Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 80045 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 400(@200wpm)___ 320(@250wpm)___ 267(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 80045 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 400(@200wpm)___ 320(@250wpm)___ 267(@300wpm)
The first time I did this exercise with Dunning—one of the rookies—it’d been so difficult for him that he’d stopped suddenly and tangled us up to where we both fell on the ice. It took him four more tries to get it where we were a unit, where he was able to skate with the added weight with no problems.
Of course, Lawson gets it on his first try.
I doubt the man is used to being second rate at anything, whether that be starring in my hottest dreams or driving me crazy during practice. He always has to get the last word and he always has just the right quip for any instruction I give. But to his credit, he meets every exercise I assign with gusto.
Case in point, my hair flies behind me in a steady stream of wind created by the speed at which he skates despite my weight. Despite me digging in my skates just a little, to test his balance. I tug on the resistance bands to test his instincts, and he immediately corrects his position on the ice, gaining speed where others lost it.
“Is that all you got?” he calls over his shoulder, glancing at me without missing a step, that insufferable cocky grin shaping his irresistible mouth.
“It's certainly all you can handle!” I fire back.
“Try me,” he says, adjusting to take the corner of the ice.
He moves and I move, almost like we've been doing this for longer than a few minutes. This is the first time I've introduced this exercise, it being one of the more difficult tasks, and yet you’d think we'd practiced this a hundred times. Hell, it took months and endless hours of practice with Brian on the ice for us to get this kind of rhythm for our routines, and yet we never synched as well as Lawson and I are now.
Just as we're about to make the next corner, I adjust my skates, throwing my hips into the move and yanking on the resistance bands just enough to where he won't be able to predict which way he should go.
He falters, zigging when he should’ve zagged, and he doesn't engage his thighs or his core like he should. He sprawls out on his back with me falling atop him.
It's only after a couple of breaths that I realize his arms are around me—he’d caught me so I wouldn't trip over him and fly into the boards.
My eyes lock with his, my palm splayed over the gear covering his chest, both of us breathing hard.
“Told you,” I say breathless. “You couldn't handle more.”
“You think I didn't do this on purpose, Coach?” His grip tightens on me just slightly, that cocky grin shaping his chiseled face, and it sends a bolt of heat straight through my center.
I narrow my gaze at him, but I can't deny the chemistry that pulses through the charged moment between us.
Goddamn this guy, why can he get under my skin so well?
Is it because he’s so completely different than who I'd ever been with before? The exact opposite, to be exact?
I force myself off of him, the movements awkward on the ice but I manage to get to my feet. Lawson follows my lead, eyebrows raised as he looks down at me.
“Now what, Coach?”
“You need to pay more attention to your core, and use those thigh muscles of yours to actually propel your speed instead of locking it down.”
Lawson grins. “Been thinking about my thigh muscles a lot there, Coach?”
I take a deep breath for patience and rub the bridge of my nose. “You know what, if you're going to respond to every single thing I have to say with a cocky line, you can just move on to your next section. Clearly you don't need my help.”
I start to skate off in the other direction, prepared to take on my next player, but my shoulders drop as I realize Lawson is my last player and that I’d arranged it that way on purpose. I always put him off until last because I knew the second I started working with him it’d be an endless barrage of ridiculous flirtation that for some reason I can’t resist.
The conversation with my friends this morning flutters back to my mind.
I should resist the pull he has on me, but...
What if he can help me? What if we came to an arrangement to help me send Brian a crystal-clear message that I’ve moved on?
What the fuck am I thinking? I’m either ready to throttle Lawson or climb him at any given moment, neither of which indicates that we'd be able to pull off some ridiculous romcom-worthy ruse in order to scare away my narcissistic ex.
“Blakely!” Lawson calls after me, skating ahead of me and turning around so he can skate backward to look at me. “I’m sorry,” he says. “I’ve got a mouth on me. I'm sure you've noticed that.”