Total pages in book: 128
Estimated words: 124494 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 622(@200wpm)___ 498(@250wpm)___ 415(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 124494 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 622(@200wpm)___ 498(@250wpm)___ 415(@300wpm)
She squares her shoulders and puts on her professional hat. “What can I do for you, Roman?”
The sound of my name on her lips does things to me, things I don’t know how to handle. “Vander Zee asked me to chat with you.”
Her eyes flare. I can practically feel her anxiety from across the room, vibrating and electric. No one else would recognize it, but I see her. “Oh?”
“About the team. He thought I might have some valuable insight.”
“Ah.” Her shoulders relax a fraction. “If you’d rather not I’ll understand. I can tell Vander Zee you followed through.”
“But then it would be a lie, and we both know how I feel about those.”
She bites her bottom lip, looking remorseful, and a whole host of other emotions that put me on edge. I might still be unhappy about the situation, but I also want her to find her footing.
“Besides, this is my team and my last season. I have a vested interest in how we perform.” It’s the truth.
“You’ve been with the team for a long time.”
“I have.”
She motions to the chair across from me. “Would you like to have a seat?”
No. “Sure.”
I cross the room and drop into the chair across from her, bracing as I inhale her familiar perfume. She’s no longer wearing athletic gear. Instead, she’s in dress pants and a pale pink blouse. She looks stunning and professional. She crosses and uncrosses her legs, then grips the armrests. She’s obviously nervous, and I was unkind and unyielding when I drove her home last night. I’m practically jumping out of my skin with the sheer need to bury my face in her hair. To touch her. Calm her. And myself.
We stare at each other for a few long seconds. I’m trying to get my body under control while I’m this close to her.
“Where should we start?”
How about we go back in time and instead of leaving in the wee hours of the morning without so much as a goodbye, you stay? “Wherever you’d like.”
“Okay.” She closes the file folder and sets it on the pile. “I tried to talk to Grace and Madden after practice.”
“Separately or together?”
“Together.” Her hands stay clasped in her lap.
“How did that go?”
“Not fantastic.”
“Elaborate, please.” I don’t mean for it to sound like an order.
A tiny sound escapes her, and she tips her chin down, while her eyes lift to mine. For a moment, the air is electric with tension, and I’m sure we’re both suddenly lost in a not so safe for work memory.
She swallows thickly and her cheeks flush. “Neither of them were interested in sharing and they were insistent that they were fine, which we both know is bullshit.” She punctuates the statement with a roll of her eyes.
There’s the sass I remember. I can’t help it, I laugh.
She crosses her arms, clearly annoyed. “I’m glad this amuses you.”
“You amuse me, not the circumstances.” I refocus and explain. “I understand wanting to get to the root of the problem, but they need time to get to know you before they’ll feel comfortable with an intervention.”
She sighs. “I can’t afford to have them going after each other on the ice when it’s game time. I can’t afford to fail this team.” Her eyes fall closed. “Oh my God. Why am I saying this to you?”
There’s so much on the line for her. It’s her first season and my last. We both want it to go well. It certainly takes a spine of steel to sit across from me and expose her vulnerabilities after the way I shut her down last night. “Because whether we like it or not, we have a connection.”
“Goalie.” There’s warning in her tone.
I arch a brow.
She crosses her legs and exhales through her nose, as though she’s working to maintain her composure.
I get it. I’m struggling not to reach out and touch her.
I save her from the awkwardness. “Tell me what you know about those two, apart from their stats.”
She flips the pen between her fingers. “Madden’s program at the Hockey Academy was fully subsidized.”
I know some things about Madden’s childhood, thanks to Peggy and Rix having lived together for a few months. “The Hockey Academy does that for a lot of their players.”
“It’s the best program of it’s kind, and they’ve produced some of the most stand out players in the league,” Lexi—Coach Forrester, I remind myself—agrees.
“Our team is proof of that.”
“It absolutely is. The way Bright and Madden and Stiles are on the ice together is sheer magic. Those boys have a long history. They play like an extension of each other.”
“They do.” I cross and uncross my legs. This conversation is stimulating in ways that are becoming awkward and uncomfortable. She wears her passion for hockey on her sleeve. And that, along with my knowledge of how she sounds, tastes, and feels when she comes is a lethal combination for my hormones.