“Why wait?”
Sullivan and Remy took off moments later, leaving me sitting next to Frankie. She inhaled deeply, her fingers gripping the armof the chair. Today, she wore a form-fitting all-black tracksuit that hugged her figure, her impossibly long copper hair braided down her back, a few stray strands framing her face. Her makeup was minimal, or at least it looked that way. Who knew? Maybe it took an entire pharmacy to achieve that effortlessly fresh, windblown look.
She stood slowly, almost robotically, rounding the chair before stopping. “You heard Coach, Valentine. Get off your ass.”
I couldn’t help the grin that spread across my face. “Music to my ears.”
“What the fuck are you talking about?”
I jogged to catch up, matching her pace as we entered the locker room. “I love it when you’re mean.”
“I’m not mean; I’m your coach,” she shot back without missing a beat. “Now, get your fucking skates on and meet me out on the ice. Time to whip your lazy, injured ass into shape.”
She knew exactly how to push my buttons. I was still grinning as I changed into my workout gear and laced up my skates, still grinning as I walked down the tunnel to the ice.
But that’s where it all fell apart.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
FRANKIE
Growing up playing hockey, there were few things more dreaded than skating drills. Suicides, wind sprints, gassers, backward sprints—all pure torture. But none, none were worse than when the coach broke out the cones and zig-zagged them across the ice. Every player groaned at the sight of those cones, knowing we’d have to skate through them at top speed, making quick turns, testing our balance.
They demanded complete control—hips, thighs, and core. Every muscle had to work in sync.
So, seeing that smug grin slip off Teddy’s face? It was nothing short of a coaching triumph. He deserved this. He’d practically asked for it with his reckless attitude.
Though, I couldn’t quite stop thinking about thatreckless attitude.
Teddy stepped onto the ice, his movements smooth. He’d always been one of our strongest skaters, even if his speed had dulled over the past year or two. “You serious, Coach?” His voice was a mix of disbelief and challenge.
“As serious as an open ice hit that leaves you flat on your back,” I said firmly. “Now, stop whining and stretch.”
Teddy lowered himself onto the ice, and I had to force myself to look away. Stretching a hockey player’s groin muscles was part of the drill, but some things should be outright illegal. Half the time, the guys looked like they were practicing… other positions. Not the kind you'd find in a hockey manual.
Rowan appeared at the half-wall, fully suited in goalie gear, lifting a hand in a casual wave. I skated over to him just as Sullivan emerged from the tunnel. “You guys mind if I take most of the rink for Valentine’s torture today?” I asked.
Sullivan’s laugh boomed through the rink. “Not at all. Rowan and I just need to tweak some positioning before we face Tucson.”
“Appreciate it.” I glanced at Teddy, still working on his stretches. “Did I say you could stop?”
He grumbled, but returned to his routine, much to my satisfaction.
Rowan suppressed a laugh behind his goalie mask, his eyes crinkling with amusement. “It’s good to see him back out there,” he commented, a hint of fondness in his voice.
No. No, it wasn’t. Seeing Teddy out there was the last thing I wanted. Not at all. With a huff, I pushed off the wall and skated back toward him.
“Ready?” I called, my voice cold.
“No.” Teddy looked up at me, his thick blond hair falling into his eyes, adding to the rebellious look. The sudden urge to brush it away was unexpected—and far too strong. But I tamped it down. Hard.
This man now knew things about me—toomanythings. And I knew things about him. Like the way he kissed as if he had never tasted anything so sweet, or how he hummed in delight when his lips traveled lower, farther south.
That memory struck me like a physical blow, and I willed my thoughts to stay professional.
But I knew it wouldn’t be that simple.
My core tightened, and I glanced away.
