6. Hudson

6

HUDSON

“Coach Rome, Ms. Caroline needs you. I heard her calling for you,” Brent says, skating up to where I’m leaning against the boards, going over my playbook. My guys have come so far in a short amount of time. Honestly, I’m proud as shit. We’ve spent the last two hours running drills and honing in on what each kid needs a little work on, and now that practice is over, the rink is practically empty now that everyone has cleared out.

My eyebrows raise. “Where is she?”

“The equipment closet, I think? Not sure. See ya, Coach.” He skates off with his bag slung over his shoulder, and I set the binder down on the bench. I quickly get my skates off and slide my feet back into my tennis shoes, taking off toward the equipment room.

I’ve spent the last two hours trying my hardest to focus on practice and not Caroline on the bench. It’s impossible to ignore her, to not let my eyes slyly drag down her supple body, lingering on her curves, wishing like fuck we weren’t in this shit situation of having to stay between the lines.

I find her in the equipment closet near the back of the rink, teetering on a small rickety stool as she tries to reach a box at the very top, her fingers dangling in midair as the box is just out of her reach.

“You good?” I ask.

My question startles her, and for a second, she sways precariously on the stool but catches herself by grabbing the shelf before she falls. “Fuck! Jesus Christ, Hudson. Don’t sneak up on me like that. You scared the hell out of me.”

I chuckle. “Sorry. One of the kids said you needed me?”

My eyes drift to the tight black leggings that hug her ass, and my mouth waters, remembering the way she fit into the palms of my hands so perfectly.

I’ve got to fucking stop. Stop thinking about that night. Thinking about her… and her ass.

“Uh, yeah, I’m trying to reach this box of tape, but it’s so damn far back that I can’t grab it,” she mutters. She says it like I’m the last person she wants to ask for help, but it’s just the two of us in the rink today, which left her no choice. “If you don’t mind, could you grab it for me?”

“No problem.” I step behind her and reach for the box before she can climb down from the stool. I’m six-four. Most people need a ladder for things I can quickly grab, and that’s exactly what I do, effortlessly reaching past her to pick up the small box from the shelf in front of her.

I hear her sharp intake of breath as my chest brushes against her back, and my dick jerks in response to the sound. For a second, we’re both so still, both of us breathing more heavily than before.

Fuck. So much for keeping distance between us.

It’s innocent, but nothing with her feels that way.

I clear my throat, stepping back and handing her the box.

“T-thank you,” she says shakily.

“No problem.”

I quickly put space between us before I do something stupid like touch her again, consequences be damned.

I don’t want to lose my job, and I sure as fuck don’t want to be caught lusting after my coach’s practically teenage daughter. I have to have more self-control, even if it kills me.

She climbs down from the stool and pushes it back against the wall before turning to face me. Her cheeks are bright pink.

“You did great with the kids, uh… out there today. I noticed how great you are with them,” she says quietly, surprise lacing her tone.

I’m honestly surprised she’s even complimenting me after what an asshole I was in the locker room the other day.

But fuck, I was panicking. I had just found out that my entire career might go up in flames if anyone found out about us.

“Thank you. That’s all them though. They’re good kids, and a lot of them have more potential than they know.” I rub the back of my neck before glancing back down at her. “Look, I wanna apologize… for the other day in the locker room. I was an asshole, and you didn’t deserve that.”

“No, I didn’t,” she retorts, crossing her arms over her chest.

“I know, and I want you to know that I really am sorry for acting that way. Fuck, Caroline, I was scared. I can’t remember the last time I felt that genuinely scared.”

Her eyes soften slightly, and she simply nods. “It’s okay. I get it.”

“Nah, it’s not okay. That’s not who I am, and I hate that you got that impression of me. We’re going to be working here together for the foreseeable future, and I don’t want you to feel uncomfortable or anything.”

“I don’t. Feel uncomfortable. But thank you for apologizing to me. I’m sorry too. For my reaction. It seems like we were both shocked and behaving badly that day.” She shifts from one foot to the other as the words tumble out.

“It’s okay. I’m, uh… I’m glad we’re clearing the air. I’d rather not make things tense around here.” I watch as she nods, and I toss her a smile. “By the way, I wasn’t teasing you when I said nice shirt.” I walk toward the door and lean against the frame as I grin. “I was always a Mighty Duck fan, back in the day.”

She glances down at the logo on her chest and laughs. “This is my good-luck shirt. It’s clearly seen better days, but you’re a hockey player. You know all about superstition.”

“Yep. I’m a pretty superstitious guy myself, hockey or not.” My watch vibrates, a text notification from my sister, and I glance back at her. “Shit. I’ve gotta run. It’s my sister’s birthday, and I’m late. I’ll, uh… see you Thursday?”

“I’ll be here.”

I nod. “See ya, Bubblegum.”

That went better than I planned, but fuck, something tells me that I’ll spend the rest of the night trying not to think about her.

The fact that I can’t have her?

Only makes me want her that much more.

* * *

“You’ve never playedhockey before? Ever?” one of the kids asks Caroline, shock written all over his face. “B-but how?”

She laughs, tossing her blonde hair back as she does. Today, she’s wearing a pair of skintight black leggings and a baggy sweatshirt, somehow even more beautiful than she was two days ago when I last saw her.

I’ve been leaning against the boards, watching the exchange between them for the last ten minutes with a grin that I can’t wipe off my face, even if I tried.

“Dunno. Had better things to do, I guess.” She smirks.

Caden scoffs. “Like there’s anything better than hockey. Can you skate? Please tell me you can at least skate.”

“My dad’s a hockey coach. Of course I can skate.”

“Then how about we teach you how to play, then?” Caden says, skating a quick circle around her. The other guys chime in, taunting her, and her gaze flits to me.

I shrug in indifference.

“Fine. But only if you let me tape you up and give me absolutely no crap next time I need to. I don’t want you hurting your knee again, Caden.” She says it softly, connecting with him on a level that I haven’t quite been able to reach with him yet, by getting on his level and treating him like an equal and not just a kid she has to work with.

“Okay.”

“Coach, you in?” Caden asks, his gaze on mine as he leans against his stick.

I hesitate, only because I’m trying my damnedest to keep as much distance as I can between Caroline and myself, except it seems like every which way I turn, she’s there tempting me. A man is only so strong.

Before I can even respond, she places her hand on her hip and smarts, “I doubt it. I think Coach Rome is probably too afraid he’ll get beat by a girl.”

I can’t stop the laugh that escapes, my brows rising. “Oh? Game on, then, Bubblegum. No crying when it’s over either. There’s no crying in hockey.”

“Pretty sure that’s baseball.”

Something passes through our stare, something that I feel in the pit of my stomach, a heavy feeling in my gut that is gone just as quickly as it came.

Before I step out onto the ice, I grab my stick off the boards. Thankfully, Caroline’s even smaller than a fourteen-year-old boy, so while the stick isn’t the perfect height, it’ll work for our playful game.

“Alright, I’m goalie. Caden, you’re on left D; Brent, you’re on right. Wren, you’re left wing. Michael, you’re right wing. Jared, forward center.” I turn to Caroline as I lean on my stick. “You’ve got one goal, Caroline. Hit the puck—” I shoot it to her, and at the last second, she stops it with her stick. “—into that goal.”

I lift my stick toward the goal behind me and smirk. “Think you can do that?”

Her blue eyes roll in mock annoyance. “How about you just worry about guarding the net, old man?”

Snickers ring out around me, and my smirk only widens into a full-blown grin. I glance over at the guys, who have the same shit-eating grins on their faces, and say, “Let’s take it easy on her, shall we, guys?”

“How about you stop talking and block the damn puck,” Caroline retorts, slapping the puck at me, which goes right between my legs and into the net with a woosh.

The guys erupt in laughter, slapping their sticks on the ground as Caroline grins, wide and proud of the shot she got right between my legs.

“Easy to hit a puck when I’m not looking, but how about we try it when I am?” I ask her.

She shrugs.

I fish the puck out of the net and slap it back to her as a look of sheer determination ghosts across her face.

Surprisingly, Caroline’s quick on her feet and even better with a puck than I expected, making me question whether or not she was honest when she said she’d never played.

She has no problem getting the puck into the net, and each time she does, she smirks and tosses me a wink, leaving me with my jaw slack.

That girl knew exactly what she was doing when she goaded us into a game.

Caden skates up, out of breath after chasing the puck for the last thirty minutes. “Coach,” he pants, bending slightly at the waist, “I think Ms. Caroline might have hustled us.”

“You think?” My eyes narrow at the beautiful girl across from me, her jaw set in self-satisfaction and a sly grin on her lips. “That woman gives NHL rookies a run for their money.”

“Mad I made you eat your words, Coach Rome?” she says as she taps me with her stick when she skates by, slapping the puck right by me while I’m distracted.

“Shit,” I curse as the puck sails straight into the net, her team hollering and whooping as they celebrate their surprising win.

How the hell did this happen?

“Next time, you might want to save the shit talking for after you’ve won. Don’t you know that hockey is a mental sport?” Caroline giggles and disappears into the circle of kids chanting her name like she hung the damn moon. And I guess showing up their coach is a reason for her to have hung the moon.

“The guys love you.” I nod toward the ice as we sit on the bench, unlacing our skates after the last of the kids have finally cleared out and headed home, leaving us alone in the rink. “You’re a natural working with kids.”

Her cheeks flush from the compliment while her shoulders lift slightly. “They’re easy to work with. I love these guys already.”

“Is that what you want to do? Work with a kids team, or do you plan to work with a professional team?”

She pulls her lip between her teeth, hesitation written on her features before meeting my gaze again, lifting her chin slightly as if gathering the courage to share something more personal with me. “Uh, yeah, ideally, I’d love to work with kids. I’d like to work with an organization like this or even for a sports rehabilitation clinic that specializes in younger kids. I’m not really into the hype of professional sports.”

I chuckle. “I gathered that when you had absolutely no clue who I was that night.”

She shrugs, offering a quiet laugh of her own as she tucks a blonde wisp of hair that pulled free from her ponytail behind her ear. “I’ve done my best to steer clear of anything hockey related because of my dad, honestly. It was always a… touchy subject. It’s crazy that I chose sports medicine in the first place, but it’s something I’ve always been drawn to. And I don’t want to let my dad’s career hold me back from something that I’m passionate about and believe in.”

I nod. I knew she hadn’t ever really been around much, or I would’ve recognized her that night, but I didn’t know she had such a strained relationship with her dad.

“I’m actually really surprised to see how well you work with them.”

I arch a brow at her.

“I mean, I just didn’t really see you as a kid kinda guy,” she says, a quiet laugh slipping by her lips. “But I can see I was wrong for judging you by your reputation. You’re patient with them and not too hard on them like a lot of coaches are. It’s the reason there are so many injuries in youth sports… because they have unrealistic expectations placed on their shoulders.”

“Hockey is supposed to be fun for these kids.” I pause, dragging my gaze out onto the ice, which is still scuffed from today’s practice. The uneven, marred ice is a constant reminder that you can always start fresh the next day. The next time you step out onto the ice, you have the control. I’ve always been good at control and holding it tightly in my grasp. “I’m here to teach them, but at the end of the day, they’re kids. They’ve got a long time before they enter the draft, and not all of them even have that goal, so to me, teaching them the mental aspect and discipline of the game is just as important as running plays or slapping a puck.”

“Well, you’re doing a great job. You’re practically a god to these kids, Romeo.” She uses my nickname, causing me to smirk, and her shoulder bumps mine gently. “You may not have struck me as a guy who likes kids, but it’s clear that you have something special.”

“Helps that all my friends have an entire damn Brady Bunch brood of kids, and I’m stuck hanging out with the daddy daycare.”

Caroline’s laugh rings out around the empty rink, and I can’t fucking help the smile that breaks out on my face.

It’s infectious that way. She’s infectious in ways that I really didn’t understand, even more so now that I’ve had an actual conversation with her. Her smile, the way her laugh makes me feel a little lighter—it’s more than sexual chemistry, which, based on our night together, obviously we have no issue with.

“Ah, makes sense now. So, you’re the cool uncle?”

“Maybe, for now. Not sure how much longer I’ll be cool to them, but I’ll take what I can get,” I tell her with a laugh. “Either way, they’re my nieces and nephews. They may not be by blood, but they are in the only way that matters to me. There is nothing in this world I wouldn’t do for them.”

Her voice is soft and tender when she speaks, leaning in closer. “That’s sweet, Hudson. They’re lucky to have you.”

Suddenly, her phone pings with a text, and she swipes it off the bench, cursing quietly. “I’m late for dinner with my roommate. See you Thursday?”

“Yep. Apparently, with pizza for the entire damn team since you whipped our asses today.” I smirk, showing her that I’m only teasing, and it earns me a sweet smile.

“Don’t be a sore loser, Hudson.” She stands, grabbing her backpack off the bench. “Maybe next time, I’ll let you win. Depends on if you’ve earned it or not,” she says with a wink.

We’re dancing on lines that we can’t cross.

But damn if I don’t love a challenge leaving her smart mouth.