3. Lawson

CHAPTER 3

LAWSON

Every muscle in my body hurts. Taking off my gear is an effort, and I'm seriously questioning the amount of training I thought I'd been doing before today.

And I can't lie, Blakely's skate session kicked off this day from hell. Not from any agitation of my skills being questioned—okay maybe a little bit—but mainly from the sheer exertion it took to make it through all four sections of today’s training.

The flirty, sharp-tongued woman I met last night was nowhere to be found in Coach Wren.

Oh, the woman is still gorgeous, especially flying around the ice like she's been doing it since she was born. But the drills? The new exercises she gave us to do on the ice? It had a shit-ton to do with using muscles I'd never normally use on the ice. And as much as I hated to admit it, it’s easy to see how much we could learn from her.

I toss my gear into my bag, shifting some things around in my locker before wrapping a towel around my hips, more than ready to hit the showers.

The best part of today—besides seeing Blakely’s luscious ass hugged by her black leggings tucked into her figure skates—was going to the recovery lesson. Apparently, Pax Ritchford’s best friend, Monroe Leland, had been hired to lead the session, which consisted of the perfect set of stretches to help us recover from Coach Wren’s excruciating lesson. Turns out she’s also the Badgers’ massage therapist and will be at every game and practice in case one of us pulls something.

“How long have you known the massage therapist?” I ask Pax, whose locker is next to mine.

“ Monroe ,” he corrects me, cocking a brow at me as he shoves his gear into his bag. “Since we were kids.”

“Damn,” I say. “Did you get her the job?”

He closes his locker, his own towel wrapped around his waist.

“I vouched for her with the new owner,” he says, then shrugs. “But it’s her skills that landed her the job. McClaren definitely isn't a guy who was going to hire her solely off my word, or Blakely’s.”

“Blakely?” I hate the agitation that creeps up at the way he says her name so familiarly. I beat the emotion down, reminding it that it has no fucking business being there.

“Yeah, Coach Wren?” Nash says from my right, a shit-eating grin on his face. “The girl you decided to suck face with last night at the bar?”

“You two know her,” I say rather than ask, because it's clear as fucking day that they do.

Nash and Pax share a look.

“Of course we do,” Nash answers. “She's a Badgers fan. It's not like we have those in spades, but some of the girls from the college are around enough that we got to know them.”

Nash’s reputation for being able to charm any girl any time is well-known, and knowing that is pissing me off all of a sudden. Or am I jealous? What the fuck?

“How well do you know her?” The question comes out harsher than I intended, and I give myself a mental kick in the balls.

It was one kiss. One fun little encounter that I’ll admit was mildly interesting, but it didn’t need to turn me into a territorial asshole.

I just have to keep telling myself that and maybe it’ll come true.

Nash steps a little closer, no qualms at all that he's fucking naked, and stands eye-to-eye with me. He has some ink over the right side of his chest, and his dirty-blond hair is pulled back with a tie. If I was a smart guy, I'd probably be intimidated by the jacked fucker, but I've never been one for being complimented about my intelligence.

“Don't know her like that, man,” Nash says, that smirk still on his face. “But what's it to you? Did you fall in love after one kiss?”

“Not really my style,” I say, swallowing the jealousy that has no right taking up residence in my body.

“She’s Monroe’s best friend,” Pax adds. “A friend of the team too. And that's all she can be now that she's a coach.” He says the last part with a bit of emphasis, and I furrow my brow at him.

“Why are you throwing that at me?”

“Maybe because you're acting all butt-hurt over the idea that maybe one of us knew her in a way you didn't like,” Nash fires.

I scoff and shake my head. “I was just curious. Do I look like some lovestruck teenager?”

Nash and Pax stare at me with the same incredulous look, and I roll my eyes.

“I'm not. Last night was nothing. I didn't know she would be our skate coach. If I did, I would’ve kept a respectful distance.”

But would I? It's really hard to say with certainty, especially now that I know what her lips feel like against mine, what her supple body feels like beneath my hands. Fuck, just the thought of it has me half-hard, and I'm standing in the fucking locker room with some naked and some half-naked teammates. I need to get my shit together.

“You two assholes could’ve given me a heads-up, by the way,” I fire at the two.

“Hey man, we didn't know she was going to be our coach,” Pax says. “I know her through Monroe and neither one of them said a word. I had no idea McClaren hired her.”

Nash nods in agreement, digging through his locker for something. He pulls out his phone, extends it just slightly, and takes a selfie before sending it off to someone and re-stowing it in his locker.

I cock a brow at him. “Sending a dick pic to one of the chicks you picked up last night?” I tease.

“Who says I picked up just one?” he fires back, then chuckles. “And no, I don't make a habit of taking pictures of my dick. Not only is that a douchebag thing to do without a specific request, it could turn into a PR nightmare that I don't need. I'm already in the headlines enough for my nightlife, and the last thing I need is to have my cock flashed around the social pages.”

“Interesting, I would have pegged you for someone who already had that out there on purpose.”

“Gotta leave something to the imagination,” he says walking past me and heading to the showers.

Pax is decent enough to keep his towel on when he leans closer, lowering his voice. “Seriously though,” he says. “We all saw you making out with Blakely last night. You're fine with it being off limits now?”

“Of course I am,” I answer quickly.

Did it make it true?

Not really.

But I need it to be true.

I may still be a little sour about being drafted to Bangor, but this is my team now. And there’s nothing in this world I want more than a chance at the Cup. That meant dedicating myself one hundred percent to my team and my skills, not to mention not getting mixed up in any messy workplace relationships, even if they would be no-strings.

And fuck me if I haven't thought about pulling Blakely’s strings.

She certainly didn’t pull any punches during practice today, and I may be imagining it, but I swore she singled me out and worked me harder than any of the other guys.

The thought alone made me smile.

Kiplin decides to walk by at that very moment, scowling at the grin on my face. “Does the sight of yourself make you that happy?” he asks in that gruff annoyed tone of his.

I shrug, smiling wider. “You'd grin all the time too if you looked like me,” I say, winking at him before heading to the showers.

I turn the water to cold, not because I'm sweating from the practice, but because I can't get my very off-limits skating coach out of my head and the last thing I need is for the guys to see me rocking a hard on as a result.

I haul my gear bag over my shoulder, feeling fresh and focused after my shower as I head out of the locker room. I make my way out of the practice arena, heading to my car in the parking lot. Half the other guys have already left, leaving me to take my sweet-ass time in the shower as I try to screw my head on straight.

It was just a kiss, and she was just a girl. Nothing I haven’t experienced before.

Except I haven’t. Not a kiss like that .

And definitely not with a girl like her, with her tongue sharp, her soft curves, and looks to kill.

Fuck me, her car is parked next to mine.

“Blakely,” I call out before I can stop myself. I never resented my no-filter mouth until now, because she turns at the sound of her name being called. Her blue eyes lock with mine and something intense flashes there before she blinks it away.

She arches a perfect brow at me as I make my way over to her car.

Why the fuck am I making my way over to her car?

I should be getting in mine and ignoring her unless she's giving me directions on the ice, but here I am, grinning at her like an idiot.

“Can I help you with something, Wolfe?”

“Oof,” I say, furrowing my brow at her. “Reducing me to my last name?”

She shrugs, looking up at me. “That's how I refer to the other Badgers. Do you want special treatment?”

Her voice is light with this special hint of sass that seems specific to her and fucking irresistible to me.

“I am special,” I say, stepping a little closer to her because I just can't fucking help myself. “I know what you taste like, damsel. Doesn't that at least put me on a first-name basis?”

Blakely visibly swallows, a blush flushing her cheeks, and I smirk as my comment hits its mark. Heat churns in her eyes before regret flashes over her features.

“I’m sorry about that,” she says on a sigh, and it takes the wind right out of my sails.

“Why?”

She blinks a few times, tilting her head. “I didn't know you were a Badger,” she explains. “I wouldn't have... I would’ve told you that I was going to be your new skate coach. I wouldn't have let things get so?—”

“Heated?” I cut her off, my smile returning.

“Right,” she says. “I would’ve never taken advantage of you like that.”

I purse my lips, considering. “I think that's the first time a woman has ever said something like that to me,” I say.

“You mean you're used to women taking advantage of you?”

I shrug. “Not in a predatory way,” I admit. “But I'm all about being useful, and most women find me useful in pretty much one area.”

Her lips part, and I hate that every fiber of my being wants to suck that lip into my mouth.

“That doesn't seem fair,” she says.

“Sure it is,” I say. “My first love is the ice. Always will be. Understandably, no one wants to compete with that. But I’m good with being useful. You know, like when creepy ex-boyfriends show up where they're not wanted.” I wink at her, and a genuine smile plays across her lips.

Fuck me, she's breathtaking. She's as beautiful off the ice as she is on it, and I kind of hate that the combination is so killer.

I should leave.

I should give her a nod and bid her a-fucking-dieu.

So why are my feet so firmly planted?

“Yeah,” she says. “Pretty sure I already thanked you for that.”

“You could always thank me again,” I say, letting every ounce of hunger I have for her show on my face.

She lets out a shaky laugh and digs in her bag for something. She pulls out a tube of lip balm, but in the process drops her phone on the ground.

Before she can move, I'm there, dipping down to scoop it up. I glance up at her from where I'm almost on my knees before her, and I swear I see her pulse spike from the delicate lines of her neck. Slowly I rise to my feet, offering her the phone.

“Thanks,” she says, her voice a little shaky as she goes to take it out of my hand.

I hold on to it. “Unlock it,” I all but demand.

“What?”

“Unlock it,” I say again.

She unlocks her phone, and I quickly take it back, hurrying to enter my contact information. I take a quick selfie, and then hand it back to her, grinning at the way she rolls her eyes.

“I'm never going to use that,” she says, putting her phone back in her bag.

“Sure, you will,” I say. “Just text me anytime you need to play pretend.”

Blakely shifts on her feet. “There will be no playing pretend,” she says, and it may be my ego talking but I swear that's disappointment in her eyes. “I'm your skating coach.”

“That's true,” I say. “You know, suddenly I'm rethinking this. Maybe I need private lessons.”

Her eyes flash wide. “You do not need private lessons, Wolfe, and you know it.”

“Are you saying that because of my skills or are you saying that because you don't want to be alone on the ice with me?”

“Does it matter?”

“Everything matters when it revolves around me,” I tease.

She laughs, and the sound fills up my lungs with the sweetest air. She shakes her head at me, reaching to open her driver's side door and climbing inside. I hold her door open, looking down at her.

“You don't need lessons,” she says again. “I can teach you everything you need to know with the team.”

“We'll see about that,” I say. I point to her bag where her phone is nestled. “Don't be a stranger. I mean it, damsel. Use that if you ever need me.”

I step out of the way, allowing her to shut her door, and she starts her car, immediately rolling down her window as she slowly backs away. “Don't count on it, hero,” she says before driving off.

Leaving me standing there in the parking lot, staring after her with a stupid ass grin on my face. Normally it's me making sure I have the last word, and I find it sexy as hell that Blakely won't stand for that.