Ah, fuck. Now I have to tiptoe around this. “The fans are fantastic, and they want us to be successful. What more could we ask for?” My list is long, but he doesn’t need to know that.
Seemingly content, the media scrum moves to Auston, the team’s captain, who played a better game than me.
My shoulders are tight, and as I pack up my gear, I can’t help looking forward to getting back on the island and going straight to Sawyer for a treatment. Of course, if she was traveling with the team like I want, I wouldn’t have to go running to her. She’d already be here. I could get a treatment from Ken, the physiotherapist who travels with us, but I wouldn’t want to mess with Sawyer’s process and results.
On the plane, Radek settles in beside me while I scroll through my phone. A text pops up from Tamiko telling me I get “all the gold stars” for my answer in the scrum today about Bellerive. It was an honest answer, which made it easy. The hard partis losing and not being able to think quickly enough to have a direction to spin the loss in. I got lucky that one came to me in the moment.
My phone rings, and my manager’s name pops up. I swipe my thumb across the screen and hold it to my ear.
“Bishop,” I say.
“I got your message. Yes, Sawyer Tucker’s only contracted for on-the-island training. Joe never traveled with you. Never even crossed my mind you’d have an issue with it.”
“Make some calls about getting someone full time,” I say, and I close my eyes because I know that’s not actually what I want.
“You’re kidding, right? After the game in Bellerive, you were all in on Tucker.”
Which is still the problem. I’m so fucking all in that she’s the only thing I can think about. Lose a game—think of Sawyer. Win a game—think of Sawyer. My brain has been taken over, and I don’t even know when it happened, but it’s true. Used to be that win or lose I was analyzing ways to improve, not wishing for a pat on the head or a literal rubdown from my trainer.
“That’s not a good idea,” Radek mock whispers beside me.
I shoot him a glare, and then I sigh into the phone. “Put a pin in it. We just played like shit. I’ll call you if I need you.”
“You’ll push her in the direction you don’t want her to go,” Radek says when I hang up.
“And which direction is that?”
“Anywhere away from you. So clear at the bar. You like her, and that is strange for you, and you don’t know how to handle that.”
“She’s a good trainer.”
“No,” Radek says with certainty, his Czech accent surprisingly thick. “Well, maybe. She might be a good trainer. What do I know? But there was a vibe at the bar. Both of you. Maybenothing has happened, but I think you want it to happen, and that’s not how you normally operate.”
“How do I normally operate?”
“Hockey, hockey, hockey.” Radek laughs. “Eat. Sleep. Hockey. Pussy is so far down the list.”
“I don’t like what you’re implying.”
“That she has one or that you want it?”
“That all I want to do is fuck her.”
“You don’t?”
I let out a frustrated noise, and I shift to stare out the window as the plane taxis down the runway. “I don’t know what I want.” But I’m starting to think I do, and I’m not ready to act on it. Or that I might ruin what’s developing. Is it her training that I want, or is it the feeling that hums between us whenever I’m in the room with her? “I don’t like the implication that she’s just a body to me.”
“Lots of people,” Radek says, gesturing to the players and staff on the plane, “can be hockey, hockey, hockey,andhave something beyond hockey.”
“Once any player’s focus is pulled off the ice, they’re not as good.”
“What’s your proof?” Radek gives me the side-eye.
“You don’t believe me?”
“Why would I believe you?” Radek chuckles. “You’re just talking shit.”
“Even if I’m wrong—even if your on-ice game doesn’t suffer—despite all the women hanging around waiting for a chance with one of us, becoming a hockey wife is probably at the bottom of Sawyer’s list for life goals. Honestly, it’s probably not evenonthe list.”
