Rubbing a hand across the thick, dark stubble of his jaw, he sighed. “No one knows about this other than the people involved, but I coach a few kids down at the community rink. I’ve got a one-on-one session tonight with one of them.”
I blinked, caught off guard. Of all the things I’d been imagining he might say, that hadn’t even featured on my radar. “You coach kids?”
“It’s not a big deal. Just a few teenagers who could do with a helping hand.” His words were casual, but I could hear the underlying defensiveness in his tone. “The team doesn’t know about it. They decided I must have a secret girlfriend, and I haven’t given them any reason to think otherwise.”
My body tensed. “A girlfriend?” I ground out, my jaw clenching involuntarily, and he smirked at me.
“No need to be jealous. She doesn’t actually exist.”
“Whatever,” I muttered, feeling my face heat. For fuck’s sake.Now he’s gonna think you’re obsessed with him. Clearing my throat, I got us back on track. “So, anyway, you coach these kids in your spare time?”
“Yeah. I let my teammates think what they want, because it’s easier than explaining why I spend my free time teachingteenagers how to perfect their skills. And if word ever got out, I’d be bringing unwanted publicity to both them and me. I don’t need the media dragging up any shit.”
There was something almost vulnerable in the way he said it, like he was expecting me to laugh or dismiss his words as unimportant. Instead, I found myself warming all over at this glimpse he was letting me have of what was clearly something very private.
“I get it, and I think it’s great that you’re doing this. How long have you been coaching for?”
“Since I got to Calgary. Started with just Marcus—the kid I have a session with tonight, and now I’ve got four regulars.” He shrugged, trying to play it off as if it were no big deal, but it was clear how much it meant to him. “It’s good extra money.”
I propped myself up on my elbow, studying his face. His words flashed through my mind.Community rink. A helping hand.“Extra money,” I murmured to myself, and he looked away, but not before I caught the flush that spread across his cheeks.
“Okay. I charge them a minimal amount,” he bit out. “Why would I take advantage of anyone in their position? It’s not as if I need the money.”
“Cody,” I managed to say around the lump in my throat, wrapping my arms around him and dragging him into a kiss. Eventually, his tension melted away, and he kissed me harder, rolling me onto my back and pressing me into the mattress.
It was a while before my brain came back online, but when it did, I’d managed to successfully bring him to orgasm with my mouth for the first time, and he’d reciprocated, leaving me boneless and spent.
But after he left to go back to his apartment and get ready for practice, my mind returned to our earlier conversation. I couldn’t stop thinking about what he’d told me. Cody Clements,the standoffish, antisocial left winger who barely spoke to his own teammates, spent his spare time teaching teenagers how to play hockey.
By the time I’d done my physio exercises for my hamstring, showered, and then eaten a room service breakfast, I’d made up my mind. Grabbing my phone from the bedside table, I tapped out a message.
Me:
I won’t take offence if you say no, but can I come and watch your coaching session tonight?
Cody’s response finally came through an hour later, when I was walking across the Peace Bridge that spanned the Bow River, hidden behind a baseball cap and sunglasses. Just another anonymous tourist enjoying the summer sun.
Cody:
Why?
Me:
Because I want to see. I promise I won’t say anything to anyone
I’d almost made it back to my hotel when he replied.
Cody:
I’ll send you the address. 7pm. Stay in the stands and don’t make it obvious we know each other
Me:
Thanks. I’ll be there
The contrast between the modern, well-maintained facilities of the Calgary Bobcats’ training centre and the community rink was stark. This building was much older, with scuffed and chipped walls and flooring, worn seating, and flickering overhead lights. Despite that, I immediately felt at home. It reminded me of some of the places I’d grown up playing football as a kid—run-down and fraying around the edges, but with a sense of community. Football was one of the few big sports where money was no obstacle, bringing people together of all income brackets. There was no need to buy expensive equipment or pay for specialist coaching. All you needed to play was a few people, an open space, and a ball.
Now, even more, I understood why these coaching sessions might be important to the kids who came here. And maybe not just the kids, either. My internet stalking hadn’t mentioned anything about Cody’s life prior to the beginning of his NHL career, and I couldn’t help wondering if there was something personal about his decision to do this.
