The elevator stops, the doors open and she's gone, walking away with her father toward the administrative offices.
My mind is made up. If there's going to be anything between me and Elena—and my body hums with certainty that there will be—it has to be different this time. Not just another conquest. Not just another woman to add to my collection.
I’ll play by her rules. I'll respect her, her career, her relationship with her father. I'll be… patient, something I've never excelled at before.
At least I’ll try…
Because the alternative is watching her professional reputation crumble under the weight of my impulsive behavior. The alternative is seeing that careful composure broken by scandal. The alternative is not being with her because she’s not going to allow any of those things to happen in her carefully controlled world.
For once in my life, I’m going to do this right. I have to. Because something tells me Elena Martinez isn't just another woman to be charmed and forgotten.
She feels like my only chance at something real. And that's worth changing the rules for.
Chapter 7
Elena
Icheck the time—2:58 p.m. Two minutes until Nate's session. My fingers tap an anxious rhythm against the desk as I review last week's notes, clinical words that say nothing about the electricity that crackled between us last week in his session. It feels like a lie, neat sentences disguising the mess I've made.
A knock at the door causes me to jump.
"Come in," I call, my voice steady despite the flutter in my chest.
But it’s not Nate. Instead it’s my dad, popping by to ask if I’ll join him for dinner this weekend. I feel breathless and wonder if he notices.
As I quickly tell him yes and begin to usher him back out the door, Nate enters. He's freshly showered from practice, hair still damp. His team polo stretches across broad shoulders, and I force my eyes to stay on his face.
The two men look at each other, and Nate speaks first. “Coach,” he says simply, giving him a quick nod.
“Barnesy,” my dad replies. “Glad to see you here. I hope you’re making some progress.”
Dad turns and leaves quickly, glancing back at me for a moment before he shuts the door behind him. And here I am once again, alone with Nate Barnes, wondering how this session is going to play out.
"Doc." He says in a formal tone as he settles into the chair across from me.
"How are you today, Nate?" I click my pen and then take a sip of my oat milk latte. Nervous energy flows through my body and I shouldn’t be adding in more caffeine but I can’t help myself. I take a deep breath in through my nose to settle myself, hoping he doesn’t notice.
"Not too bad." He smiles slightly and crosses one ankle over his knee. “That coffee smells amazing.”
I glance down at my mug. “It’s an oat milk latte. My favorite.” I redirect the conversation. “So things are going well?”
"Apparently, Coach liked what he saw in practice today. Said my positioning is improving. And I didn’t trip anyone today, so there’s that."
I nod, making a note. "That's great progress. How does that feedback feel?"
"Validating." His eyes hold mine, clear and focused. "I've been using those visualization techniques you sent out in the email to the team. They're helping."
My eyebrows lift in genuine surprise. "You've been doing the visualizations?"
"Every night before bed." A small smile plays at his lips. "I'm capable of following instructions when they make sense."
Who is this guy? Not the same person who was in my office last week, flirting with me like his life depended on it.
"Let's talk about how that's translating to your on-ice performance. Any moments that you’d like to share where you felt a difference?"
He describes a drill from yesterday's practice, something technical about gap control that I follow easily thanks to growing up around hockey. His hands move as he speaks, illustrating positions and movements. I notice the strength in his fingers, remember those hands on my body, and heat crawls up my neck.
Focus, Elena. Focus.
