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“And you won’t ever be if you don’t get off my damn ice.” I scowl at her, hoping it will provide motivation to scurry that tight little ass off my ice pronto. I have shit to get done.
“Your ice? Excuse me, but you are wrong, mountain man! This is my ice, and I’m not leaving just because you’re telling me to. I will leave when I’m good and ready!” she screeches, her cheeks pink and flushed.
Did she call me mountain man?Is that a good or bad thing for me? It doesn’t matter. If she is still around when the team comes out on the ice, they will eat her alive. Maybe that will finally scare her out of here. Honestly, I only want to do my job and get back to the horses. This hot crazy chick can fend for herself. “You might want to leave the ice because I need to flood it for the team before they practice. If you want to stay and deal with twenty-three testosterone-filled young men who want to practice and can’t, be my guest. You can tell them why the ice isn’t ready, and I’ll stay and watch the show. But I’d really like to do this and get out of here.”
Something flashed in her eyes, and it isn’t what I’m expecting at all. In fact, it almost appears smug, as if she’s won the battle. I’m not sure what’s going on, but I need to finish up. Shame though. She is one of the best interactions with a woman that I’ve had in a long time. How pathetic is that? The tiny spitfire in front of me takes a deep breath and announces, “This is indeed good-timing then. I think they’ve been waiting to meet me, so why not start out like this?” She holds out her hand to me. “I’m Sam Maxwell. And if you are referring to theBandits, then they will want to be on their best testosterone behaviour. I’m their new coach, and I’m definitely not a sweetheart.”
I blink. Once. Twice. Oh, fuck no.
This is Old Tom’s heir? The old bugger didn’t give me a heads up about Sam at all. Here I was lusting after her, my dick taking notice, and she was Old Tom’s granddaughter!
Fuck. My. Life
SAM
I am lost to my memories and don’t realize where I am until a deafening whistle pierces the silence, startling me, and I stumble on the ice I never realized I’d walked out on. When did that happen? Recovering balance before I landed on my butt, I glance around, searching for the cause of the annoying noise that bounced around the empty rink. I find him easily enough considering we are the only two people in here right now. Standing at the Zamboni doors is the tallest and broadest man I have ever seen, and he is staring at me like I have three heads. What the hell? Flustered, I slide over to him.
“Excuse me. Was the whistle really necessary?” I tilt my head back to glare up—really up. Damn, he is a fucking mountain, towering over my five-foot-three-and-a-half-inch frame. Yes, I need to add the extra half inch. That extra half inch is important, okay?
From the way he’s speaking to me, I can tell he doesn’t have a clue who I am or why I’m here. Does that mean I should cut him some slack?
I can practically feel his eyes burning through my yoga pants and hoodie, which are the ultimate comfort outfit for driving. They give zero points for style, though. And I can admit I appreciate his perusal. It makes a girl feel good, and he isn’t bad looking. I’m almost enjoying the back and forth banter when he says something I need to fully correct. “Your ice? Excuse me, but you are wrong, mountain man! This is my ice, and I’m not leaving just because you’re telling me to. I will leave when I’m good and ready!” I sneer. No one is going to tell me to leave when I’m supposed to be here.
He narrows his eyes. “You might want to leave the ice because I need to flood it for the team before they practice. If you want to stay and deal with twenty-three testosterone-filled young men who want to practice and can’t, be my guest. You can tell them why the ice isn’t ready, and I’ll stay and watch the show. But I’d really like to do this and get out of here.”
Smirking, I tilt my head to the side and inform this brut, “This is indeed good-timing then. I think they’ve been waiting to meet me, so why not start out like this?” I extend my hand, offering it to him to shake. “I’m Sam Maxwell. And if you are referring to theBandits, then they will want to be on their best testosterone behaviour. I’m their new coach, and I’m definitely not a sweetheart.” It feels good to get the last word in and watch his eyes widen as his mouth gapes open.
