4. Luc

LUC

"Move your feet, rookie! You"re skating like you"re stuck in molasses!" I"m still fuming as I hit the ice, my mind replaying the earlier confrontation with Ms. DuPont. Who the hell does she think she is, talking to me like that? I"m the captain of the Nighthawks, not some random guy off the street! I channel my frustration into my skating, pushing myself harder than usual, determined to prove that I"m in control.

"Hey, hotshot! This isn"t a solo act. Pass the fucking puck!"

But as we run through drills, I find myself zeroing in on Emile. The kid"s good, I"ll give him that, but he"s still raw. He makes a few sloppy passes, and I"m on him in an instant, barking orders and critiques.

"You"re playing like a peewee out there! Step it up!"

I can see the confusion and hurt in his eyes, but I don"t let up. If he"s going to play on my line, he needs to be perfect.

Coach blows the whistle, signaling the end of the drill. He skates over to me, his brow furrowed. "Bouchard, what"s gotten into you? You"re riding the rookie too fucking hard."

I shrug, trying to play it off like it"s nothing. "Just making sure he"s up to snuff, Coach. We can"t afford any weak links."

Coach shakes his head. "There"s pushing, and then there"s bullying. Go home, cool off. When you get back on the ice tomorrow, you better have your head on straight."

I open my mouth to argue, but the Coach looks at me and says, "Hit the showers, Bouchard," and I know it"s not up for debate. Even more pissed than I was before, I skate off the ice, cursing under my breath. Great, first Natalie, now Coach. This day just keeps getting better and better.

Peeling off the layers of my uniform, I hit the showers, letting the hot water sluice over my tense muscles. I close my eyes, trying to clear my mind, but all I can see is Natalie"s face, those fiery eyes and lush curves. I groan and my dick stirs. Perfect, just what I need, a hard on in the team locker room. I flick the water to cold and slam my fist against the tile. I don't want this. I can"t afford to be distracted, not now, not when we're making a run for the playoffs this season.

With my dick under control, I step out of the shower, drying off my hair as I make my way toward my locker. That's when I hear a gasp, followed by a loud thud. I whip the towel from my head and discover Natalie standing in front of my locker, her hand clapped over her eyes, and at her feet is a spilled container of what looks like gumbo.

"What the hell are you doing in here?" I bark, quickly wrapping my towel around my waist to make sure I"m covered.

"Shit. You"re..." She starts, then trails off, her cheeks bright pink.

"Naked," I finish for her, smirking as she attempts to lower her hand but just ends up going even redder before lifting it again.

"Er, yes," Natalie stammers, peeking through her fingers. "Very much so."

Stepping around her and the spilled gumbo, I reach into my locker and grab a pair of boxers, pulling them on under the towel. Her hand drops then, only to come back up again when I step out of the towel. I grin, taking a perverse pleasure in watching her struggle to keep her eyes on anything but me. "What are you doing here, Natalie?"

"I… I came to…" She gestures vaguely at the container on the floor. "I made gumbo and thought you might… It was supposed to be a peace offering."

"You can lower your hand. I"m decent."

She peeks through her fingers, then slowly lowers her hand. Her eyes dart from my face to my chest, where they linger before they quickly dart back up again. I fight the urge to smirk. At least I"m not the only one affected here.

"So, you"re apologizing?" I ask, crossing my arms over my chest.

She looks toward the lockers as shakes her head slightly, her teeth worrying at her lower lip. "I, um, I wouldn't call it that, per se. More of a gesture. Yes. That's what it is. A gesture."

That has me raising an eyebrow. "A gesture, huh?" I repeat, curious to see her struggle a bit more. I don"t know why her discomfort tickles me so, but it does. Perhaps it"s the novelty of the situation or watching the previously composed restaurateur fumble. Whatever it is, it's amusing the hell out of me. "And you thought the best way to go about this gesture was to break into the men"s locker room with a pot of gumbo?"

She flushes, picking at her nails. "I didn"t...I mean..." she stammers. "I just ...thought it would be more... personal this way."

"Personal?" I laugh, surprised by her audacity and yet oddly charmed by it. "Well, you"ve certainly achieved that."

She flushes even more, the red creeping up from her chest to the tips of her ears, making her look like a ripe tomato. "I...it wasn"t my intention to...walk in on you..." She mumbles, finally managing to meet my gaze. "Actually, it wasn't my attention to see you again at all."

"Not see me again? What"s that supposed to mean?" My spine instantly straightens.

"Well, we didn't exactly get off on the right foot. It's not like we're ever going to be friends?—"

"Then why bother with the gumbo?"

She pulls back slightly, then shrugs, avoiding my gaze. "Well, I…I was worried... I thought maybe our little altercation might affect Emile. I don"t want to cause any trouble for him."

The comment about not wanting to see me caused a pang of what I'd call disappointment, but now…now I'm back to feeling pissed off. "You think I"m that much of an asshole? That I"d take out our disagreement on your brother?"

Her head jerks up, eyes wide. "No! No, that"s not what I... I don't know…" She breaks off, taking a deep breath as she takes a step to the side, her heel squelching in the spilled gumbo. "You know what? Forget it. This was a huge mistake."

She turns to leave, but something makes me call out. "Natalie, wait."

She pauses, looking back at me over her shoulder. "What?"

I let out a long exhale, running my hand through my still-damp hair. As irritated as I am by her assumption, it's not like she was wrong. I was taking my frustration toward her out on her brother, and I have to own that.

"Look, I'm an asshole. I can admit that. But you're right, what happens between us from now on should stay between us. I won't let it affect Emile or the team."

Natalie sucks in her breath, her lips parting slightly as her eyes search my face. My carefully chosen words hang between us, filled with innuendo about what could happen between us. I know she feels this too…

The tension in the air is thick enough to cut with a knife as we stare at each other, neither of us wanting to be the first to break eye contact.

It"s fucking hot, this little game we"re playing, as though we"re skaters circling each other on the ice, waiting for the first one to make a move. I"m thinking things about her I have no business thinking; things that involve her and me and too few clothes.

Her breath quivers out in a rush, and the spell is broken. She blinks at me, shaking herself slightly, as though waking from a dream. "OK. I appreciate that," she says quickly, her voice a little breathless. "I should…" She thumbs over her shoulder then practically flees the room.

After she"s gone, I crouch down and reach into the spilled gumbo, fishing out a piece of paper. A note. Written in a loopy, feminine hand. ‘Congratulations on figuring out the detour. I know it wasn't ideal, but I'm proud of you for doing it. I hope this gumbo can ease your pain and possibly become the start of a truce between us. I'll stay out of your way. And you stay out of mine. Truce? - Natalie.'

A chuckle escapes my lips as I read her words. A truce? After what happened tonight? The idea is as laughable as it is tempting. She gets under my skin like no one else does, and even though part of me wants to stay as far away from her as possible, another part of me can"t help but want to see where all this could lead.