And he did.
Maddy had moved on and it was all water under the bridge by this point. But her upcoming marriage shone a spotlight on the fact that he was still stuck. Work was his whole identity. He didn’t know who he was if he wasn’t “Coach.”
But with this lockout in effect, he might be forced to find out.
Chapter Three
“I’ll hold it for him all right,” Neve snarled at her fellow reporters. “And then I’ll tie that man’s dick into a bow.”
And if his insinuation about her hand being anywhere in the vicinity of his Big Lebowski left her mouth dry, it was just a reminder that she needed to drink more water.
Hydration was important.
“What do we do? Draw straws for who goes in after him?” Bill from ESPN reached into his pocket as if to pull out a handful.
Everyone wore identical, terrified “not I” expressions. Tor Gunnar was a force of nature and no one had enough bravery—or stupidity—to bug him during a piss. They could find a urinal cake shoved down their throat for their trouble.
Neve noted the group mired in indecision and turned for the exit with a one-shouldered shrug. While they all clucked like nervous hens, she’d swoop in like a hawk and snatch the scoop.
“Didn’t expectyouto give up so fast, Angel,” someone shouted.
She didn’t reply, hoping they’d laugh off her finger bomb. Because maybe... just maybe... her hunch on the coach was right on the money. There was the old adage “Keep your friends close and enemies closer.” It totally applied when it came to her hate-tionship with Tor Gunnar.
She didn’t break into a run until she had pushed out the exit into the crisp night air. The door snicked shut and she dug in, arms pumping, messenger bag knocking against her hip.
Thank God she’d been setting the treadmill to eight-minute miles at the gym.
She skidded around the corner and straight into a good news/bad news moment.
The good news was that her instincts were right. Tor Gunnar wasn’t the type to be treed like a cougar by a pack of bloodhounds. He was far too wily. The men’s bathroom window screen lay on the pavement, right where he’d kicked it out with one of those big lace-up leather boots he wore, the ones that went well with that tailored suit that matched his dark blue eyes. In the streetlight, they shone a rich twilight blue, a color that made smart girls stupid.
The bad news was that she gaped at him from an uncomfortably close vantage point. They stood chest to chest, or boobs to ribs to be exact. She’d smacked right into him, but it wasn’t like running into a wall. No. There was nothing wall-like going on here. This was all man, flesh and blood, even if he was as immovable as mortared brick.
“Well, well, well.” She forced her body to lock up, stiffening her muscles so as not to betray the slightest tremble, even as a hot wind blew through her ladyparts, clearing away the dust and cobwebs. “Fancy meeting you here. That was some game tonight. You getting your goalie enrolled in an anger-management class or what?”
Muscles bunched in Tor Gunnar’s jaw, ones that never seemed to appear unless she was around. The rest of the press pool called it his “Angel anger muscles.” She wasn’t one to toot her own horn, but when it came to pissing off this man, she possessed a remarkable gift.
“You never quit, do you?” His tone was flat, but he didn’t protest or ask what she was doing there. He gave her that credit. As much as he rubbed her the wrong way, she respected him as a worthy adversary.
“I aim to live my life so that my tombstone can sayNevertheless, she persisted.”
That earned a snort. She’d take that as her in.
“Anyway, look on the bright side. The lockout news was even worse than the final score, am I right?”
He didn’t take the bait. Nor did she expect him to. He was far too disciplined to drop a useful quote so easily, at least not right away. She’d have to play him like a conductor, work him up until he sang like a pissed-off canary.
“My source in the commissioner’s office says that there’s a chance this could drag on for the rest of the season. But then maybe it’s a blessing.”
Those twilight eyes darkened to midnight black. Most people would shrink at the warning.
Good thing that she wasn’t most people.
“A blessing?” He leaned in, his voice a lethal whisper.
Something shifted in the air between them, a magnetic force that sucked air from her lungs.
Her shrug was a study in nonchalance even as a shiver shuddered down her spine. “It would be such a shame for the Hellions to have an epic flop after enjoying back to back years on top. But there’s no way your team is even going to qualify for the playoffs. Lends credence to the idea that the real credit for the Hellions success was Jed West.”
