On any normal day, he’s grumpy as fuck. Even after a win, his smiles are generally more of a grimace or a smirk. He smiled that night, but as amazing as it felt to be at the reason for it, I now realize it was nothing like the one he gives his daughter.
Because that smile? It’s…life-altering.
I want him to smile at me like that.
It’s stupid, fickle, and impossible, but the desire is there all the same.
He puts her down a few seconds later before dropping to his knees and helping her out of her skates.
I’m completely enthralled by them.
And when I quickly glance around, I discover that I’m not the only one.
More than a few moms are blatantly staring at him.
Something hot and uncomfortable rises in me, and I quickly realize it’s jealousy.
He’s mine.
He’s not. He’s so far from mine it’s laughable.
But I want him to be.
Once Sutton has removed her pads and has her sneakers on, the pair of them say goodbye to the others who are lingering around—mostly moms who are hoping for a shot with the pro hockey player. They walk toward the exit hand in hand, talking animatedly, I assume about the game.
Lifting my hand, I rub the spot above my heart as the image of them morphs into one of me and Dad all those years ago.
I don’t remember it at the time, but I bet all the moms were making moon eyes at him then as well.
Shaking my head, I look down at the notes I’ve written as the ten and under team gets ready to take over the ice.
The thought of this being a regular thing on Sunday mornings makes excitement flutter in my stomach.
Looking at their season schedules online, it seems that both teams train and have games on Sunday mornings or Wednesday evenings depending on when the Vipers’ games are.
Pulling my cell from my pocket, I check my emails.
I shouldn't be disappointed; it’s the weekend, and I only sent my application yesterday.
But I am.
I want this.
And not just because it’ll be another way to see Kodie more often. That is just a very welcome bonus.
The next team doesn’t fare so well and ends up losing their first game. It sucks, but it also means I have plenty of notes about places they can improve by the time the final whistle blows.
Confident that I can walk into an interview—assuming I get one—and talk honestly about both teams and their performances, I head out of the arena and into the LA sun.
Lowering my sunglasses from my head, I locate my car and make my way home.
The second my ass hits the couch, I turn the TV on to ESPN and open a new browser on my cell before typing one my favorite search terms.
Kodie Rivers.
I already know he keeps his private life, and more importantly, his daughter, out of the media. But after seeing them together today, I need more.
I need so much more.
