5. Lawson

CHAPTER 5

LAWSON

“This time I want you to try using your inside edge,” Blakely says, her blue eyes focused intently on my skates where she stands in front of me on the ice.

“Why?” I ask, my breathing heavy. This is our first private lesson and she's been running me ragged for the last half hour. I thought Coach Hardin’s drills were intense, but he’s got nothing on Coach Wren.

“Because I think you rely too much on your outside edge. If you incorporate the two more, you gain more speed.”

“I use all my edges,” I argue even though I know there's no use. Blakely is nothing if not stubborn.

Brilliant but stubborn.

She arches a brow, her features igniting with challenge. I can tell she loves her job, but I'm just egotistical enough to think that some of that fire in her eyes is because she likes challenging me the most.

“Yeah, yeah,” I say turning and skating back to the starting position indicated by a stick laying horizontal on the ice.

Blakely waits until I'm in the setup position, then yells go . I focus on doing as she says, gliding with my inside edge as opposed to my outside, and make the curve we've been practicing in record time. I skid to a stop next to her, heart pounding.

“Good,” she says. “Did you feel the difference?”

“Sure,” I say, even though I absolutely did. I’ve felt every difference she's drilled into me since we started this lesson. Even the tips she's given in group practices have helped improve my speed.

“Of course you did,” she corrects me. “That little switch and being able to move freely between the two will shave seconds off of your normal skate time. Those seconds can push you farther than your opponents, giving you and your teammates the time you need to score.”

She's not wrong. Not that I'm going to admit that to her. Wouldn't want her getting a big head, there's enough of that here with me.

“Speaking of opponents,” I say. “For our first game, are you going to wear my name on your back?” I smirk, delight slicing through me at the quick flash of shock in her eyes.

“I'll be wearing my own jersey,” she answers. “Now let's work on your explosion.”

“All business,” I say, returning to the starting position, her following me and coming to my left side.

“That’s kind of the idea for private lessons, isn't it?” She adjusts her stance to match mine, which is slightly bent at the knees, one arm facing the direction she wants us to go.

“For sure,” I say. “But what's work without a little pleasure?”

She groans just a little.

“Oh, don't tell me you're regretting your decision to tutor me, Coach,” I tease, unable to help myself. She's holding back a laugh, and I'm desperate for her to break free. “Remember this isn't just about me.”

“It's not?” she asks sarcastically. “I was quite certain that everything was about you.” Her smile deepens.

“I mean, naturally,” I say gesturing to myself. “Look at me. Why wouldn't everything be about me?”

Blakely breaks her coach character for all of five seconds, her eyes trailing me up and down just like I suggested. And damn she takes her time looking. I can tell she likes what she sees, even though I'm fully decked out in hockey gear at the moment.

She clears her throat, shaking her head. “Let's work on that new crossover start,” she says not missing a beat. “I want you to watch me and then mimic.”

She doesn't even give me time to answer before she explodes across the rink, her skates cracking against the ice as she digs the blades in, giving her more power before she shoots off into a glide.

Fuck me, she's fast.

Fast and precise.

Her body moves like lightning across the ice. It's one of the sexiest things I've ever seen, and I've dated a few amateur skaters before. There's something about Blakely that checks every box I didn't know I had, and watching her like this? Even when she's riding me about form and technique? It's almost unnerving how much I'm enjoying it.

Blakely skids to a stop across the rink, then nods at me.

I set up in the right position, and then mimic her exact movements, putting every ounce of muscle I have behind the move to hopefully beat her time. Not out of any masculine need to do better than her, but because I'm desperate to impress the woman.

My quads ache as I bolt across the ice, but I can't deny that her technique is better than the standard one I've been using all these years. It's only a minor adjustment from what I'm used to, but it makes a shit-ton of difference in terms of power in my acceleration.

I make it to Blakely quickly, pride radiating from me as I skid to a stop next to her, knowing I executed the move with perfection.

“Good,” she says giving me a brief nod. “Again.”

I groan under my breath, but I'm smiling as I escape back to the starting point and run the crossover move again.

And again.

And by the time our hour is almost up, I'm certain I won't be able to walk off this ice without limping.

“Okay, let's stretch,” Blakely says, and I mutter thank fuck before dropping to the ice.

Blakely laughs, dropping down to the ice to lead me in a leg stretch.

“Finally,” I say.

“Oh come on, I wasn't that hard on you for our first lesson,” she says, bending her body toward one outstretched leg, making it look much easier than I do.

I can feel the stretch and breathe into it.

“Not finally the lesson is over,” I correct her. “Finally you laughed . I was beginning to think you weren't having any fun.”

Blakely shakes her head, switching to her other leg. “I always have fun on the ice, but that doesn't mean I don't take it seriously.”

I can definitely respect that. “How did you get this job anyway?”

She sits up a little straighter at my question, something like accusation rolling across her features. “What do you mean how did I get this job?”

“Exactly how it sounds?” I ask, not sure why she's confused. “It's a pretty niche career field, so what made you want to do this instead of competing or trying out for the Olympics or something?”

“Oh,” she says, stretching one arm across her chest. “I’ve done the competition thing since I was five, and all throughout college too.” Something tense flashes in her eyes, but she quickly moves on. “But hockey has always been a great love of mine. Since I was ten, even though I’d been figure skating for five years, I wanted to be a part of a professional hockey team. Even though I knew I wouldn't be playing for the NHL, I wanted to be involved. I wanted to be an integral part of a team, an asset that helps with a winning season.”

“Did that love of hockey come naturally or did your family have a favorite team they followed that made you fall for it?”

“My dad used to play,” she says, clearing her throat as she moves to another stretch. “And we’ve always been super close.”

Goddamn. I swear this woman was made in some celestial generator, popping out every quality and endearing characteristic I didn't know I was a sucker for.

“What about you?” she asks, switching her stretch, and I follow, sighing slightly at the way my muscles relax after the grueling session. “Has the NHL always been your goal?”

I nod. “My mom bought me my first pair of skates when I was three,” I explain. “I got a stick in my hand not long after that. There's nothing else I've ever wanted to do, and I think my mom recognized that at a young age and made sure she sacrificed all her free time so I could be in every game possible.”

“She sounds like an amazing mom,” Blakely says, switching to another stretch.

“She is,” I say. “I definitely wouldn't be here without her. And sometimes I wonder how she managed it all—all the away games, the practices, the constant fees that came with the sport.” I shake my head, gratitude filling my chest. “My dad left before I can even remember him, and she was a single mother working two jobs. Somehow, she still managed to keep me on the ice, keep me and my sister fed, and make us feel like she had all the time in the world to spend with us too.”

“Wow,” Blakely says nodding. “She must be so proud of you.”

“She is,” I say. “She mails me a package every month, complete with a letter about how she's been following my progress, even though we talk on the phone every day, or at least text if we can't chat.”

Blakely laughs softly, her eyebrows raising. “I didn’t have you pegged for a guy who talks to his mother on a daily basis.”

“You don’t talk to your mom a lot?”

Blakely drops her eyes for a moment. “My mother passed away when I was a baby. Cancer.”

“Shit, I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay.”

“And your father never remarried?”

“Nope,” she says. “It’s been me and him for a long time. But don’t feel sorry for me or anything, he truly is the best parent I could’ve ever asked for.”

“What kind of guy would you have pegged me for?” I ask, returning to our earlier conversation.

Blakely blows out a breath. “Let's see, you have an ego the size of Texas, you're incredibly charming when you want to be, and you have a social history that could fill two lifetimes. I figure with all the women, social media exposure, and cockiness you wouldn't have time for anybody else other than yourself.”

“Ouch,” I say, hissing through my teeth as we both return to our feet. “Just because I'm confident and have enjoyed my life doesn't mean I'm an asshole. And with the way your ex acts, I think you'd be an expert on spotting assholes.”

Blakely purses her lips and nods. “That's fair,” she says. “And for the record, I never said you were an asshole. Just a cocky, infuriating albeit likable guy.”

I glide closer to her, a smile on my face. “So, you're saying you like me.”

“You’re just going to ignore the cocky and infuriating part?”

“Definitely. Either way, you have to like me if you want me to be your fake boyfriend.”

“Hold on, this isn't some fake relationship romcom,” she says. “The only person I want to think we're dating is my ex. To everyone else we're just...friends.” She says the last word like it's a question, and it only makes me smile harder.

“Are you saying you'd be ashamed to date the number one draft pick in the NHL?” I tease.

“Are you forgetting that you're not a relationship guy? Aren’t you married to the NHL?”

I shift my head back and forth. “I wouldn't say married,” I answer. “But we’re definitely committed.”

Blakely laughs, and the sound radiates across my bones. “Well, that's good enough for me. Besides, I spent too long in a relationship that did nothing but tear me down. I have no interest in jumping into another. That's what makes this arrangement so perfect.”

“Right,” I say, unable to quell the little spike of anger at her douchebag of an ex for tearing her down. She seems like such a strong independent woman. I can't imagine how anyone or anything would ever be able to hold her back. But then again, I've never been in love, so I'm not one hundred percent sure on what it does to a person.

“What did you think of your first lesson?” she asks as we make our way off the ice, unlacing our skates and heading toward the locker rooms.

“I think this is going to be too much fun,” I admit. “I can feel your drills in every inch of my body right now, so I have no doubt you're making a great player even greater,” I say. “And I also get to have fun driving your ex crazy. This is a win-win for me.”

Blakely laughs again as we stop outside of the men's locker room. “You are definitely something, Lawson Wolfe.”

“Don't you mean I'm definitely your hero? I mean, come on, not only are we going to get rid of your creepy ex, but I’ll make you a better teacher.”

“Is that so?”

“Absolutely,” I say, furrowing my brow. “Your most difficult students are always what makes you better, right?”

Blakely grins up at me, rolling her eyes. “You've got me there,” she says, then spares a glance down the hallway toward the exit doors that lead to the parking lot. There’s a hint of wariness there I can't help but notice.

“I'll be quick,” I say. Nodding toward the locker room behind me. “Wait for me?”

Something like relief settles over her, her shoulders dropping slightly, and she nods. “I'll be right here,” she says, pulling her phone out of her bag and looking at the screen.

I hurry into the locker room, speeding through my after-practice routine and getting back to Blakely in record time.

“That was quick,” she says.

“That's not something usually said about me,” I fire back, falling into step beside her as we walk down the hallway.

A delicate blush passes over her cheeks as she tilts her head up at me. “What about when you're on the ice?” she challenges.

“Okay, fair. I am a speed demon on the ice.”

She laughs at that, and I hold the door open for her as we make our way out to the parking lot. Her eyes dart over the array of cars that are parked in the lot.

Other players have come in to work out or do recovery or hit the ice. That tension in her shoulders is back, and I can feel it radiating into my body as we make our way to our cars that are parked next to each other.

“Can I ask you something, Blakely?” I ask, my tone dropping all tease and joking. “It’s personal,” I add.

We stop by her driver side door, and she visibly swallows as she turns to face me, looking up at me with curious eyes. “Sure,” she answers. “What's up?” Even as she asks me, she's glancing around like she's looking for someone.

“This ex of yours,” I say, hesitating because I know these kinds of questions are precarious and can be triggering. “Was he on the abusive side?” I ask as gently as I can. “I just can't help but notice the way you tense up when you get a text, or even now when you're looking around like you're expecting somebody to spring a jump scare on you. And I'm not just asking because we're about to be putting on a show for him, but because I need to know that you’re okay.”

Her lips part as her eyes meet mine, something churning there that I can't quite read. “He's never laid a hand on me,” she explains. “But toward the end, he would get...” She hesitates like she's looking for the right words. “When we would skate together, practicing mostly for his competitions, he would be less gentle. Especially if I made a mistake.”

I tense my jaw, making sure that none of the anger I feel coursing through me can be interpreted as being directed toward her.

“I think he saw the end coming,” she continues. “And then when I actually did end things, he put a hole through his wall. I wasn't standing near it or anything, but it definitely scared the hell out of me. Him showing up randomly at places where I'm at and his constant texting in an attempt to get me to come back to him has put me on edge.”

“Fucking prick,” I say, unable to hold that commentary back.

“Yep,” she says, and the finality in her voice says she doesn't want to talk about it anymore.

And that's totally fair. We're still in the very early get-to-know-you stages, even as friends, despite the fact that I know what her lips feel like against mine.

Shit, just the thought of it has me aching for another taste.

I step a little closer to her, nothing but sincerity in my eyes as I look down at her. “I know I run off at the mouth a lot,” I say. “But you're safe with me. And I know that probably doesn't hold much weight since we don't know each other all that well, but I hope I've proven that much to you, especially since you picked me to help you with this little endeavor.”

She nods. “Thank you,” she says. “I actually have to speak at an event in four days. It'll be our first mission.” She flashes me a smile, doing her best to shift away from the heavy, a change in direction I can respect, so I hop on board.

“Four days, huh?” I say, leaning one arm on her car behind her, bringing us even closer. I love that she doesn't shy away from the nearness, love the little hitch in her breath as she never loses my gaze. “Don't you think we need a little more practice at looking like we're hopelessly in love with each other?”

“Hopelessly in love? I thought we were just trying to make Brian believe I'd moved on.”

“If you've moved on, there's no way the guy you choose isn't hopelessly in love with you. You're fucking amazing.” Oh shit, there goes my no-filter again. Oh well, she deserves to know that.

Her full lips part as she shakes her head. “Always with the sweet lines.”

“That wasn't a line, but again, if we're to make this believable to him, don't you think it would be wise of us to feel each other out to make sure our cover isn't blown on day one?”

It's not a wholly selfish question, even though there is a big part of me that just wants to kiss her again, feel her body against mine again, but there's an even bigger part of me that’s strategizing.

After the little tidbit she told me about her ex, and pairing it with the way he acted at the bar that night, I'm starting to think this little ruse of ours might be a little more complex than I originally thought. I'm half tempted to just track the guy down and tell him to back the fuck off, but that might ignite something he’ll take out on her later. Which is the last thing I want.

Blakely is so quiet for a few seconds that I’m almost certain she's about to turn me down, which, okay, fair. I’ll just have to be really careful on this date to make it as believable as possible. No one deserves to have an ex crossing lines like he’s clearly doing, making her fearful to just walk in a fucking parking lot to her car. It didn't matter that he'd never laid a hand on her, he'd done enough to put that fear in her, which put him on my shit-list.

“Okay,” she finally says, and the word blasts through me like liquid fire.

“Just okay?” I ask, smirking down at her.

“What did you want me to say?” she asks, matching my smirk. “Oh, thank you Lawson Wolfe for making my dreams come true. I've been dying to kiss you again. I need your mouth on mine like I need my next breath.” She delivers the lines with a mocking damsel voice that somehow makes me laugh and makes me half hard at the same time.

“That's much better, damsel,” I say, using my free hand to glide over her cheek, slipping my fingers into the strands of her long blonde hair. I tip her head back slightly, dipping my mouth to hover just a breath above hers.

I study the fullness of her lips for a moment, my eyes trailing over the delicate lines of her face before I reach her eyes again. There's nothing but want churning in them, nothing but need, and who am I to keep it from her?

I close the distance between us, pressing my lips against hers gently at first, explorative, taking my time to savor the way she feels against me in a way I didn't do last time.

This time I'm fully aware of how finite my time with Blakely will be, so I’m cherishing every last second.

Her hands fly to my shirt, fisting it as her body automatically arches against mine.

I groan slightly at the contact, fire lacing in my blood and pumping through me with a need for more.

She parts her lips for me, and I slide in, my tongue grazing against hers, upping in intensity with each second.

Fuck, she tastes better than I remembered. I move my free arm around her lower back, hauling her against me as I kiss her with teasing flicks of my tongue, giving her a peek of what it would be like if she ever let me between her thighs.

She sighs between our lips, her grip on me intensifying, so I do the move again and I'm rewarded with a little whimper coming from the back of her throat.

Damn I want to hear her make those sounds when I'm sunk deep inside her, thrusting into her over and over again until I make her limp with pleasure.

I back her against her car, needing more of us touching, and she never breaks our kiss, giving back everything that I’m delivering.

I drop my hand from her hair, both of my hands now on her hips, instinct begging me to hoist her up and have her wrap her legs around me?—

A car door slams next to us, and we break apart, reality crashing back down around us.

I take a casual step away from her, but anybody who gave us a second look would see her swollen lips and tousled hair—which makes her all the more edible looking—and know what we were doing.

“Hey, Clay,” Blakely says, her voice cracking as she calls out to my captain, who is glaring at me like he might pummel me any second.

That doesn't mean he saw what we were doing, but it also doesn't mean he didn't see it. Kiplin always looks like he wants to hit me.

“Coach Wren,” he says, flashing her a look of familiarity that isn’t quite a smile but isn’t quite a glare either.

“Hey, Captain,” I call out to him, and I'm only greeted with him flipping me off as he continues into the practice arena.

I draw my focus back to Blakely, who already has her car door open and is climbing behind the wheel.

“How do you think we did?” I ask.

Blakely wets her lips, almost like she can still taste me there. If she was anyone else, I would’ve already been asking her to come back to my place, but seeing as this isn’t official and can't actually happen, I keep my mouth shut.

“Good,” she says a little breathless. She nods a little too quickly. “I think we're going to fool him.”

I gently shut her car door, loving that she automatically rolls down the window as if she knows I need to get the last word. I wink at her. “Can't wait.”