“Good hustle, Keller.” Our assistant coach, Cole Kincaid, gives me an approving nod when I skate up to the boards where he’s watching us practice.
He started as a new coach after our season was already underway. He’s known to push us harder in practice than the head coach does, focusing on fine-tuning our skills to create a stronger foundation we can build on. Some of our players have improved a crazy amount since he joined the Heston U coaching staff.
I duck my head, not feeling like I’ve earned his praise when I’ve spent the last twenty minutes on the ice with my mind wandering. All the guys are showing up to put their top efforts in and I should be, too. My teammates deserve my best whenever I’m out there.
That’s the kind of athlete I’ve honed myself to be. I shouldn’t let anything distract me from that.
Everything else off the ice doesn’t matter right now. It can wait.
Bracing my arms on the half wall circling the rink, I give myself a mental pep talk to get back in the zone. A phone rests at my elbow next to the row of water bottles. It pings, drawing my attention.
Coach Kincaid stiffens, snatching it off the boards before I read the lit up screen. He’s usually pretty chill. I lift a brow at the shift in his attitude, squirting another burst of Gatorade into my open mouth.
He hunches over his device, smothering a tortured groan. “Fuck.”
I clear my throat, edging away on my skates. Kincaid’s gaze snaps up to me as if he forgot I was there taking a drink break. He glances around, opens his mouth, closes it, then shoves his phone in the pocket of his zip up jacket.
“Never mind. It doesn’t have to do with hockey. Forget you saw this. Keep at it,” he directs in a clipped tone. “I’ll be right back.”
I move away from the boards to take up my position once again, exchanging a look with Theo and some of the others in our drill group.
“What’s up with him?” Theo wonders aloud.
I shrug. “Beats me. He got a text and didn’t want me to see it.”
“Bet it’s a booty call,” Brody crows, circling behind me with a hard stop that sprays ice.
“Gossip on your own time. Let’s get back to practice,” I say. “Theo, you’re up with Blake.”
“Time to dance.” Easton flashes us a grin, then takes off.
Theo follows him. “Not so fast, Blake.”
Folding my hands over my stick, I lean my chin on them and track their passing drill with a steady gaze, analyzing every move to apply to my own skill set.
A sharp focus is what will lead me to my goals every time.
EIGHT
LAINEY
Tearingmy gaze away from Alex’s ass while he lowers the heavy boxes he insisted on carrying for me, I tick another item off my to do list in my journal for the benefit. He threw me off by texting to ask where I was, then showing up freshly showered after his morning practice and offering his help. The last hour has been distracting rather than productive because the soap he uses smells incredible, temptingly fresh and minty.
I’m still not sure why he wanted to spend time with me. Surely going to his game and the party were enough for it to get around that we’re dating as far as everyone is concerned. Temporarily.
“That the last one?” He brushes his hands off and saunters over.
The veins of his hands stand out, catching my eye with their tantalizing shape. Images from the romance book I read late last night flit through my head, Alex’s large hands taking the hero’s place while he wrapped them around the heroine’s hips as he thrust?—
“See? Wasn’t so bad. If you’d let me call the rookies over, it could’ve been faster. What’s next?”
His earnest tone breaks me out of the fantasy. I shouldn’t be thinking about him as the star of the spicy scenes in my books.
“I can do the rest myself,” I mumble, cheeks flaming.
“Nah.” Alex swipes the journal from me and scans it. “I said we’re hanging out the whole day and you accepted. This isn’t exactly how I’d show off my boyfriend skills, but we’ll make it work. I’m helping.”
I huff. “Helping me overheat.”
