I don’t miss the way he saystrying, because for the rest of the night the guy from the bar evaded me.
Me.
The one with the best stalking skills of all time. There’s a reason I’m the go to when it comes to intel. But this asshole made me all gloomy instead of the ray of psychotic sunshine I normally am.
Payback’s a bitch and I’m here to collect.
I pull off my helmet and flip back my blonde waves. “Long time no see, hot stuff.”
If looks could kill, I’d be vaporized right now.
“Hope you have extra Motrin on you. He’s a handful.” Coach Nieminen pins me with a glare next. “Novotny, keep the antics to a minimum this season. We’ve got a title to defend.”
“Oh, I’m definitely worth the headaches I cause.” I smile extra wide, then wink at our new assistant coach.
Coach Nieminen pinches the bridge of his nose and shakes his head while Kyle Rinne, my goalie coach, places a hand over his mouth to hide his laughter. But the way his shoulders shake, it’s obvious. Love the guy. He puts up with me without complaining.
Mostly.
Seems only when I talk excessively does he ever groan, but that has to do with his kid. Met the boy once, and let me tell you, he can outtalk me ten times over.
“This is Beckett Harper, our new assistant coach, formally with Tampa Bay.” Nieminen turns to face Walsh. “He’s been caught up onallthe team’s history.”
Connor nods.
Of course Nieminen lets Beckett run practice today, as if it’s some sort of audition. And this fucker grinds us into the ice. Even makes me participate instead of working with Rinne.
I thought I was in shape. Wrong. I can’t catch my damn breath. There’s so much sweat in my gear, it’s as if I jumped into a lake.
Beckett Harper has once again turned me gloomy. But my smile returns when he blows a long whistle that signals the end of practice.
“Thanks for the workout, Becks.”
“It’s Coach Harper.”
Oh, this is going to be fun. He doesn't realize it yet, but he's already mine. I've decided I want him, and I'll make sure I consume his every thought—during practice, in the locker room, even in his dreams.
I flash a mischievous grin, letting my gaze slowly rake over the new assistant coach from head to toe, lingering just a bit too long to be appropriate. “Oh, and welcome to the team . . .Becks.”
Chapter 3
Beckett
The rich scent of coffee and fresh pastries greets me as I step into the cozy indie coffee shop. Places like this are becoming a welcome part of my new routine here in Rosewood Bay. Supporting local businesses feels good, and the quality far surpasses the big corporate chains.
I order my usual—large coffee, dark roast, with a shit ton of sugar. The corners of my mouth twitch upward in a fleeting smile.
The barista hands me my drink, and I take a sip, savoring the perfect balance of bitterness and sweetness, then I grab a handful of sugar packets and stuff them in my pocket for later. Never hurts to be prepared.
Stepping outside with my drink, I breathe in the refreshing sea breeze rolling in off the harbor. Rosewood Bay sprawls out before me like a freaking postcard—a little slice of the high life on the North Shore of Long Island. Mansions, country clubs, designer shops. It's like the Hamptons' flashy kid brother. Old money and new money, all rubbing elbows.
Quite the change of pace from my humble roots back in Tennessee. My shoebox apartment above the coffee shop seems comically out of place amid the opulence.
I let out a dry chuckle thinking about it. Even with the coaching job's housing stipend, the prices in this state are a real kick in the teeth. At least it's just me and my cat.
My jaw clenches.
Every apartment I checked out was non-pet friendly, and I wasn’t giving my cat away. Not after what she’s been through because of me. So I snuck her in and pray every day my landlord doesn’t make an unexpected visit.
