I’m not sure why he hasn’t signed with the Islanders yet. Well, outside of the fact he needs to mature. Though, he wouldn’t be the first NHL player needing to grow the fuck up.
But there’s something more to Novotny, as if he can’t help himself. I just can’t put my finger on it.
He's got this raw, unbridled energy that's both captivating and concerning. It's like he's constantly teetering on the edge of control and chaos, and part of me wants to be the one to rein him in.
Fuck. I can't think like that. It's inappropriate, unprofessional.
I run a hand over my face, feeling the scratch of stubble, then turn my attention back to the team and pace along the sidelines of the gym, my arms crossed tightly over my chest.
As they go through their off-ice training, I reflect on how things are going so far in my new role. Being back in the hockey world, even from the coaching side, has been both invigorating and challenging.
I'm finding I enjoy it more than I anticipated. Working with the team, helping them hone their skills and strategies, is surprisingly fulfilling. Even with the occasional headaches—aka Novotny—I feel like I'm settling into a good rhythm here.
Speaking of the bratty goalie, he’s spotting Reed on the bench press. There's a seriousness to him, a protectiveness in the way he hovers over his friend. Like a few days ago in the locker room when Reed had tensed up. Novotny instantly moved closer, putting himself between us like a shield.
What else don't I know about him? What other depths are hidden beneath that flashy, flirtatious exterior?
My phone starts buzzing again.
I thought I was done with Noah, but changing my number didn’t help because my ex is apparently more resourceful than I gave him credit for.
I delete his texts without reading them, just like I did last time. And the time before that. It's the only way I know how to cope.
“Hey, Becks, what’s got you grumpier than normal?”
I grind my molars, not in the mood for Novotny’s brattiness. “Are we going to continue to have this problem? Do I need to go to admin because you keep disrespecting me?”
Reed whistles, egging on his friend, but I just cross my arms and stare down the Titans’ goalie.
Novotny just walks to the leg press as if my threat means absolutely nothing to him.
I turn back to the rest of the team and pace the length of the gym as they work through their drills. “Pick up the pace, gentlemen! Every single one of you needs to be in peak condition this season.”
Knight and Walsh are locked into their workouts, Reed half-focuses between his and keeping an eye on me. I make sure to respect the large bubble of personal space he needs.
“Zach, watch your squats. You’re leaning forward too much. Knees are crossing over your toes.”
The look he shoots me makes my skin crawl. Or I should say the void in his eyes. Then he just turns away, dismissing me.
Nieminen called him the resident psychopath.
Can’t say I fully agree. Sometimes he appears robotic, cold even, but other times, I catch a brief glimpse of something else. Regardless, there are times—like now—when he’s putting off that “steer clear” energy.
“We done yet?” Novotny places his hands on his hips and juts his chin toward the clock on the wall. “Some of us have things to do. You know, lives that don’t involve Soduko.”
My spine straightens and eyes narrow. “You’ve got thirty more minutes left.”
He just rolls his eyes, that infuriating little smirk still playing at the corners of his mouth as he reaches for a set of free weights,his well-defined muscles flexing as he starts in on a set of bicep curls.
I let my gaze linger for a moment too long on his impressive upper body—the way his shirt stretches taut across his broad chest, the veins tracing along his forearms, the tantalizing curve of his perky ass . . .
"See something you like,Coach?" He's watching me in the mirror, one eyebrow arched, a knowing little smirk on that irritatingly handsome face.
Fuck.
I set my jaw and turn away, barking out orders to the rest of the team, determined to pretend that charged little moment never happened. And luckily, the brat keeps to himself for the rest of the session.
After dismissing the team, I walk to my office and flop into the chair. But the moment I catch my breath, the blond chaos demon with those ice blue eyes enters the office, a full-on devilish smirk plastered on his face. He walks in like he owns the place, sitting on the edge of my desk, invading my personal space.
