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CHAPTER THIRTEEN

corbin

Tossing and turning isn’t in my repertoire. Usually, I hit the pillow and fall asleep within minutes. My routine rarely varies but since I met Oakley, my mind spins uncontrollably. I can’t escape my attraction to her as much as I want to and being married to her is going to test my resolve. Honestly, I don’t even know why I agreed to this marriage of convenience.

Last night, the phone rang with the screen showing Oakley’s name, but I couldn’t bring myself to pick it up. She left me a voicemail. Her words were almost broken like she was upset. How could she be upset when she’s marrying one of the most eligible bachelors in Nashville?

“Hey, it’s Oakley. Your… your girlfriend. That’s weird. Umm, I don’t understand all this legal jargon, but I think three months. Where am I supposed to meet you tomorrow? I work at the salon, but then I can take the bus wherever. I don’t have texting on my phone plan, so call me.”

Who the fuck doesn’t have texting? I don’t have time for this right when the season is starting.

After a shower, I call her back on the way to the first team meeting and practice of the season. “It’s Corbin. I got your message. What time do you get off work?”

“Five, if my clients are on time.”

“I’ll pick you up. Send me a pin.”

“No.”

“Oh, I forgot your phone doesn’t do that. What’s the address?” Reluctantly, she gives me the address. “I’ll be there. Bring the document.”

Now, it’s time to start the season with fresh legs and a scrambled mind. Time to lie to my teammates, and I’m hoping I can pull it off.

The coach introduces the staff to the few new players. Gloria hasn’t spoken to me since Dousier and I traded blows. Well, she can be mad all she wants, but I’m not standing by letting him hit a woman. We’re sitting on opposite sides of the room, but it’s not far enough away for my taste.

The coach asks us to open the QR code on the screen and read through the team rules and sign electronically. Then he goes over the practice schedule for the next week and the expectations for what we should be doing outside of practice on our own time. Luckily, the schedule didn’t change from the past year. For the three weeks during the preseason, we’ll practice for three hours every morning, meaning weightlifting, appointments with trainers and physical therapists in the afternoon.

The smell of Irish Spring hits me from every corner as I step into the locker room, but it won’t be long before it’s replaced by the unmistakable scent of body sweat. There are two new additions to the locker room. One, the Nashville Notes logo is inlaid in the center of the hardwood floor that has been waxed and shined. The other is reclining chairs have been added in the area where we hang out or watch last-minute film along with state-of-the art television, featuring multiple screens but displaying one image. When we watch film here, the images will be life size. We’ll be able to strategize between periods, if necessary,

Dousier walks in front of me. “My line will be moving up to number one.”

I ignore him, as I finish covering my blades and walk out. I take a deep breath as I step onto the fresh ice. The coach has us stretch and skate on our own before he starts the drills. It’s intense like he’s trying to weed players out, but he’s just gauging who has put in the work during the offseason. Each command from Coach to skate faster or to snake through the cones keeps me in the moment. Being one with the ice is a sacred place to be. Some men go on spirituality adventures, but for me, this is all I need—ice, a stick, and a puck.

The familiar sound of the team’s blades slicing through the ice echoes through the arena, and this is where I feel at home. Sweat drips down my face as practice ends. Not once did I think of Oakley. It feels good not to be totally consumed with the little thief. I’m going to marry someone who is as beautiful as she is infuriating.

I check my watch, and I have plenty of time to pick her up so after cleaning up, I make a pit stop at the phone store and add her number to my plan.

Once I reach the salon where Oakley works, I park my truck in front. This reminds me of a strip mall in eastern Kentucky, full of nail salons, beauty shops, check cashing, and vape shops.

Immediately, the customers recognize me. One man spins his head from his reflection. “Are you Corbin Shearer? I’m Rodney.”

“I am. Is Oakley here?” I ask the woman trimming his hair.

“Umm, yeah. She just went in the back. We met at the bar not long ago. Well, we weren’t introduced. I’m Jennie Rae.”

That night was messy. I was furious, and Oakley was acting like her stealing my truck was no big deal.

“Nice to meet you.”

Just then, Oakley appears with her hair pulled away from her face but with it hanging long on her back. My breath sticks in my throat, and a coughing spell ensues. In the background, I hear a few people asking for autographs, but my gaze is fixated on the hair stylist. Her lips shimmer a natural color that doesn’t draw too much attention, leaving her eyes as the showcase. She’s simply stunning.

“So, where are you taking me on our date?” Oakley asks just above a whisper.

Jennie Rae shouts, “What? You didn’t tell me you were dating the guy who…”

Oakley shoots Jennie Rae the evil eye, so now I’m curious as to what she was going to say.

“My favorite pizza joint.”

She smiles, and it seems genuine, not sarcastic. “Okay, let me cash out.” Oakley runs through the appointment book, punching in some numbers on a calculator.

While she’s busy, I sign autographs and promise Rodney, who must be a regular customer of the shop, that I’ll take care of Oakley. “She’s been through more than a girl her age should.” He crooks his finger, gesturing for me to get closer, and he whispers in my ear, “She pretends to be a badass, but that girl is the inside of a cinnamon roll. Just keep it in mind and don’t tell her I said that cause she’ll kick my ass.”

After shaking his hand, Oakley looks up and throws her purse over her head, and the long strap rests between her breasts. “Ready?” I ask.

She nods.

“Call me when you get home, Pretty Woman.” Jennie Rae can’t hide her enthusiasm.

She waves to Jennie Rae and the customers. Her face is slightly pink as I open her door and let her in the truck. I still can’t believe I agreed to marry her, but I need to focus on my career instead of whatever the celebrity reporters are saying. I assume we’ll be a hot topic for a couple of weeks, then it will die down, mainly because I had her arrested. I’ll never regret it though because she needed to learn a fucking a lesson. It was rude and illegal.

“Rodney is a huge hockey fan. Hope he didn’t ask for too much,” Oakley says as she twists her head to look at me.

“He was great. I don’t mind signing autographs. I used to be that person that when my parents took me to a Stallions hockey game, I would stay until I had them all sign my shirt or poster. And they weren’t even good when I was young.”

When I slide into the front seat, she says, “A guy like you doesn’t understand what it’s like for people like me and my clients.”

“God, this is going to be a long three months if you insist on being condescending.”

“Me? You’re rich and don’t know what it’s like to struggle. At least you had enough sense to drive the truck instead of a car with an acronym.”

I’ve never been one to overreact. Instead, I always want to work through a problem, stay steady. Her point is valid. I do live in a wealthy area and have nice things. It’s my job to show her who I really am, so we can coexist in a marriage.

Lou’s Pizzeria comes into view so after ten minutes of silence, I point it out. “There it is.”

Oakley’s brows dip toward her nose. “This is your favorite pizza place. Are you serious?”

I turn in the alley where Lou’s wife, Luna, lets me park.

As we enter the brick building of the hole-in-the-wall pizzeria, I’m inundated with the smell of freshly baked pizza crust and melting cheese. Luna squeezes the life out of me. “We’ve missed you. It’s been weeks.”

“Sorry, Luna. I went home to Kentucky, then to Atlanta where I met this one.” I drape my arm over her shoulder. This is like a dress rehearsal. If I can make Lou and Luna believe we’re on a real date, then we can go somewhere a little less private. “This is Oakley.”

Luna grins and says, “Have a seat wherever you want. What do you want to drink?”

“Two light beers.” Luna wipes her hand on her apron and walks over to the bar. “There are certain things I love to drink beer with. And now that hockey season is officially underway, I indulge once in a while.”

“Beer or Coke is a must with pizza.” Oakley smirks at me, clearly amused by my choice of restaurants. "This is a pretty fancy first date, huh?" she teases.

"I have impeccable taste," I reply with a grin, scanning the worn checkered tablecloths and cozy booths. “Is this one okay?”

She nods and sits down in the booth.

“I think you brought me to this tiny hole in the wall because you want to be on safe ground where the people know you and not me, but you’re lucky I love pizza of any kind.”

“Really?”

“Thick or thin. Pan or woodfired. Chicago or New York style. Margherita or meat lovers.”

We order a classic pepperoni pizza. It’s between thin and thick, and when it arrives, the first bite is pure bliss—crispy crust, tangy tomato sauce, and the perfect balance of cheese. "Impressed?" I ask, eyebrows raised.

"I’ll admit, it’s not bad," she says, trying to play it cool as the flavors dance on her tongue, and a moan slips from her mouth. “Look, they have Pacman.” I look in that direction and realize that she has taken the last piece. “Do you want to play?”

“Careful, little thief, you seem to like my company.”

“Nah, just love pizza, beer, and Pacman, no matter who I’m with.”

I’ll believe it when I see it.

I put both hands over my heart, feigning hurt feelings. And I find myself intrigued by the blond-haired, snarky beauty. Rodney’s words ring in my ears about her being soft on the inside, and I’d love to touch every inch of her soft skin.

A man walks in, probably around my age with a pot belly. “If you can have fun no matter who you’re with, what about him? Let’s see how much fun you have with him.” I dare her.

Her gaze collides with mine, and she says, “Well, that would be rude of me to leave my date.”

“Didn’t stop you before.”