“To, what? Give me five minutes of your time instead of spending all night at the club?” Coach demands, and my shoulders curl in.
“You know we were at the club?” I ask, choosing to dodge the insults to my character.
“Hard not to, when TMZ is posting pictures of you with your hands on every woman in this goddamn state. You’re in charge of this team, Maverick, but you’re not acting like it. You’re acting like a rookie who can’t handle responsibility, not a thirty-year-old man.”
I hang my head. “Sorry, Coach,” I mumble. “It won’t happen again.”
“It’s not me you should be saying sorry to. You disrespected Emerson, and you’re wasting our time. Time that should have been used to get to know each other on the ice, but instead, I’m playing mediator like you’re preschoolers.”
“Are you serious?” I glare at him. “I’m not saying sorry to her. She was rude to me first and made me look like an idiot when she could’ve told me who she was from the get-go.”
“I don’t care who did what. If you don’t want to act like an adult, I’ll dock your pay for every minute you stand here and act like a child.” Coach Saunders points at me. “Ball is in your court, Miller.”
“Missed opportunity not saying ‘the puck is on your stick,’ Coach.”
“Don’t start with me.”
I grind my teeth together. There’s no way I’m going to win this argument. He’s is a stubborn motherfucker—once he has an idea in his head, he runs with it.
“Fine,” I say.
“Good. You better be on the ice with her in ten minutes,” he says. He pushes past me and leaves me standing in his office, annoyed as hell.
He told me I had to skate with her.
He didn’t say I had to beniceto her.
If she’s going to dish it out, I’m sure as shit going to give it right back.
FIVE
EMMY
Grady:
How did it go with Maverick?
Me
…..
No comment.
Grady:
That bad?
Me
If you see me on the news, know I acted in self defense.
Studyinghours of Maverick Miller’s game film did not prepare me for meeting him in person.
He has this overwhelming presence about him. Dark hair and even darker eyes. Six-foot-four with broad shoulders. Tattooedarms and long legs. The hint of a smirk and the cut of a dimple on his angular cheek, sharp enough to cut glass.
He walks with a confident swagger and the roll of his shoulders is boastful and proud, like heknowshe’s that hot.
His good looks irritate me more than his cocky attitude.
