Chapter 5

CHAPTER 5

King

T he clatter of weights fills the expansive workout room of the Pittsburgh Titans' arena, the sound echoing off the sleek concrete and glass walls. It's a Monday and we're fresh off a win over the Detroit Cardinals at home yesterday. The atmosphere crackles with the lingering energy of triumph, a definite vibe we've maintained so far this season. Rafferty and I are in the thick of our deadlift routine, the iron plates clinking as we push ourselves to the limit.

The state-of-the-art facilities are the nicest I've ever seen, a testament to the team's commitment to excellence. The workout room itself is a sprawling six thousand square feet, lined with rows of gleaming exercise equipment and framed by floor-to-ceiling windows that overlook the tranquil waters of the Allegheny River. The glass reflects the morning sunlight, casting a diffuse glow over the space and offering a breathtaking view of the Pittsburgh skyline in the distance.

Rafferty and I have taken to working out together, mainly because we're similar in size, build and strength—both of us defensemen. Also, because Rafferty is probably the guy I'm closest to on the team.

For our last set, we stacked three hundred pounds on the barbell. Hands chalked and his belt tightened, Rafferty attacks the deadlift with determination, his muscles rippling as he executes each pull with precision. The last two are a struggle, his face turning red as he grunts through the exertion. When he gets the last one up, he drops it to the mat with a release of air and unlocks his belt.

"Nice," I commend.

"That last one was a bitch," he huffs.

Three hundred isn't the max weight either of us can lift but we're working on endurance today so we're keeping it light. Plus we've already done four sets, if you include the warm-up.

I step up to the barbell, take a breath and lock my belt into place. Spreading my feet barely shoulder-width apart, I let my shins graze the metal bar. Bending, I position my hands in a switch grip, something I've had to go to because of an irritating elbow tendon that sometimes protests, and suck in a breath.

I count the reps at the top, blow out air, take in more and lower it back down again.

One, two, three, four, five, six, seven and eight.

I drop the weights to the ground and unlatch the belt, taking in more oxygen. I look at my Apple watch, note that my heart rate barely got above 125 on that set and wonder if we should have gone heavier.

"That didn't even look hard," Rafferty grumbles.

"It wasn't easy," I counter.

"Let's do another set," he says, moving to the plates and pulling two fifteens off the rack to take our total to three hundred and thirty pounds.

"Sure." I nab my water bottle for a few sips as he sets up the barbell.

"Man, you wouldn't believe the crazy chick I'm dealing with," Rafferty says as he slides on a plate and clamps it.

"Oh yeah?" My interest is mildly piqued because I feel like Rafferty starts every story about a woman that way.

"She works for the Titans in the marketing department… like a manager or something, I'm not sure. When I tell you she's smokin' hot, I mean I got burned just looking at her." I snort at the imagery but know he's probably not exaggerating. "Anyway… I asked her out. We hit it off, had a few drinks, and well… one thing led to another and she wound up at my place that night and let's just say—"

I hold up my hand. "Let's not say anything. I can figure out what happened."

"Anyway, we went our separate ways the next morning with no expectations we'd ever see each other again. It was like… this was fun. Have a great life." Rafferty grins, moves to clamp on the other plate. "But now, she's texted about going out again and I'm just not interested. And I keep running into her so it's awkward because she keeps asking if I want to get together."

"Why not go out with her again?" I muse.

He shakes his head. "Man… it was just too easy—"

"Wait a minute. You mean you're holding it against a woman for jumping into your bed?"

Rafferty rolls his eyes. "It's more than that. She just comes on really strong when we run into each other. I don't necessarily like that."

I frown. "Here at the arena?"

Rafferty shakes his head. "No. Just out and about. First time was at the grocery store a few days ago, and there she was, in the cereal aisle, looking at Cheerios."

"Did you say anything to her?"

"Yeah, because I didn't realize she was interested in another hookup. I mean, when I tell you we went our separate ways, there was no intention of seeing each other again."

"What did she say?" I ask, now invested in the story.

"She seemed surprised to see me and just point-blank asked me out that night. I actually had plans with North, but I would have said no if I didn't. When I told her that, she kept throwing other dates at me, but I told her I'd have to get back to her."

"Should have just told her you weren't interested."

"Well, yeah, sure… if I'd been thinking straight, but I was caught off guard by how pushy she was. At any rate, I was running the Three Rivers Heritage Trail yesterday, and there she was again. Running in the opposite direction."

"Could be a coincidence. It's a popular trail."

"Maybe. She didn't stop this time but sort of yelled at me as she went by, ‘I'm still waiting for you to call me.'"

"Should have told her you weren't interested," I say, once again dispensing the most obvious advice.

"No time, she breezed right on. But then this morning, I ran into this coffee shop near my condo and she was sitting in there."

I lift an eyebrow. "Okay, that's starting to sound stalkerish."

"Right?" Rafferty says, stepping back from the barbell. "Total stalker."

"What did you do?" I ask as he tightens his belt.

"She was staring at me so when I saw her, eye contact was made. She waved me over to sit with her and there was no good way to brush it off. So I got my coffee and went over, and before you say it again, I'd intended to tell her I wasn't interested."

He positions himself in front of the weights.

"And…," I drawl.

Rafferty grimaces as if the memory was distasteful. "She said she wanted to go out again and before I could try to brush it off, she got super aggressive."

I tilt my head. "Like how?"

"She told me that she thought my playing-hard-to-get thing was cute, but that she knew how hot she was and how good she was in bed, and that I could stop playing games. She even told me she was the perfect catch for a guy like me and she knew deep down I was interested."

My eyes bug out. "She actually said that?"

"Yeah… like in this super egotistical, I know what I'm talking about way. I mean… King, when I tell you she's gorgeous, she's like supermodel stunning, and her body is slamming and she's actually smart…"

"But…"

"But," he huffs with a scrub of his hand over his hair, "it was kind of a turnoff how arrogant she was."

Ironic, because I think that's kind of how Rafferty is, except he's also a genuinely good guy too. Cocky, but nice. I'm guessing she's not giving off genuine good-girl vibes.

Rafferty shakes his head as if to dispel the thoughts. "Anyway, I told her that I was just really focused on the hockey season and super busy, yada, yada, yada."

"Did she buy it?" I ask.

Rafferty shrugs. "I have no clue. Tansy seems like a woman who's going to do what she wants—"

"Wait!" I exclaim, cutting him off, holding up a hand. "Tansy?"

"Yeah… cute name, right?"

"Tansy Carmichael?"

Rafferty frowns. "Yeah, do you know her?"

I roll my eyes and shake my head. "Do you not read any of the informational emails that come to you from the organization?"

Unease flickers in my friend's eyes. "Apparently not."

"That's Brienne's cousin. She was hired this summer as the director of marketing. Worked at some major retail store out in California."

"Brienne's cousin," he asks, skin tinged a little green.

"Yup. On her mom's side. There was a picture of her and Brienne in the newsletter and I'll agree… she's smoking hot."

"Jesus," Rafferty mutters. "I can't believe I banged the owner's cousin."

"And now she's got her eyes set on you. Better play this one careful."

"She seemed to buy my too busy to date line," he murmurs pensively. "I'm sure it will be fine."

"I sure hope so. I'd hate to see you traded to some farm league in the middle of North Dakota because you pissed off the Titans owner."

"Fuck off," he chuckles and then takes a deep breath. "Okay… be quiet for a minute so I can knock these out."

I step back and watch Rafferty complete a set of eight. He struggles on the last few but gets them done.

When he drops the weights, I say as I step up to the barbell, "Better watch out. Next thing you know, she'll be hiding in your locker at the rink."

Rafferty snorts.

I take a deep breath, latch my belt and proceed to knock out my set of eight.

"Nice job," Rafferty says, and we bump knuckles. "Ready for the sauna?"

"Yup," I reply, looking forward to the cleansing heat.

Once we're wrapped in towels and settled onto the benches, hot steam wafting around us, Rafferty leans back and closes his eyes.

"So… I met a woman day before yesterday," I say.

His eyes pop open and he straightens, obvious interest on his face. "Like a woman you'd go out with?"

I shrug. "Not sure. She was coaching a peewee hockey team. I went there with Drake to watch his kids, and she was the opposing coach."

"Whoa," Rafferty says. "A woman who knows hockey. Is she hot?"

I think about Willa Montreaux, and there's no denying she's stunningly beautiful with those storm-cloud eyes that looked ready to unleash lightning on that douche berating his son.

"She doesn't know hockey." I smile as I think about her undertaking the challenge of teaching a bunch of little kids a sport she doesn't know. I heard him call her a figure skater hack and she had the lithe build of an ice dancer for sure. "But you should have seen the way she handled this belligerent dad who was being a total ass to his son and then to her when she tried to intervene. She was magnificent."

"Get the fuck out of town," Rafferty murmurs in awe.

"What?"

"You've got a crush," he says accusingly.

"I do not," I say with great offense. But I am intrigued by her. In just that short time, I saw a woman with courage and determination, unwilling to back down to protect a child. I had noticed her before that though, charmingly yelling words of encouragement but not one single helpful bit of coaching advice. She was out of her depth and the fact that she was doing it anyway lent a certain authenticity that you don't find in many people. "It's not like that. She's just… different."

Rafferty leans toward me, grinning. "Different how? You never show interest in women. You always blow them off."

I think about that for only a second. "She's genuine. She stepped up to coach a kids' hockey team even though she knows nothing about hockey. She's… real. Has substance."

"Sounds like someone's smitten," Rafferty teases.

"I'm not smitten," I protest. "I just… I haven't been able to stop thinking about her."

"Smitten," he echoes. "But she's hot, right?"

So fucking hot but I also could see she's older than me. Not sure by how much but the fact she's a doctor means she's got at least a few years on me, maybe more.

An age gap isn't a problem but she's obviously very accomplished and independent because she didn't want my help. God help me, that makes her even more attractive.

"She's a total hag, I take it," Rafferty says.

I blink at him in confusion. "What? No. Willa's very beautiful."

"Did you get her number?"

"Sort of. I mean I have it, but not because I intend to ask her on a date. I offered to help her coach the team."

"Very slick," Rafferty says, leaning back with his arms spread out on the bench behind him.

"It was a genuine offer," I say. "She declined, but I exchanged numbers with her in case she changes her mind."

"And you haven't heard from her?"

"Crickets," I say somewhat dejectedly.

"So call her. Reiterate your offer to help coach the team. And if she declines again, ask her on a date."

I tilt my head, pondering that. "Just ask her on a date?"

"You do know that's how these things work, right? If you're interested in a woman, you have to let her know. What's the worst that could happen? She shoots you down on both."

I hate to admit it, but he's got a point. Rejection is the worst that could happen, and if I don't call her, it will be worse to never know. "All right. I'll give her a call."

"That's my boy," Rafferty says, tapping his knee against mine.

After our sauna, we shower and get dressed. We part ways in the players' parking lot and once I'm in my car and the Bluetooth connects, I call Willa.

Frankly, I don't expect her to answer because it's a workday for her, being a doctor and all. My intent is to leave a message that will entice her to call me back, but to my shock, she answers on the third ring. "Dr. Montreaux."

"Willa… hi. It's Jack Kingston. King." Christ, you sound like a moron.

"Oh," she says, clear surprise in her voice, but it instantly warms. "How are you?"

And… is that delight I hear? Or maybe she's just a nice woman. I mean… I know she's nice. It's attractive. "I'm good." An empty space where I can't think of a single interesting thing to say, but then the fear that she'll fully realize I'm a moron kicks me into gear. "Actually… I was calling to try to convince you to let me help you coach the Ice Pups. You have a practice tonight, right?"

"That's right. At six p.m. as…" Her phone breaks up and I don't hear what she says except for some crackling.

"I can't hear you… are you there?"

"Sorry, can you hear me now? I'm in my car and the reception is spotty out here."

"You're good. Is this a bad time to talk?"

Willa laughs. "Actually, it's a great time to talk as long as I have coverage. I'm driving over to Clairton. Today's my travel day. We rotate around some of the more economically depressed areas and do free medical clinics."

Jesus… the woman might actually be a saint. "That's really impressive."

"A calling, I guess," she says lightly. "But I was saying we do indeed have a practice tonight at six."

"And you're ready to accept my offer to help coach, right?"

There's a long pause. "It's really sweet, but I can't impose. It's a thankless job, as you can see, and I know how busy you must be."

"No busier than you," I assure her. "And like I said… I'll have times where my job will interfere, but I can give you some lesson guidance. Tonight… I'm free. Why don't you let me come help, I can get you going on the right path, and I'll also make sure Mr. McVey behaves."

Willa giggles and it doesn't sound girlie or childish, but rather buoyant, as if the thought of me handling the man delights her. "He was a real jerk to Theo." She pauses, presumably to consider, and my pulse makes an erratic skip when she says, "You know what? Yes. I accept. I'd be a fool not to."

"Perfect," I exclaim. "I'll see you at the rink at six, then."

"Sounds great. Thank you so much, King. I really appreciate it."

"It's my pleasure," I assure her, and no truer words have ever been spoken.

It's just… I'm not sure if the pleasure is in helping her coach kids, which is rewarding, or rather in the fact that she's an intriguing, beautiful woman who's caught my interest. An event that rarely happens, and even more rarely does it turn into anything.

"See you tonight," she murmurs.

"See you."