“I don’t give a fuck.” He grabs his sweatshirt off the back of the chair and strides toward the door with purposeful, powerful steps. “But your ass better be there. And remember, you asked for this.”
He’s out the door before I can respond.
Ididask for this. I just hope I’m ready for what Luke Holloway looks like when he’s actually putting in effort.
10
Luke
Lennon looks like she’s going to vomit all over her shoes any minute now. A sick sense of satisfaction rolls through me at the sight.
It’s our first workout together, and I wasn’t one bit surprised when I arrived at the rink this morning and she was already laced up and waiting at the boards. When I told her to get back in the locker room and change into workout clothes and meet me in the gym, she was confused.
She thought we’d just do a few extra drills. Maybe I’d send a few slapshots her way to block.
Wrong.
We’re going to start from the beginning.
Conditioning.
I overheard her conversation with Grace shortly after I told her I’d push her like she wanted as the two of them walked down the hallway yesterday.
“I thinkI’m going to be doing extra practices with Coach Holloway. Do you want to join, too?” Lennon sounds nervous.
“What? When?”
“He just told me to be at the rink tomorrow morning an hour before practice starts.”
“That would be like, 5:00 am!” Grace says the time like it’s a disgrace.
“I know, but beggars can’t be choosers.” Smart girl, Lennon. “So, are you in?”
There’s a pause, and then Grace says, “Look, you know I love this sport. But, I’m not like you. I don’t want to do extra workouts or add on more practice time. I’m already drowning with classes, and honestly, I just play it for fun. And because I love the team.”
“I get it,” Lennon responds. “Looks like it’s just going to be me and him. Greaaaat.”
“You asked for it!”
She did ask for it.And she’s looking like she’s having regrets at the moment. Good.
“One more round of eight,” I bark at her.
I can practically hear thefuck youscreaming through her head, but to her credit, she clamps her mouth shut and finishes out the last round of step-ups strong.
For being a small university, Haulton has some big donors. The athletic facilities are top-notch, including two private weight rooms: one for the women’s team and one for the men’s. It’s small but has everything it needs.
Lennon drops the dumbbell she’d been holding for the step-ups on one of the benches and props her hands on her narrow hips, breathing heavily. Her gray Haulton Huskies T-shirt isdarker in places where it clings to her sweat-soaked skin. “What’s next?” she pants.
I glance at my watch. We’ve been at it for almost forty-five minutes, and while she’s clearly exhausted, Lennon isn’t going to ask for a break.
I point to an empty spot on the wall. “Squat.”
Lennon turns pleading eyes my way, but she’s met with stone. “You asked for it,” I remind her.
“I did,” she mutters. She walks over, places her back against the wall, and slides down until her knees are bent at a ninety-degree angle.
“Just be grateful I’m not giving you any weight to hold while you’re there.”
