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Stone

“ H i. It’s Stone. Tyler Stone.” I play up the wounded note in my voice as I add, “Could you please let Coach Lauder know I won’t be in until after lunch? Maybe even tomorrow morning, depending on how quickly this migraine passes? It’s a real son of a bitch.”

I pace the length of Remy’s living room, phone tucked between my ear and shoulder, trying to sound properly pained while keeping my volume low enough not to wake her. “Thanks. I appreciate it, Donna. Thank you for— Yes, I’ll hold.”

Donna, the cheerful Badgers’ receptionist, who’s worked at the complex since the 90s, transfers me to someone in HR to “officially” log my sick day. As the tinny hold music fills my ear, I glance down the hall toward Remy’s bedroom, where she’s currently dead to the world, a testament to how utterly exhausted she was last night.

I’ve never seen her like that before.

Remy Lauder is a force of nature, a redheaded hurricane of focus, drive, and determination, with the kind of discipline that makes Navy SEALs look like slackers. In the year and a half that we’ve been…whatever we are…I’ve never once seen her falter.

Until last night.

Finding her shaking by the side of the highway, tears streaming down her face, knocked something loose inside me. A protective, mama bear instinct I didn’t realize I possessed took control, refusing to let up until my girl was nurtured to within an inch of her life.

And yeah, I finally got her to a better place, but it still wasn’t a great one. She clearly needs some major TLC.

But who takes care of Remy Lauder while she’s taking care of business? Who reminds her to eat regular meals and get enough sleep? Who tells her to slow down when she’s running herself into the ground?

Who taught her the value of self-care, real self-care, not the “buy yourself a bottle of prosecco and take a bubble bath” variety?

The answer is painfully obvious: no one.

With a dad like Coach, it’s really no wonder she missed that particular “how to take care of myself” skill set, and I know for a fact she doesn’t let anyone else close enough to try.

Poor pumpkin.

She clearly needs an intervention, whether she likes it or not.

“Hello, Mr. Stone?” A brisk female voice I don’t recognize snaps me back to the present.

“Yes, hi, I’m here,” I say, injecting a note of strain as I add, “So sorry about this. I know it’s terrible timing with training camp just starting, but?—”

“Not at all. These things happen,” the stranger interrupts efficiently. “The migraine’s been logged into the system. Just make sure you get a doctor’s note if you’re out for more than two days.”

“Absolutely. Thank you.”

“Before I let you go, I wanted to let you know that Remy Lauder also called in sick today. Food poisoning, apparently. But it could be a virus of some kind. There might be something going around the office.”

I offer a mildly interested hum. “Really?”

“Yes, so if you start feeling sick to your stomach, that might be why. Just be sure to stay home if you’re actively vomiting or running a fever. We don’t need this spreading through the team like wildfire.”

“Agreed,” I say. “Thanks so much. I’ll keep that in mind. Have a good one, and I hope everyone else stays healthy.”

I end the call and exhale a satisfied sigh. Another item off my list, and it’s not even mid-morning yet. I really am on fire today, especially for a man who’s allegedly down with a migraine.

“Oh my god. Shit!” comes a hoarse shout from the bedroom.

A beat later, I hear a thud and footsteps on the thick carpet.

“What time is it?” Remy demands from behind me. “My alarm must have died or something.”

I turn with a smile to see her standing in the hallway, hair wild, eyes panicked, still in those cozy pajamas I find unreasonably sexy for some reason. She’s just so…snuggly in flannel.

“Stone! The time,” she demands, when I admire a second too long.

“It’s almost ten,” I tell her calmly, “but don’t?—”

“TEN?” She shrieks. “I’m two hours late for work! How long have you been up? Why didn’t you wake me? Fuck” She drags a hand through her hair. “My phone. Where’s my phone? I need to call the office?—”

“No, you don’t. Take a breath, woman.” I step toward her, hands outstretched in a placating gesture. “It’s all handled. No need to stress.”

Her eyes narrow into dangerous little slits. “What do you mean ‘handled’?”

“I mean that I texted the office from your phone a couple of hours ago, explaining that you have food poisoning from some nasty sushi and won’t be in today.”

“You WHAT?” She lunges for her purse on the coffee table, frantically digging for her cell. “How did you even get into my phone? It’s passcode protected!”

I shrug, determined to model chill for her. “I accidentally memorized your code when we were ordering pizza last summer. You know, that time my phone was dead, so you treated and accidentally got pepperoni instead of sausage?”

Now her eyes are dangerously wide. “That was three months ago!”

I shrug again, offering her my most charming smile. “What can I say? I have a photographic memory, especially when it comes to numbers. But I swear I’ve never used it before. Scout’s honor. I would never violate your privacy like that.”

“I’m going to violate your privacy in a minute,” Remy mutters as she scrolls to the message in question. Her shoulders relax the slightest bit as she reads. “Okay, well, at least you didn’t make me sound like a nutjob.”

“Of course, not. What do you take me for?”

“An insane person,” she snaps back. She tosses her phone into her purse and props her hands on her hips. “I can’t believe you did this. I have three meetings today! Three big meetings. Coach Bennett from Utah is only in town for two days, and I’m sure?—”

“I’m sure they’ll find someone else to meet with him,” I cut in. “Or reschedule the meeting for tomorrow. Come on, woman. It’s one day. One day to give your body a real chance to rest and reset.” I step closer, relieved when she doesn’t back away. “One day in three years of perfect attendance. And before you ask, yes, I also called in sick. Different excuse though—migraine. Different method of notification, too. I was very careful not to create any connecting dots, proving I’m not an insane person, but actually quite clever. And Sophie’s agreed to be on Barb duty today so I can stay here and help you get some more rest.”

Her lips press together, but the fire is slowly leaving her gaze. “I don’t need more rest. I actually slept really well last night.”

“You also slept for almost twelve hours straight,” I say simply. “And if I’m being honest, last night was kind of scary. You were not yourself.”

And not well , I’m tempted to add, but I know better.

“It was just a rough night.” She crosses her arms defensively. “After a rough weekend. Sometimes stress catches up with everyone. It was a blip, that’s all.”

“A blip?” I repeat, arching a dubious brow. “Rem, you were so exhausted you couldn’t stop crying. Or shaking. That’s not a blip. That’s your body screaming for mercy after months of neglect.”

She rolls her eyes. “Don’t be so dramatic.”

“I’m not being dramatic,” I counter. “I’m being real with you. If you keep this up, you’re headed for a breakdown. Ask me how I know.”

She wrinkles her nose, a hint of curiosity in her tone as she says, “Don’t tell me you’ve had a breakdown.”

“No,” I say, hurrying on before she can interrupt, “but that’s only because I was born chill. I emerged from the womb so laid back, I didn’t even cry in the delivery room. But my oldest sister, Noemi, is like you. Driven, intense, high-functioning, impressive as hell, and prone to burning the candle at both ends. It’s fucked her up more than once. Last time, she was pushing so hard on a research project that when she got sick with bronchitis, she wasn’t strong enough to clear the infection, even with meds. She ended up in the hospital with pneumonia. For a while, we weren’t sure she was going to make it.”

Her brow furrows. “I’m sorry. That’s so scary. She’s the one who works at the lab in San Diego, right?”

“Yeah, making cancer meds,” I say, before adding in a more pointed tone, “Which, not to be a dick, is kind of more serious and worth risking your health for than hockey. And this is coming from someone who really loves hockey and owes it a lot.”

Her lips part, but then close again. A beat later, her posture sags as the last of the fight goes out of her. “Fine,” she says with a sigh. “I am still a little tired. I’ll rest.” She aims a warning finger at my face. “But you never do anything like this again. Not without my permission. I’m not a child who needs some big brother type to save me from myself.”

I snort. “And I’m not your brother. Thank God. That would make the fact that I woke up with my hard-on pressed between your ass cheeks pretty sick.”

Her lips twitch. “I must have really been sleeping like the dead. Your morning wood is usually pretty hard to miss.”

“You were,” I say with a sniff. “And it’s still hard to miss. It was extra big and hard this morning. And if you hadn’t run yourself ragged, you could have been getting off on it instead of sleeping in. Which brings me to the next stage of this intervention.”

“No,” she says, her eyes narrowing again. “No more intervention. I’m hungry and, as you learned last night, low on supplies. If you aren’t going to let me go to the store, we should order groceries delivered.”

“Already done, they’ll be here in fifteen minutes. Thirty tops,” I say. “And I already have coffee made in the kitchen.” She starts past me, but I shift into her path. “No. No coffee until you’ve heard me out. I deserve that much after coming to the rescue last night, right?”

She folds her arms with clearly forced patience. “Okay. What?”

“You need rest. But you also need…fun.” I pull the folded piece of paper from my back pocket. “And I just happen to have a fun intervention contract drawn up and ready to be signed. Look at that.”

“A contract,” she repeats flatly. “What is this? Fifty Shades of Grey?”

“No, because it’s not a sex thing or a dominance thing.” I unfold the paper with a flourish. “It’s a fun thing, and I went to all the trouble to type it up and print it this morning when I was barely awake. So, you should at least read it before you toss it in the garbage.”

Her brows shoot up again. “On my computer? You helped yourself to access to that, too?”

“Yes. But in my defense, having the same password for everything is not the best cyber-security move. You should really mix it up a bit.”

She props a fist on her hip again. “Stone!”

“Sorry, sorry.” I clear my throat as I lift my free hand, fingers spread in surrender. “Look, the point is, I think you need someone to help you relax and remember there’s more to life than the grind. You need play, down time, some shits and giggles just for the sake of shits and giggles. And I’d like to volunteer as tribute to help out with all that.”

“Tribute. Helping me have fun is going to be like fighting for your life in the arena?” She sounds skeptical, but there’s a hint of amusement in her voice that gives me hope.

“Nah, you’re not that hard a case.” I grin as I ease closer, wafting the contract gently back and forth. “But I know you. Unless you sign on the dotted line, you won’t take your fun seriously. So, I propose that for the next month, until your big interview, you let me help you build some fun, relaxation, and self-care into your schedule. No strings attached, no pressure, just balance and good times with a friend who wants the best for you.” I shrug as I add in what I hope is a casual voice, “And if you’d rather we not fuck around while we’re doing that, that’s fine by me. Your health and happiness are more important than my penis.”

“Don’t be stupid, your penis is one of my main sources of fun,” she says in a matter-of-fact voice that brings me a ridiculous amount of joy. “But what does this ‘fun coaching’ involve, exactly? You know I don’t have a lot of spare time, and I really can’t miss work or shirk my other obligations.”

“Whatever you want it to involve. And totally, I wouldn’t ask you to.” I hand her the contract, careful not to seem too eager. “But the basic idea is that twice a week, in pockets of time pre-approved by you, I get to plan something for us to do that has nothing to do with work, hockey, or productivity. Something purely recreational. You have veto power, of course,” I add hastily.

“How generous of you,” she mutters, scanning the document.

“I’m a giver.”

She rolls her eyes, but there’s a smile tugging at her lips as she mutters, “This is ridiculous.”

“Maybe. But you need it,” I counter. “Are you impressed by how legal I made everything sound? Think I have a future in the law when I’m too old and crusty to play pro hockey?”

“It’s very impressive,” she says dryly, before glancing up at me with those piercing green eyes. “But what do you get out of this arrangement? I don’t see anything about your compensation listed here.”

I consider deflecting with a joke, but I really don’t want to. “I get to spend time with someone I care about, and make sure she doesn’t work herself into an early grave. Like I said, your health comes first.”

Her expression softens. “Stone, I appreciate what you’re trying to do, I really do. I appreciate you . You’re a very sweet person, but?—”

“I am not,” I push back, afraid this is headed in a bad direction. “I’m sexy and exciting and make you come harder than anyone ever has. And don’t you forget it.”

She sighs, before replying in a tone that’s a tad too condescending for my taste, “Yes, obviously. But the point is, I don’t have time for this. Not even two hours, twice a week. I’m booked solid.”

“The point is, you don’t have time not to do this.” I counter, realizing it’s time to take off the kid gloves. “Rem, what happened last night wasn’t normal. It was a warning you should take seriously. Eventually, your body will force you to rest, whether you want to or not. Just like what happened with Noemi. And I really don’t want to bring flowers to the hospital again anytime soon.”

She chews her bottom lip. I can see the wheels turning in her head as she weighs the pros and cons, calculating the risk versus reward.

Deciding whether or not to take easy-going Stone, the fuck buddy, seriously…

“And if you don’t,” I cut in, when her lips part on what looks like another excuse, “I don’t know if I can be friends anymore.” I hold her gaze as her jaw drops, making sure she sees how fucking serious I am right now. “I know you already called things off sexually, but I just… I can’t watch you abuse yourself and stand by and keep quiet about it. Not even as a friend.”

She falls silent, studying me for a long moment before she nods. “Okay. But I need to make it abundantly clear: this can’t interfere with my work schedule, not even a little bit.”

“Agreed,” I say, hope swelling in my chest.

“Second, we continue to be discreet when we’re together, even if we’re just hanging out in a friendly capacity.” Her gaze is steady, unwavering. “The last thing I need right now is Dad up my ass about spending time off the clock with a hockey boy.”

“Understood. Discretion is my middle name.”

“I thought it was Julian.”

“Hush, we don’t talk about that,” I say. “It’s embarrassing.”

She huffs out a soft laugh. “Fine. I’ll sign on the dotted line. But we end the contract on October 30 th , not the 31 st . That’s my last day in town before I fly out for the interview.”

“Perfect. But you don’t have to sign, we can just shake on it. A gentleman’s agreement, if you will.” I hold out my hand, careful not to look too pleased with myself. “So, we have a deal, Coach Lauder?”

She slips her smaller hand into mine. “Deal, Fun Coach Stone.”

Her fingers are warm and perfect as I give them a squeeze. “You won’t regret it, Bossy. I promise.”

“I’m already regretting it,” she mutters, but there’s no heat in the words. “Now, can I go get coffee?”

The buzzer beside her front door cuts into my reply. “Yeah. Go. And I’ll fetch the groceries. While I’m gone, decide if you want Mediterranean omelets or huevos rancheros. I ordered stuff for both.”

“Okay, that sounds great. Thanks,” she whispers, one of those vulnerable smiles curving her lips again.

I should let go of her hand. I should step back, keep things professional, and respect the boundaries we’ve just established.

Instead, I give her fingers another gentle squeeze. “You know what the first rule of fun is, Bossy?” I brush my thumb slowly across her knuckles. “Never accept that you have to choose between two things you love. It’s okay to ask for everything you want.”

Something flashes in her gaze, awareness and a hint of suspicion that makes me suspect she hasn’t missed the subtext.

But then, she’s no dummy.

Her lips part, but the buzzer sounds again, saving us both from whatever might have happened next. The air between us feels charged, filled with all the things we’ve never said, and I wonder how long they’re going to stay buried beneath the surface.

“Be right back.” I step away, giving us both some breathing room. “The coffee should still be warm.”

She nods, but makes no move to leave. “Okay, and Stone?”

“Yeah?”

“Thank you. Really.” Three simple words, but the way she says them makes me ache a little.

“My pleasure, Rem,” I say, meaning it more than she’ll probably ever know.

As I head for the door, a part of me wonders what I’ve gotten myself into. Getting more involved with Remy when she’s made it clear she isn’t open to a future with me, or anyone else, is the textbook definition of setting yourself up for heartbreak.

But as I hit the elevator button, waiting to descend to retrieve our breakfast ingredients, I can’t bring myself to regret it. My dad always says anything worth having is worth fighting to hold onto. It’s advice I’ve lived by on the ice, and now, apparently, with this woman who’s determined to avoid feelings like the bubonic plague.

Somewhere along the way, between hot hookups and sarcastic banter, I’ve fallen for Remy Lauder. Completely, inconveniently, potentially tragically, and maybe even irreversibly fallen for her.

Maybe she’ll never feel the same way. Maybe this month of “fun coaching” is as close as I’ll ever get to locking her down.

But for now, watching her learn to breathe a little easier feels good. And I’m really looking forward to spending the day with her, starting with a big old plate of huevos rancheros…

And a Mediterranean omelet.

Because I’m a big believer in getting everything I want and reaching for fun with both hands.