Short of Breath for You Read online

  Short of breath for you

  By

  Brooke Baker

  Copyright © 2020 by Brooke Baker - All rights reserved.

  All Rights Reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the author.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Table of content

  Table of content

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Epilogue

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  Chapter 1

  Dylan

  I watched the clock ticking down, my leg jiggling impatiently as I waited.

  Five, four, three, two, one…

  As soon as it hit zero, I was out of the penalty box and back on the ice.

  The crowd roared as I pushed off, my skates cutting into the ice and giving me serious momentum. The other forwards, my friends, Hunter and Ethan had the puck and were passing it back and forth keeping it away from the other team’s forwards as my two wingers headed for the goal.

  I put on a burst of speed and caught up to them but was blocked by the opposite team’s defenseman, who was skating backwards and getting in my way as much as possible so that I couldn’t receive a pass.

  Hunter looked to see if I was open but I couldn’t get away from the defenseman and the right wing passed it to Ethan, who shot for the net and missed. As the puck bounced off the crossbar, the opposing team’s center snatched it and took off down the ice so fast that he left every one of us behind.

  A breakaway. Damn it.

  I skated till my quads ached but couldn’t catch him. The left wing passed it to their center, who dumped it in the top corner of the net, winning the game.

  I was hit by the disappointed feeling I always got when we lost. Like I’d been hit with a sucker-punch in the gut. I’d failed my team once again. I seemed to be doing that a lot lately. Getting that tripping penalty was just stupid and had cost us the game.

  I knew that I was going to get an earful from Coach and if I didn’t get my head in a better place, then I was going to be kicked off the team.

  And then I would never go from playing on this farm team to being brought up to the NHL.

  But no. I wouldn’t let that happen. I had worked too hard to throw it all away.

  I skated slowly back to the player’s box. I don’t usually look up into the stands — it’s too distracting during a game. But this time I did and I blinked in surprise.

  Was that Maddie Davies?

  My pulse kicked up and I felt my stomach tighten.

  The woman met my eyes for a moment and then looked away.

  Yep, Maddie Davies.

  She was wearing a hat that covered her gorgeous red hair but I recognized her. Intelligent eyes, check. Sweet face, check. Curves to die for, check. I held back a sigh.

  We had met in college.

  She’s smart, creative, and talented. She was studying architecture and if that wasn’t sexy as fuck, I don’t know what is.

  Unfortunately this story doesn’t have a happy ending. She was amazing and I was just the jock that wasn’t good enough for her.

  She never even gave me a chance.

  I kind of hate her guts and yet still have x-rated dreams about her occasionally. And yes, it is confusing as hell, thank you very much.

  I stepped into the box and grabbed my water bottle. The next second I was back on the ice, gliding along the boards and heading for the dressing room.

  It was late, nearly ten o’clock. And all I wanted was to have a shower, get changed, and get out of this damn arena. I would go out and pick up a hot chick, and then take her home and give her the best fuck of her life till I forgot how badly I had messed up today.

  I risked one last glance back up in Maddie’s direction.

  But she was already gone.

  *****

  “Now get out of here before they start locking up,” Coach said, giving me one last disappointed look.

  “Yes, sir.”

  I walked out of the dressing room after the other guys were already gone, still smarting from the taking-down coach had given me. The bulk of the fans had already left but some people still wandered the arena. The staff were already shooing them out and I watched a caretaker come out of a room and lock the door.

  I ignored them all, thinking about how badly I had messed up. If we had won this game, we’d already be guaranteed a spot in the playoffs. Now we had to play a seventh game. On their turf. Not good. Not good at all. If we lost the next game, we lost our chance to make it to the playoffs.

  No pressure.

  I was to meet Coach on the ice at five in the morning tomorrow for an extra practise — first line forwards only. All three of us. It was punishment, I knew, for how terribly we had played and the unnecessary penalties we had taken.

  But I wasn’t going to complain. He would talk to us about dedication. He would tell me I had to have my head in the game, keep my nose clean, and he would probably mention every other sports metaphor you can think of. All while working us till we were broken and bleeding.

  I didn’t know about the other guys but I knew that I deserved it. I’d screwed up and I needed to make it right. I was the center and the captain and I had to set a good example. I had to be the one leading my teammates. Coach was going to talk my ear off about that and he would be right. I knew it.

  I also knew that I wouldn’t be able to walk the next day after the gruelling workout that Coach would put us through. But to be honest, I kind of looked forward to it. At least then I would have made amends and I wouldn’t have to feel so guilty about letting my team down.

  As I walked down the long, wide hallway a woman came out of the corridor that led to the bathrooms. I couldn’t see her very well and she immediately began striding forward as if she had somewhere to be. But there was something about her. The way she moved maybe.

  My curiosity was piqued and I decided to follow her out of the arena, maybe talk to her and ask her for her number. I watched her round butt sway back and forth in the jeans she was wearing and felt nothing but admiration. I love a good handful when it comes to a woman’s behind because that usually means there are two large handfuls in the front as well.

  Her long blonde hair reached to her waist and I immediately felt the urge to tangle my fingers in it.

  Then the woman seemed to realize I was behind her and peeked over her shoulder but I still didn’t get a good look at her face.

  Shit. Was she checking me out?

  I rubbed my nose to hide a smile. I could use a mindless hookup to get my mind off my total screw up in the game. I increased my speed to catch up to the woman.

  But couldn’t.

  What?

  She must be walking faster, too. Then she suddenly darted into a side hallway. Now I was totally confused.

  Did she work at the arena? That hallway led to where the maintenance rooms were.

  Nah, that woman did not work at the arena.

  I knew all the caretakers and none of them had an ass like that. I would have noticed.

  So where was she going?

  I started jogging to catch up to her, not an easy feat with my bulky hockey bag on my shoulder. Just as I came around the corner, I saw a door close down the hall.

  This just
got weirder and weirder.

  I got to the door and stared at the sign on it.

  It was where they kept the zamboni. The machine they used to clean the ice.

  And the blonde woman with the sexy ass was in there.

  With the zamboni.

  Doing god knows what.

  Chapter 2

  Madison

  I collected up everything I needed to work on this weekend and with arms full, headed out of the office.

  I smiled and said goodbye to my co-workers. Well, to the few people who were still there on a Friday night, that is. It was late and almost everyone had already gone home.

  I checked the time on my phone and saw that if I hit any traffic whatsoever, I was going to be late for my date. I sighed, wishing that I could just go home and stream a movie and eat chips and dip.

  It was Friday. Time for jammies and junk food and watching television where smart women hooked up with hot guys and nobody seemed to think that was odd.

  But instead of a comfortable night in, I was going to a hockey game. With Harold.

  I tried not to feel resentful but couldn’t help it.

  Harold had asked me out and I had accepted. Because my friends said I had to start dating. Had to try. Couldn’t stay in the house forever.

  And I honestly didn’t want to end up an old maid.

  I’m what people called curvy when they were being polite. And it wasn’t like I had guys lining up at my door wanting to take me out.

  Harold wasn’t exactly my perfect guy but he was perfect in that he wasn’t picky. He wasn’t looking for a twig woman without any meat on her bones. Or at least that’s what I assumed since he had asked me out.

  To be honest, Harold wasn’t exactly boyfriend material. And I had no feelings for him whatsoever. And if I was being truly frank, he was a super boring, unattractive drip. But I supposed that he was better than nothing.

  And though I hadn’t seen a game in years, I did like hockey.

  *****

  My phone buzzed and I took it out of my coat pocket, still keeping my eyes on the hockey players who were doing their warm-up laps. The game was about to start and I wondered if Harold was running late.

  I saw the home team had a number 44 with the last name Jones on his back.

  But it couldn’t be him.

  He wasn’t that good a player in college. Surely he hadn’t made it this far?

  I glanced down at my phone and saw it was a text message.

  From Harold.

  Cancelling.

  I stared at the phone feeling furious. Some kid started belting out the national anthem but I wasn’t even listening. I’m sure if I could have seen myself, there would have been cartoon smoke coming out my ears, I was so mad.

  I had rushed here. I had paid good money for a ticket and snacks - yes, Harold wanted to go dutch. I had done my makeup and spent a lot of time matching these jeans with an old hockey jersey I had from my college days. Go Miners!

  When really I just wanted to be at home watching some hot actor say silly things to some hot actress and imagining that I was her.

  And this rude drip of a Harold wasn’t even coming?

  He hadn’t even made up an excuse.

  Just said he couldn’t make it.

  Seriously?

  This was what I got for trying to date.

  I huffed out a breath of frustration.

  A whistle blew and my eyes were drawn back to the rink. The centers were facing off and the referee was about to drop the puck. The home team’s captain was this Jones player who could not be the drop-dead gorgeous hockey player who messed with my head in college, trying to get me to go out with him. I had tutored him in Trigonometry and he had asked me out a couple times.

  I fumed at the thought.

  He had been doing it for a bet or something, I was sure.

  No way would a hot guy like that have ever noticed a curvy, artistic bookworm like me otherwise.

  Dylan Jones was a supreme asshole in my books.

  And I never wanted to see him again.

  He brought up all the awkward feelings of my high school and college years and I did not want to ever run into him or any of my other classmates.

  I had come here to get away from all that. I’d bought a new wardrobe and dyed my hair. I had started over. Here I was a successful architect with a great apartment and a fun, fulfilling social life.

  Well, I was doing pretty well on the first two, anyhow.

  Just the thought of running into him made me want to hyperventilate like I used to in college when I would get too anxious. I had even had to be hospitalized a couple times because I couldn’t breathe. One time I had been tutoring him and he’d brought me to the hospital himself - most embarrassing day of my life.

  No way was I ever going back to those times.

  I would do anything to avoid seeing Dylan again.

  Anything.

  Because after the day I’d had, the last thing I needed was a trip to the hospital.

  *****

  As the game ended in a loss for the home team, I saw the captain Jones - hit his stick on the ice and then look up into the crowd. His eyes seemed to find me, like a neodymium magnet - that’s one of those super strong ones. His gaze locked onto mine and I couldn’t look away. It was Dylan Jones, the jerk who had tried to get me to go on a date with him for a bet.

  Damn it.

  Those blue eyes stared me down and I couldn’t look away. I couldn’t breathe.

  Then I realized that I really couldn’t breathe and not in a good way. I started to hyperventilate. Jesus. I needed to get out of here. He looked away, going into the player’s box and I gathered my things.

  With only a quick glance at him, I scurried up the bleachers to the bathroom. I needed to hide. And I’d had three beers so I really needed to pee.

  Plus, I needed to get my breathing under control before I tried to drive home. And there were still way too many people around for me to be able to do that. The last thing I needed at the moment was to try to navigate through a big crowd, that would only make the anxiety worse.

  Sometimes it took me a couple days to recover from a bad attack like this and I couldn’t have that this weekend. Not when I needed to get a bunch of work done this weekend.

  I had to calm down and stave off this anxiety before it turned into a full blow panic attack. I locked myself in one of the stalls in the bathroom and began the deep breathing exercises that my therapist had taught me.

  I would calm down and I would get out of here.

  And I would never think about Dylan Jones ever again.

  *****

  When I had gone to my quiet place and done the deep breathing, I felt calm and serene and ready to leave. When I emerged from the bathroom, only a few spectators were around. As I came out, I was followed by a caretaker who had obviously been checking to make sure there was no one else in the bathroom. Then she locked it and headed to the next one. They were closing the arena for the night.

  I walked quickly, just wanting to get home.

  Then I realized that there was someone behind me.

  I took a quick peek over my shoulder.

  No. It couldn’t be. What had I done to deserve a Friday night like this?

  It was Dylan.

  And he looked even better out of his equipment.

  Not that I had noticed.

  I hated his guts.

  When I scanned behind me using my peripheral vision, he seemed to be walking faster as if he wanted to catch up to me.

  No, no. That wasn’t going to happen.

  I needed to get away from him.

  Having a conversation with him, would likely bring back the anxiety and the hyperventilation. And knowing my luck would result in me passing out and being completely embarrassed as well. Like the worst kind of deja vu.

  Maybe I could hide in a closet or something until he went home. Then I could make my escape.

  I know, I know, I sound a little crazy. But that�
�s what lack of oxygen - and maybe the three beers - will do to a person.

  I ducked into a maintenance hallway and tried doors until I found one that opened. I went inside and shut the door with a quiet click. I breathed a sigh of relief.

  All I had to do was wait ten minutes or so and then leave. He would definitely be gone by then and I could go home. I rather desperately wanted my pyjamas and a rom-com at this point.

  I took a deep breath.

  I just had to wait and soon I would be out of this mess.

  That’s when the knob turned and the door opened.

  Chapter 3

  Dylan

  I opened the door and stepped inside, already wishing I had left well enough alone. I should be hitting the bar right now, not wandering around in the arena in the maintenance section, chasing an admittedly hot woman into the zamboni garage.

  The window in the door let in the only light in the room. And honestly I had been expecting some batshit crazy weird stuff to be going on with a woman who hides in maintenance rooms with a zamboni - even if she does have a sexy ass.

  But this.

  I hadn’t expected this.

  “Maddie?” I said, unable to believe it was her. I had thought she’d left. I didn’t know she’d dyed that gorgeous red mane a rather faded shade of blonde. She’d been wearing a hat in the stands so I couldn’t see the colour of her hair.

  “No,” she moaned softly and went deeper into the darkened room.

  What the fuck?

  “Maddie, are you okay?” I said, suddenly concerned. What if she was hurt? Or someone had attacked her?

  “I’m fine,” she said, sounding short of breath. “Please just go, Dylan.”

  Electricity shot through my body at the sound of my name on her lips.

  She remembered me?

  “Maddie,” I said, using a low, calm voice. “I just want to make sure you’re okay. And then I’ll leave, alright?”

  I put down my hockey bag with my equipment in it and followed her farther into the room, turning on my phone flashlight to see. I pointed it down so it wouldn’t blind either of us.