to keep her shoulders submerged.  John drifted over and sat on the other side of the metal railing.  She glanced to where Steven and James were still passed out.

“Why do you hang out with these idiots?” she asked.

John laughed.  “Why do you?”

“Let’s see,” she pretended to think.  “Free place to live, lots of fun, the likely chance to bail and NHLer out of jail, this pool, and all the girls are jealous of me.  It’s the best summer vacation ever.”

“You’re not working?”

“I am taking the summer off.  My last summer vacation ever.  I spent last year in London working - I loved it, but between working and trying to cram as much London into every day as possible, I really burned myself out.  That’s no way to go into a new job.  So when James offered me a place here for free, I decided it was a sign that I had earned a few months off.”  She twisted a her foot around the bannister.  “I will be bored to death by Canada Day, most likely.”

“It is nice to get a summer vacation every year,” John admitted, “even if I’d rather still be playing now.”

“Do you watch the playoffs when you’re not in?”

He nodded.  “I know a lot of the guys, so I watch.  It’s just hard sometimes, wondering what they have that you don’t.”

Meghan studied John’s profile as he spoke, looking into the middle distance.  He was surprisingly honest - this was the second time that day he’d been open about feelings for his team and sport.  Maybe he wasn’t so much shy as quiet, and it was hard to be heard over the other guys’ noise.  Either way Meghan understood how John felt.  Growing up with hockey players had taught her that.

She reached up and brushed an errant curl of wet hair back from his temple.  It surprised John flinched he flinched, looking toward her.   They were only a foot apart.  Meghan had the startling feeling that John was going to kiss her.

“Green,” he said instead.  “Your eyes are green.”

She nodded, the flash of nervous energy draining away.  Had she read that right?

“I thought they were brown,” John said.  It was a dumb thing to admit, both that he’d thought about her eyes and that he’d gotten them wrong.  He couldn’t help it they were wide and clear, blinking back at him from close range.  The only time he’d been closer, he’d been quite distracted by her mouth on his.  His gaze dropped: yup, those lips were still there, looking as kissable as ever.

John wondered what Meghan saw when she looked at him: another hockey player, another bro-friend ready for a summer of showing off?  Or did she see a person to be friends, or more, with?

A zap of pleasure rang right through Meghan’s body, from her heart to her hips.  Her eyes were green.  What kind of guy noticed that, or cared?  

“You would,” she replied.

____