My tummy dives into that abyss I hear about. The one my sister went on and on for days about when she met Trish. My skin sets afire with tingles, which is a suspiciously familiar description to the one Ari used when he met Cody. My breath softens. My dick hardens. My heart beats a wild rhythm.
Unlike the others, his hat’s on correctly, the brim facing forward and all I want to do is pull him to me by it and kiss him in front of everyone if just to let them know he’s mine. All the marks I left on him are gone and that feels wrong.
Fuuuuuuck.This can’t be happening. Or I guess it can and it’s called karma is a fucking bitch, courtesy of all the men I loved and left. They’ve sent me him, my perfect man, right there but one hundred percent out of reach just to fucking taunt me.
And here we are. I’m staring. He’s staring. We’re doing it again. I know I’m not misreading that fucking stare. The little shit. I’m not alone with my cursed feelings—that’s something, I guess—but he’s a little masochist and can handle some internal suffering. I can’t. Even though I’ve never fallen in love before, I know that’s the territory I’m heading into.
I’m in the fall. It feels just like a fall. Off kilter. Off balance. Nothing to grab onto.
How do you stop falling once the fall’s begun? What do you do if there’s nothing there to catch you? I’m going to fucking find out.
The room has gone quiet, you could hear an ant walking by. So much for no one knowing there’s something weird between us.
Jack spins his hat, so the brim faces backward. It lends impishness to his pretty-boy features that have me craving him back over my knee. I grit my teeth and narrow my gaze until he knows what I’m thinking. He should be spanked for showing up late all on its own, never mind the effect he has on me.
He rubs the back of his neck. He knows what I’m thinking, and he’s just as affected as I am. Good.
“Uh, heya, Coach.”
Oh, no. We are not doing that. He doesn’t get to look so innocent and vulnerable.
And edible.
Goddamnit.
I check over my roster until I find his surname. Leslie. From here on out, he’s Leslie.
“You’re late, Leslie.”
“Technically, we all were, sir,” he says. Is he calling me sir to be cheeky? Or is that what they called the last coach?
“Why?”
“Well, first, we had a little trouble on the highway and that put us behind.”
One of the twins snickers. I don’t even wanna know. “Go on.”
“And the whole purpose of the trip was our memorial for Coach—our last coach—and it was harder than expected.”
“Yeah,” one of them agrees. “You can trust him, Coach. Between Leslie and Alderchuck—uh, Stacey—we’re usually fifteen minutes early for shit.”
I want to know why they couldn’t have held their memorial after my meeting, but I’d be a total dick to say it and I am a dick, but I have limits. I huff a sigh. “Sit down, Leslie.”
His smile is way too fucking smirky, but he sits with his posse. They’re their own clique within the hockey team. That’s fine. I’m putting everyone in their place, starting now.
“Listen up, guys. I’m Coach Meyer. I’m sorry to hear about what happened to Coach Cannon. We’ll be retiring a jersey for him at the end of the season. He’ll be missed by many. If you need someone to talk to, Assistant Coach Elias or I can make ourselves available.”
I scan the room. As tragic as that news is, they already knew about that and probably assumed I’d mention it at some point, but they won’t expect what I have to say next.
“This season, we’re going to do things differently. I’ve been through the stats. We can do better. We’ll keep practices to two days a week and on off days everyone’s going to work with a trainer at the gym in shifts.”
A hand is up already. One of the twins. I nod for him to ask. “What was wrong with our own workouts?”
“We’re hiring a couple of hockey training specialists this year to make everyone a sports-specific program, personalized to what each player needs to work on. Not every team gets that. You’re lucky.”
They’re quiet, some of them digesting the idea, some openly hating it. Okay, so went over like a bag of rocks. They’re really gonna love this next part.
“I’m mandating a team curfew. Midnight on game nights. Eleven pm on the night before games.”
