“I think all of Bellerive will be there,” she says.
That’s not the clear answer I’m looking for, and I’m about to call her on it when the bell on her front door goes off. She rises from behind her desk, obviously not expecting someone, a frown marring her face.
“Logan here?” a familiar male voice, that I wished was less familiar, asks.
She gestures toward me, and her father comes into view. “Now isn’t really a great time,” she says.
“I can talk to him in there,” Jonathan steps around her and comes to the door of the ice-bath room. “Just wanted to make sure you were ready for tonight.”
“Why wouldn’t I be?” I flick an ice cube across the water. Truth is, I’m a bit sore, but that’s never stopped me from performing well as long as my head is in the right place.
“Big game tonight.”
“It’s preseason.”
“Big game for Bellerive,” he clarifies. “All those sponsors and season ticket holders are looking for a show.”
“They’ll definitely get a game.” We’re playing the Michigan Moose, who are, technically, a better team. As long as I can get fired up, that won’t matter. Having Jonathan come here totell meto get my ass in gear is not needed, wanted, or appreciated. “Unless you think I intend to play half-assed, I’m not sure why you’re here.”
“The stakes are high,” Jonathan says.
“Dad.” Sawyer appears at his side. “You should go help with all the other things going on at the game tonight. I’ve got Logan handled.”
Sawyer has no idea what any of those “other” things would be—hockey is still not her sport. I can’t miss an opportunity to fuck with her a bit.
“She handles meverywell, sir. Stick handling skills, in particular.” I bite my cheek to keep from flashing a grin at the annoyed expression that appears on Sawyer’s face.
“In aprofessionalmanner,” she says.
“She is definitely an expert,” I agree. “Grinding me hard.”
She glares at me for a beat and then turns a falsely sweet smile on her dad. “See? Just like you wanted. He’s handled.”
Jonathan glances between us, seems satisfied, and wanders back out into the main office. Their conversation is too low for me to catch all of it before he leaves, but when Sawyer comes back to the door of the glass room, it’s clear she’s not amused.
“Sexual innuendoes? Am I going to have to sue you for sexual harassment?”
“If you’ve got a dirty mind, that’s on you, doc. Everything I said was factually correct.”
“Stick handling skills? Grinding you hard? Really?”
“That’s why I’m in this bath, aren’t I?” The timer she set beeps, and I rise out of the frigid water to grab my towel. She averts her gaze, which feels like both a win and a loss.
“You’re in the bath because there’s research that suggests an ice bath before intense competition might improve performance. We’re testing that theory with these preseason games before it really matters.”
After I’ve wrapped the towel around myself, her posture and pensive expression tell me she’s weighing her next words. I don’t know if I’ve ever paid such close attention to the subtle shifts in someone else’s mood before. It’s unsettling, but also oddly comforting, to realize that I’m capable of giving a shit about anyone else’s thoughts and feelings when I barely know them.
“What?” I ask. “You’re thinking about something. Spit it out.”
“Are you still looking for someone else? To train you?”
“Not actively,” I say. “I put my manager and agent on standby. They’ve got a list of names to approach, if you don’t want the job, or I stop thinking you can do it.”
“Icando it,” she says. “Iamdoing it.”
“I wasn’t bullshitting your dad, doc. You’ve handled me beautifully the last few weeks. I like your methods, but I also need them to work.”
“We’ll see tonight, then.”
