2. Blakely

CHAPTER 2

BLAKELY

There’s something about the smell of the ice that has a way of soothing my nerves. The crisp clean scent has always offered a sense of comfort and peace whenever I breathe it in, but this morning it's not as comforting as usual.

My body is in knots despite knowing I'm about to step onto the rink, which has been one of my favorite places to be since I was a kid. Sometimes it feels more natural to be in a pair of skates than it does to be in a pair of heels, and I'm chiding myself for my current nerves.

It was just a kiss.

But it wasn't.

Before the kiss, Lawson—the mysterious stranger—had saved me from a terribly awkward and uncomfortable situation with my ex, Brian.

Lawson credited his perceptiveness to his little sister, which I couldn't help but think was adorable as hell. I’m not usually one for being rescued, but last night he'd showed up right when I needed him.

And sure, he definitely had that cocky prick attitude that bordered between insufferable and irresistible, but I never thought he was a Badger. I wouldn't have let him kiss me if I suspected he was.

Now I'm regretting it more than ever because that kiss had ignited a hungry need in my core that I haven’t been able to stop thinking about since. It kept me up more than half the night, the memory of his lips against mine, his strong hands raking over my body as he brought us flush, the way he kissed me like there was nothing else in the world he'd rather be doing.

Which is ridiculous because it didn’t mean anything.

It was for show.

A show for my benefit, but that didn’t stop him from reacting to me. It was easy to tell he was attracted to me, and before I figured out he was a Badger—thanks to Clay hollering at him about practice across the bar—I’d already been calculating a way to have some no-strings fun with him.

Reese and Monroe—my two best friends—had been hounding me since breaking up with Brian to allow myself some exploration . They knew how difficult Brian had been when it came to physical intimacy, but it’d been hard for me to spot because I’d never experienced anything else.

I'd been with Brian since my freshman year of college, and I had spent my high school years focusing on my figure skating aspirations, so I never had any serious boyfriends or any serious sexual experience before him.

After one kiss with Lawson, I'm realizing my best friends might’ve had a point.

I had no clue how amazing intimacy could be. And yet a perfect stranger had awakened sensations inside me that I never knew existed from just a kiss.

What would’ve happened if we’d gone further?

What would it feel like if I’d given in to my instincts and invited him back to my place?

I’d unabashedly played out that scenario in my mind a dozen times last night while I struggled to sleep, unable to get the absolutely gorgeous Lawson out of my mind.

Of course, I’d noticed his incredible body, now completely explained by his profession, but it was his eyes that took my breath away last night. Well, before his lips anyway. He had the most gorgeous hazel eyes with flecks of gold and green and brown that swirled together and were laced with nothing but confidence and mischief and pure fun. He'd made it all too easy to fall right into his act when he'd scared off Brian, and I couldn't remember a time when it’d been so effortless to banter back and forth with somebody.

Of course, I’m not ready for a relationship, and I'm more than certain Lawson isn’t looking for that either. No, before Clay Kiplin came and ruined everything, Lawson seemed like the perfect specimen to embark on some much-needed exploration with.

But that doesn’t matter now.

Not when my father is introducing me to the Bangor Badgers, going so far as to say they needed to treat me like their freaking grandmother . I mean seriously, Dad?

I wait just outside the ice, listening to him continue to explain the way this preemptive camp is going to operate. I guess I deserve the grandma comment, especially because I applied for this position without his knowledge.

I used my middle name as my last and went through the interview process with the new owner, wanting to earn my position on my own now that I'd graduated college and had put my competition days behind me. The last thing I needed was somebody accusing me of nepotism.

I’m not an asshole, but I know how talented of a skater I am, and I know what I can offer this team.

And I loved this team.

My father had become the coach of the Bangor Badgers at the start of my college career, uprooting our life in Virginia and giving us a new adventure in Maine that I’d been more than excited about.

Of course, the first few years for Dad were rough, with him and the previous owner never seeing eye to eye. We almost left last year, but Dad's love for these players kept him here.

And now that we had a new owner? I can see hope radiating through my father from where I stand. I can’t blame him, either. I like the new owner. Mr. McClaren had been more than fair in our contract terms when he hired me, and he’d laughed after I signed it and admitted who I was. He'd given me a prideful look, like he respected my desire to prove myself outside of my father's connection to this team.

Most importantly, he agreed to my wishes to not make it public knowledge that I’m the coach's daughter. Sure, some of the veterans on the team, like Clay, Nash, Pax, and Baylor know me from my frequency at practices and games between classes from years prior. But they respected my wishes too. Which is probably why Clay didn't haul Lawson off of me when he caught us last night—something I’ll have to find a way to thank the captain for later. Those four are the only players left from our original Badger team, the rest rightfully and understandably accepting offered trades and any chance to get on a team that isn’t the worst in the league.

A sense of determination buzzes inside me, and I hope I can contribute to the change Bangor needs. My father is an excellent coach, and I'm hoping under new ownership and with the new group of players he's brought in that he'll finally get the winning season he deserves.

Dad finishes up his speech, having divided everybody into groups, and I take that as my cue to step onto the ice.

It's like coming home, a sense of familiarity and comfort that is unmatched as I glide across the ice. I can't help but soar across the expanse, gliding and spinning and gaining speed just because I can. And I'd be lying if I said I wasn't showing off just a little bit. I may be confident in my abilities, but I knew the job I'd been hired for wouldn't be easy.

Convincing a bunch of professional hockey players that they aren't expert skaters yet?

That’s a mountain of a climb, but I’m more than willing to do it.

This is my dream job. It always has been despite Brian’s desperate attempts to get me to compete on a higher level for my figure skating, including going out for a new reality show competition with auditions happening in the next few months.

While I enjoyed those things in high school and college, I’m done with it now. I fell in love with hockey and my dad's team a long time ago, and it’s always been my plan to work with an NHL team in some capacity.

After I met my best friends Reese and Monroe freshman year, discovering that their degrees would apply to this team too, it’d been a common goal between all of us. And here we were, living the dream.

Monroe was likely already in the facility where she’d set up her recovery room, and Reese had been working on a social media blast plan for three weeks now. I may have given them a referral to Mr. McClaren, but they’d been hired off their own merit—Reese as the new social media manager and Monroe as the Bangor Badgers’ newest massage and recovery therapist.

Of course, for Monroe, she had Pax’s referral too—one of the veterans on this team vouching for her to the new owner. Monroe and Pax had been best friends before we'd even met and him signing with this team brought her out to Maine in the first place.

Somebody clears their throat, and I remember where I'm at. Remember I have a job to do that doesn't require just freestyling on the ice all morning.

I make my way over to the first group that I’ll be working with today, and skid to a halt so fast I spray ice onto the laces of a few players standing in the front row.

One of those players being Lawson freaking Wolfe.

His eyes widen, his lips parting just slightly as shock ripples over his features. “Blakely?”

“Wolfe,” I say with equal calm.

His face is now smooth of any serious emotion beyond a slight smirk shaping those kissable lips. Lips that made my heart race last night.

A shiver snaps down my spine, sending tendrils of heat spiraling beneath my skin. I shake it off, focusing on the fact that he looks completely unfazed seeing me now.

Well, that settles that. I'm sure Lawson has engaged in thousands of kisses with thousands of willing and enthusiastic women. Mine probably didn't even register on the memory scale for him.

Just as well. I'm technically one of his coaches. Whether any of these players will accept that or not, I'm about to find out.

I swallow my nerves and force myself to not think about Lawson’s eyes on me.

“I'm Blakely Wren,” I say, raising my voice so the group of men can hear me in the back. “Like Coach Hardin said, I’m your new skating coach.”

A few rumbles echo from the middle of the group, several of the rookies elbowing each other and rolling their eyes. An unavoidable sting blasts through my chest, but I shove it down. I’ve prepared for this kind of reaction.

“I know what you're all thinking,” I say, slowly gliding back and forth before the group as I do my best to make eye contact with as many of them as I can. “You’re thinking that you're all professional hockey players, signed on at the national level with big, shiny contracts as proof of how great of skaters you are. Am I right?”

“You forgot to mention well-equipped with stick work,” Lawson says, drawing my attention to the left where he stands.

The man oozes sex despite the fact that he’s fully decked out in his hockey gear. His helmet is off, tucked against his side with one arm, leaving every ounce of cockiness evident on his face. His little double entendre comment earns him some laughs from the group, but it gets an eye roll from me.

I skate in front of him, stopping and looking up to meet his gaze. He's easily a foot taller than me in normal shoes, and he towers over me even though we’re both in skates. The man is a giant, but I stare up at him like he's nothing more than a silly little puppy that needs proper training.

“I don't give credit for stick work until I see you in action.”

“Just say the word, damsel,” he says, his voice lowering to a whisper on the nickname he'd given me last night. “And I'll show you all the action you want.”

Heat flashes through me and a flush dusts my cheeks. I hope to fuck that everybody else mistakes it for the chill of the ice on my skin.

“Watch your fucking mouth,” Clay says from where he stands behind Lawson. The tense set of his jaw looks like he wants to smack Lawson upside the head, but he refrains.

I make a mental note to pose a bet with Monroe and Reese later on how long it will take before Clay takes a swing at one of the rookies.

Lawson glances over his shoulder, a glint of mischief in his eyes that says he might argue with his captain, so I take that as my cue to keep talking.

“I'm not here to make you feel inadequate,” I say, and mean it. “I'm here to sharpen you. Obviously, you're all good skaters because you're here. Working with me is about making you great . Giving you an edge. Because fuck knows Bangor needs an edge right now. Agreed?”

Clay and Nash are the first ones to nod, and thankfully the rest of the players follow. I flash our captain and right wing a grateful look and continue.

“If you can set aside your preconceived notions that you've already learned everything you need to know about being on the ice, about being a professional hockey player, and let me in, then I promise you, you're going to have an edge over the other players. The best athletes never stop training, never stop learning. The minute you think you know everything is the minute you're going to lose.”

I lock eyes with Lawson, suddenly wondering if he’s going to be the biggest hurdle to overcome in my position. Not because of the kiss or the physical chemistry I can feel crackling between us even now, but because of the giant chip he has on those broad shoulders of his.

“We’ll work here during your assigned hours during this camp, but if any of you need additional help, I want to make myself available to you. We can schedule private lessons outside of the camp. I want you all to remember that I'm on your side. I'm a Badger, which means I bleed black and yellow just like you and I really want to fucking win this season. Are you with me?”

There are more nods and even a few grunts of approval at that question, Nash and Clay flashing me smiles and friendly winks of approval too. I can't help but smile back. The veterans are on my side, regardless if anybody knows why . That's going to go a long way with the new players.

Lawson flicks his gaze between me and the vets and back, cocking a brow.

I ignore the look and the fluttery feeling it gives my stomach and straighten my spine. “Let's get started.”