I’m an asshole. I literally can’t stop teasing Savannah. From the moment I met her, I’ve wanted her attention. For as long as she’ll give it to me.
And yes, I already know what’s going to be in the handbook.Don’t date a player. It was written all over her face.
I’ve never been one for rules, though. Savannah may think throwing the rulebook at me will change things between us, but she’s wrong. A formal restriction can’t change the nuclear connection we have. Not possible.
Savannah’s tough; men I’ve played with wouldn’t have been able to handle what happened this morning as well as she did. But her beautiful eyes have a darkness hidden in their depths, almost like she’s been broken down one too many times. She has a fragile side, and I have to be careful with her. I’m afraid I’ll hurt her, and that’s the last thing I want to do.
She’s like the calm in a storm for me—something about her soothes the demons inside of me, the ones that urge me to rebel against each and every thing my father tells me to do. Rebelling never works. I know that. But following his commands hasn’t gotten me anywhere, either. Although it did get me to meet Savannah Virginia.
Working with her every day is something I’m very much looking forward to. She doesn’t let people in easily, and despite what she says, she’s definitely got a feisty side. I thought she was going to punch Craig in the face when he signed me up for that upcoming conference with her. I respect her desire to go alone, but I can’t say I’m sorry he insisted on us attending together. Christ, I enjoyed being with her on the ice far more than I’ve enjoyed anything in ages.
I smile to myself as I head for the locker room. Something tells me getting to know Savannah Virginia will be every bit worth the challenge.
Chapter Five
Three Weeks Later
Savannah
Bang!!
The pounding on the door comes so fast and loud I drop the ice skate I just sharpened, and it clatters to the ground. I’m always jumpy, but I’ve been worse than usual. I make sure never to walk down the alley alone anymore, which means I have to drive to get my breakfast. Mama was so worried she didn’t want me to ever return to the coffee shop, so promising her I’d drive was a small concession. Although after that scare, I prefer to be inside the car too.
Bang!!
I go open the door.
Coach Craig is standing there glaring at me. His jacket is zipped up to his chin, and he unwraps a huge black scarf from where it was protecting his overly-pale skin from the biting Minnesota wind.
He leans his heavy frame against the door as he catches his breath. “I just had to walk all the way down here to find you. Where are my skates?”
I hand him the two pairs of skates, newly-sharpened blades and all.
“Here you go.”
Craig’s balding head shines under the glare of the single light in the room.
“You doing something else in here besides sharpening hockey skates?” he asks as he scans the room.
“Nope,” I say, shifting quickly to hide my iPad that has a belly dance lesson up on the screen. “Just making sure your blades are super sharp.”
“I want you at practice today,” he says. “I know you prefer to hide in your office, but you haven’t been there in a few days. And I need your eye on Wild.”
I tense. “Why Cameron?”
“Because you and I both know he’s the key to this team’s success. And he’s shown flashes of pure brilliance these last few weeks, enough that our tickets are selling better and we’ve finally started winning.” Craig frowns. “But we need more from him. The kid just won’t live up to his potential. See if you can figure out why.”
He turns and leaves, shutting the door behind him.
I shut down my browser, making a note to return to my dance lesson later.
After my father left, I spent weeks at work, mindlessly surfing the Internet. One day, I was clicking through videos, and I found something that interested me. A belly dance performance by a troupe of women.
The ladies wore the most beautiful costumes, and they ranged in age from late twenties to late sixties. They moved their bodies in ways I had never seen, had no shame no matter their shape or size, and they clearly enjoyed dancing. They loved it.
Immediately, I wanted to do that. The dancers I was watching weren’t local; they were in Missoula, Montana. But after some research, I found a dance studio in town where I could take lessons. For the past few years, those classes have saved me.
Dancing has become a way to release my pain, and to find a piece of myself I never realized was lost. My identity was simply as my father’s assistant in whatever ways he needed. But dancing—that’s just for me. For ninety minutes of class, I feel free, and I can be myself.
