I drop my bag and start changing, while my mind replays this morning's session on a loop. The panicked look on her face when I walked into her office. The hot as fuck way she told me exactly what we were going to do about this situation.
She was all prim and proper in her pencil skirt and blouse. So different from the woman who'd dug her nails into my back and whispered "harder" against my ear.
I pull my practice jersey over my head, smiling at the memory. The universe has finally thrown me a bone after all the shit I've been through. Getting traded back to Chicago felt like punishment, but now? Maybe it's exactly where I'm supposed to be.
"What's got you smiling, Barnesy?" Evan Daniels asks as he drops into the stall next to mine. "Didn't think you'd be happy to be back."
"Just thinking about something that happened last night," I say, lacing up my skates.
Evan raises an eyebrow. “Say more.”
I glance around just in time to see several more players file in. “Can’t talk about it right now. Maybe some other time.”
My mind drifts back to Elena—to the way her body responded to mine like we'd been designed specifically to fit together. To the little gasp she made when I first entered her. To the way she looked at me afterward, like she was seeing something in me that nobody else bothered to look for.
It wasn't just great sex. Though fuck, it was great sex. There was something else there—a connection I haven't felt with anyone in a long time. Maybe ever.
I shake my head, trying to dislodge the thought. That's dangerous thinking that I don’t have time for. Especially now, when my career is hanging by a thread.
But still.
The way she blushed this morning when I alluded to what happened last night. The way her eyes kept dropping to my mouth. The way her mouth twitched when I leaned forward.
She can say she wants to forget it happened all she wants. Her body tells a different story.
I finish gearing up and head out to the ice for warm-ups, my skates cutting clean lines across the fresh surface. The eternal smell of the rink—cold air, sweat, rubber—brings me a weird kind of comfort. This is what I'm here for. Hockey. Not to chase after the coach's daughter, no matter how amazing she felt wrapped around me.
Coach stands at the boards, talking with the assistant coaches, his back to the ice. Just looking at him makes something tighten in my chest. Does he have any idea what his precious daughter was doing last night? What she was saying? How she moaned my name?
If he knew, he'd probably try to kill me. And given our history, he's probably already thinking about it anyway.
Coach and I never got along when I played for him before. He's old school—all about discipline and team first. I'm... not that guy. Never have been. I play my way, live my way. It's worked for me so far.
Well, until it didn't. Until I broke Pearson's arm and got shipped out of New York faster than a puck off a one-timer.
I do a few lazy laps, stretching out my legs, trying to focus on practice. "Get your head in the game," I mutter to myself, pushing off harder, picking up speed.
But my head is very much elsewhere—specifically, back in room 714 of the Palmer House, with Elena's taste still on my tongue.
I wonder if she's thinking about me too. If she's sitting in her office, trying to focus on paperwork while remembering how it felt when I blindfolded her with my t-shirt. When I told her exactly what I was going to do to her and then did it. When I made her come so hard she almost cried.
My stick catches a rut in the ice, nearly sending me sprawling. Fuck. I really do need to focus.
I skate over to the water bottles, squirting some into my mouth, letting the cold liquid clear my head. Several more players have hit the ice now, doing their own warm-ups, pointedly ignoring me. Just like old times.
Coach turns, his eyes finding me immediately, narrowing slightly. I give him a nod, polite but not deferential. He returns it after a beat, then turns back to his conversation.
The whistle blows, calling us to center ice for the start of practice. I take a deep breath, forcing my mind away from Elena and onto the task at hand. For the next two hours, I need to be the best damn forward on this team. I need to remind Coach Martinez why he brought me back, despite his personal feelings about me.
After that, well... I'll figure out how to break down those walls Elena's insistent on building. How to make her admit what we both know—that what happened between us is far from over.
Because I may be playing with fire pursuing the coach's daughter, but I've never been afraid of getting burned.
The first ten minutes of practice is business as usual. But then it’s not.
The first hit comes during a simple passing drill. A shoulder check that's just a little too hard, a little too targeted to be accidental. I stay on my feet—barely—and turn to see number twenty-seven skating away, not even looking back. Message received. The boys don't want me here. Too bad for them I've never given a shit what anyone wants.
I catch up to twenty-seven at the next turn, casually sliding my stick between his skates. He goes down hard, sprawling across the ice in an ungraceful heap. Teammates stop, staring. I skate past, flashing a smile that contains exactly zero apology.
