5. Emma

It's stillmy first week, but I'm starting to settle into a routine. On Friday, I pore over last season's game footage in the Blizzards' sleek video room, jotting down timestamps of the juiciest moments to splice into a highlight reel. Chloe tasked me with whipping up some social media magic to stoke the fans' anticipation for the upcoming season.

Hunched over the console, I'm in the zone, absorbed in my work.

Suddenly, the door swings open. Startled, I swivel in my chair to face the intruder.

My breath catches.

Framed in the doorway stands a devastatingly handsome man, a bit older and rougher around the edges than the baby-faced players. With cropped dark hair, a scruffy five o'clock shadow, and dazzling hazel eyes that narrow at me quizzically, he oozes rugged sex appeal.

A flicker of recognition tingles at the edges of my mind.

"You're not Isaac," the mystery man remarks, referencing the video coach. His deep voice carries a teasing lilt.

Heat rushes to my cheeks under his smoldering gaze. "Definitely not," I quip with a smile, standing and extending my hand. "I'm Emma, the new social media manager."

His large, warm hand engulfs mine in a firm handshake. I can't help noticing his sculpted forearms.

"Ahh, you're the one I keep hearing about," he says with a knowing nod.

I raise an eyebrow. "Oh? I'm already generating buzz? Hopefully good buzz..."

A playful smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth. "You could say that."

Now I'm dying to know what the guys are saying behind my back. Am I killing it or totally bombing?

Before I can inquire further, he introduces himself.

"I'm Alex Ivanov, the skills coach."

The name slams into me like a body check. Alex freaking Ivanov. THE Alex Ivanov.

But I keep my face composed, trying not to let on that I recognize him or that my heart is suddenly somersaulting in my chest.

Of all the rinks in all the world, my childhood crush had to walk into this one, looking even hotter than I remembered.

I take a calming breath.

"Great to meet you, Alex," I say smoothly. "I can't wait to capture all of the dedication and effort you put into training the players, so our fans can see it."

His eyes crinkle at the corners as his smile broadens. "It'll be fun to work together. But I actually popped in to grab some clips to review with Slade. Mind if I…?" He gestures to the console.

"Oh, of course!" I step aside to give him room, but the video suite isn't exactly spacious. As Alex leans over the controls, his shoulder brushes against mine, his woodsy cologne filling my nose.

My skin prickles with awareness, and I hold myself very still, hyper-conscious of his body heat bleeding into me.

Good lord, keep it together, Emma. He's your coworker, not your schoolgirl daydream.

Alex was on the Blizzards junior league team back when my dad was the head coach. The junior league played here at the practice arena, and I used to watch him with a horny tween fascination. He was my first crush.

I don't even want to admit to the number of fantasies he starred in as I first learned how to touch myself.

Now, I can't stop my eyes from drifting over his powerful adult form, the way his charcoal gray Henley drapes over his muscled back and shoulders?—

The door bangs open again, and I practically levitate out of my skin. Alex and I spring apart as if scalded.

Chloe stands in the entrance, one hand on her rounded belly, eyeing us with amusement. "Sorry, didn't mean to interrupt anything," she teases, a knowing glint in her eye.

Heat floods my face. "You didn't!" I assure her quickly. "Alex and I were just, um..."

"I needed to grab some clips for Slade," Alex explains smoothly, straightening up from the console. He flashes Chloe an easy grin. "Emma was kind enough to let me hijack her workspace for a minute."

Chloe chuckles. "Well, she is a team player." She winks at me. "Speaking of, Emma—whenever you have a minute, I'd love to see what you've put together so far for the highlight reel. No rush, though."

"You got it, boss," I reply with a tight smile. With that, Chloe vanishes as swiftly as she appeared.

An awkward beat passes. I sneak a glance at Alex, wondering if he also felt a pulse of attraction between us or if I just imagined it. His eyes meet mine, dark and unreadable. He clears his throat.

"I should go find Slade. See you around, Emma."

"See you," I echo as he makes his exit, leaving me reeling.

Holy mother of plot twists. My new job just got a whole lot more…complicated. I collapse into my chair, pulse still galloping, and bury my flaming face in my hands.

Alex Ivanov is my colleague. I'm a professional. I can handle this.

It's not like I'm still carrying a torch for my adolescent infatuation...right?

I take a deep breath, trying to center myself and refocus on the task at hand. The hype reel. Right. I can do this. I've got a deadline to meet and a boss to impress.

No time for silly childhood crushes on devastatingly handsome skills coaches who may or may not remember me as their former stalker.

I dive back into the footage, determined to prove myself and create something truly epic. The Blizzards' previous season flashes across the screen—breakaways, bone-crushing hits, clutch goals, and stellar saves. The energy is infectious, even through the screen. I can practically feel the roar of the crowd, the chill of the ice, the thrill of the game.

As I lose myself in the editing process, my mind can't help but wander back to Alex. The way his presence seemed to fill the room, the way my body responded to the heat of his touch. It's like every sense was heightened when he stood near me, every nerve ending on high alert.

I shake my head, trying to dislodge the distracting thoughts. This is ridiculous. I'm acting like a lovesick teenager, not a grown woman with a job to do.

I force myself to focus, channeling all my pent-up energy into crafting the perfect highlight reel. I splice together the most explosive moments, the ones that make my blood sing. This is what I love about hockey—the raw power, the unrelenting passion, the never-say-die attitude.

Before I know it, hours have passed, and I've got a rough cut that I'm pretty damn proud of. I lean back in my chair, stretching my stiff muscles and cracking my knuckles. I can do this.

I can keep my head on straight and my heart in check, even with Alex Ivanov back in my orbit.

And Lukas Dvorak.

And Slade Harrison.

Seriously, how many hot people does one team need to employ?

Later that night, the savory aroma of kimchi jjigae wafts through our cozy kitchen as Selena and I huddle over the bubbling pot, our weekly culinary adventure in full swing. Tonight's comfort food culture of choice: Korean.

We've been doing this since we moved into our first apartment together after college.

I was all alone, and Selena was as good as alone; her twin sister Sydney had followed her boyfriend across the country and basically dropped off the face of the Earth, never to reappear. Both Selena and I were hurting, so we came up with a way to eat our feelings together.

Every week, we literally spin a globe and pick a random country, and then we pick a comfort food recipe from that culture that we'd never made before. Sometimes it results in burnt food, badly mixed spice blends, and inedible disasters.

But I can already tell that tonight's meal is going to be just what I need.

I take a sip of my crisp chardonnay, the cool liquid a refreshing contrast to the steamy warmth enveloping us.

"Sooo, spill the tea, girl! How's the new gig treating you?" Selena turns to me with a wicked grin, her dark eyes twinkling with mischief. "Any hunky hockey players catch your eye yet?"

I nearly snort wine out my nose. "Oh my god, Selena! I've worked there for like five minutes. I'm trying to be professional here."

"Uh huh, sure." Selena smirks knowingly. "C'mon, you can't tell me there isn't at least one fine specimen of manhood that's got you all hot and bothered."

I smack her playfully on the arm. "It's not like that! I'm there to do a job. Not to drool over, like, insanely chiseled jawlines and eyes so blue you could drown in them, or surprisingly muscular forearms…" I trail off, my mind flashing unbidden to Alex Ivanov.

The way his heated gaze locked with mine today, those dark eyes promising untold pleasures…I swear my panties nearly combusted on the spot.

And then there's Lukas with his devil-may-care grin and flirty quips that leave me blushing and tongue-tied.

Not to mention Slade, with his brooding intensity.

God, what is wrong with me? I'm like a kid in a candy store, wanting to sample all the delights…

"Earth to Emma!" Selena's gleeful cackle jolts me out of my inappropriate reverie. "You totally spaced out there with the thirstiest look on your face. Just admit it—you want to bang the whole team, don't you?"

"Selena!" I gasp in mock outrage, unable to stop the laugh from escaping. "I do not want to bang the whole team. Just, like, maybe three of them…"

She throws her head back, howling with laughter. "I KNEW IT! Em, you're young, hot, and single. You're living every woman's ultimate fantasy. Why the hell not go for it? Carpe some disco stick, baby!"

I groan, running a hand through my hair. "Because it's my job, Lena. You don't shit where you eat. Screwing around with colleagues is like playing with matches at a gas station. Sooner or later, the whole thing is gonna blow up in your face."

"Mmhmm, or you could blow?—"

"Do not finish that sentence!" I interrupt, pointing my spoon at her threateningly. She dissolves into giggles.

I heave a sigh, leaning back against the counter, chewing my lip pensively. As much as I hate to admit it, maybe Selena has a point. I'm no blushing virgin, but something about being around those guys makes me feel things I've never felt before.

Things I'm not sure I'm ready to feel.

But god, what I wouldn't give to find out...

Selena puts the stew into bowls for us, and then we move over to our cozy couch to eat dinner. She blows at the steam coming out of her bowl and then gives me a more somber glance.

"And how is it, being back there?"

My heart pinches in my chest.

Selena, of course, knows everything about my family. We met our freshman year of college, so it had been a few years out from my parents' deaths, but I was still a wreck. I fucked anything that walked out of a need to feel something, and shied away from any attempts from guys to have a real relationship with me.

Part of me was—still is, I think—afraid of getting too close to anyone, in case they disappeared on me too.

Turns out, it's not that easy to get over your only family dying in a horrific plane crash at an impressionable age.

When they died, I moved in with my Nana, my mom's mom. She was wrestling with her own trauma over her daughter's death, so she was never a great caregiver.

Nana blamed the team. My parents were alone on the owner's private jet, heading to one of the games, when the engines failed.

It was a freak accident. A tragedy. But Nana and I grieved in different ways.

For me, I became even more obsessed with hockey. It was my last remaining link to the people who meant everything to me. Nana, on other hand, never wanted to hear about it again. We had constant arguments about it.

So Selena knows that going back to the Blizzards' facility after all this time…yeah, it's a charged situation for me.

I take a long sip of wine, staring into my kimchi jjigae as if it holds all the answers.

"It's…weird. Surreal, I guess? Walking those halls again, seeing the locker room, the ice…" My voice wavers, and I clear my throat, willing the tears not to fall. "Part of me half expects to round a corner and see my dad striding toward me, larger than life like always."

Selena reaches over and squeezes my hand. "I can only imagine how hard this must be for you, Em. Are you sure you're ready for this?"

I blow out a breath, considering her question.

"Honestly? I don't know," I admit with a wry smile. "But I do know that I love this team. I love this sport. And more than anything, I want to make them proud. My parents." I meet Selena's eyes, my voice steadier now. "They poured their hearts and souls into the Blizzards. It was their dream. And now...now it feels like I have a chance to be a part of that dream. To carry on their legacy, in my own way."

Selena raises her glass. "To legacies, and to forging our own."

I clink my wine glass against hers. "I'll drink to that."

But even though I try to make my voice sound confident, I wonder: Am I truly ready?

Can you ever be ready to confront the ghosts of your past?