He holds his gloves up to his chin. "Dude, I'mjoking. Chill out."
I pause, regaining my composure. I even threw myself with that one. I fall back, my breath still spewing out in quick spurts, and clear my throat. "Yeah, sorry, man. My bad."
Burns throws a punch at my chest. "It's all good, Cap. Hey, everything's gonna be fine. You're back. Fuck that testing bullshit. You'reDrew Anderson—our guy. Hell, you'reGolden City'sguy. Just give the people what they want. Be you."
I let out a dry laugh at the infamous saying.But that's the problem.I can't do both things at once.
A whistle saves me from having to respond and draws both of our attention toward Monte. He's at center ice, tapping his stick rhythmically like he's growing impatient and has somewhere else to be—which, knowing his girl is sitting back in his hotel room waiting for him, he probably does.
Burnsey nudges me with his elbow. "Come on, Captain.” He pushes forward just a few feet before he turns backward on his skates and winks. "Showtime."
That one word snaps me back. I shake it off and skate toward the circle, trying to leave the weight of everything else behind me.
"Alright, big game tonight, boys. I want a lot of touches this morning. Lots of passes, lots of shooting. We're just gettin' warm."
I nod, swirling the handle of my stick in my hand. "Line it up," I call after Monte's finished.
He looks at me and tips his chin up, our silent communication to get a drill started. I mirror his movement, but catch a glimpse of red and black in the stands that sticks out like a sore thumb against the bright yellow and dark green of the Gladiators' arena.
I let my eyes wander to the source as I spin toward the corner of the ice where the boys are waiting.
And I see her.
I freeze, watching her as she looks down at her phone, her lower half covered by the seats in front of her. She's wearing a black leather jacket that's on full display, though, with a white and red stripe down the front—one meant to wear while on a goddamn bike.
And my dick responds before anything else.
"Drew, lets fucking move," Monte says, nodding toward the guys.
Despite his impatience, I coast closer to him. "Hey, uh, Coach. Why is—who's that?"
Monte peers over his shoulder in the direction I nod and pulls out the mini notebook he keeps tucked into the pocket of his warm ups. "The new social media manager," he says, flipping through the pages.
"Wait, what?" I ask without thinking.
Coach glances up at me and wrinkles his brow. "Come on, Drew. I know you know all about Instagram." He smirks as he skims his notes on the page his book is opened to.
I shake my head, reacting to both his comment and my attempt at trying to wrap my head around my thoughts. "No, yeah, I get that. I just mean—"
"She's my wife's friend. She's just filling in until the new girl starts permanently." He goes to turn another page but pauses with his fingers clenched around the paper. "Don't get any ideas. No messing with her or any dumb shit. I don't want you guys being assholes." Monte flips the page and continues, this time mumbling under his breath. "Alex will have my fucking head."
With my mind stuck on her, I barely hear him as he shoves his notebook back into his pocket and takes off for the guys.
Why didn't she say anything last night when we talked about her being here? She had to know I'd find out. I start to feel some type of way about her lying by omission, thinking maybe she isn't as different as I thought she was, when it hits me.No.She wasn't trying to keep it from me. She'sscared. Scared to tell me, scared to be near me…holy shit.
Scared to admit that this is exactly where she wants to be.
The realization lights the same fire in my belly that starts when I first walk out through the tunnel—when the crowd hums my name like they do when my number's called in the starting line up. It's a fire that'ssparked at the start of a game that reminds me that it's time to be on. Time to secure what's mine. Time to hold on to everything I have to lose.
With that growing flame low in my gut, I turn to find Monte talking at the bench with Max, our equipment manager. Taking advantage of the time, I push forward just enough to close a bit of the gap between me on the ice and Brooke in the stands. When I'm a few yards away, I stop harder than I need to, spraying snow and whistling one quick, sharp sound.
Brooke finally glances up from her phone, and when her eyes meet mine, I know I was right. This girl, who doesn't seem scared of anything, is terrified of what she feels for me.
"Good to see you again, Mystery Girl." Her lips fall open as I push off my blade and glide backward. "Make sure you get my good side."
An hour later, practice is over. I don't know how much warming up I actually did for the game, but my body is fucking ready for Brooke. I spent the last sixty minutes half dicking around on the ice, half performing for her. As if I didn't already have enough roles to play, apparently now I'm showing off for a girl who's made it abundantly clear I can't have her again.
I think that's my biggest problem. Brooke's not just some prospect that I stumbled upon out at the bar one night. I've had her. I know what it feels like to be buried inside her—raw for that matter—and I know how it feels to be near her evenwithclothes separating us.
