“Legros. Shouldn’t you be out there warming up for the game that starts in…” I lift my arm, pulling back the cuff of my suit to look at the time on my watch. “Fifteen minutes?”
“Yes. I mean, yes, sir,” he says, shifting on his skates with an expression that’s a mixture of guilt and irritation. “Sorry, Coach Hawthorne. I was just catching up with my girl.”
Hisgirl?
What the fuck? How did I not know this?
My attention moves to Maisie, and a flush moves to her cheeks.
“You’re here to play hockey, Legros, not talk to your girlfriend,” I say. “Take some laps. Go.”
He mutters a quick apology to her and then darts off in the opposite direction down the boards.
Maisie turns to face me, and I force my gaze to remain on her face. My jaw feels so tense, so fucking tight, it might snap from the weight of gritting my teeth together.
She reaches up and tucks a stray piece of golden hair behind her ear, the same loose piece stupid fucking Legros was messing with. “We’re n?—”
I cut her off. “In the future, please refrain from flirting with my players while they should be playing hockey.”
Her eyes widen into big, blue saucers, surprise written on her features at the harsh bite in my tone, her mouth falling open, forming the perfect O.
She quickly recovers, the space between her blonde brows pinching tight, eyes narrowing and lips pursed. “I was not flirting with him. We’re just friends. Not that it’s any of your business.”
I step closer, even though I shouldn’t, and she straightens her spine. “Becomes my business when you’re distracting my players from what they’re here to do… while wearing…”
I drop my gaze pointedly down her body, over the pink dress that stops mid-thigh.
A dick fucking move on my part, and I know it, but I’m pissed, and hitting her wherever the hell I can is the only goal I have right now.
This is what I do best. I get pissed, I let that anger consume me, and I lash the fuck out.
Her eyes flare first with hurt, then with anger, when my lip tugs into a smug smirk, but before she can say anything, the lights begin to dim, signaling the start of the game.
“Enjoy the game,” I say dismissively, not even glancing at her as I walk away.
I sure will, knowing I’m going to have Bennett Legros skate till he pukes just because I fucking can.
Might be the only goddamn perk to being called Coach.
CHAPTER
ELEVEN
MAISIE
What a freaking…asshole.
I’ve spent the last almost two hours fuming over the audacity of this man. I hardly even paid attention to the game. All I know is that Saint scored two goals, and Lennon spent at least thirty minutes talking about how she was going to blow his mind later.
Gross.
In a loving way, of course, but still gross.
I glance down at my phone again, refreshing my email for the tenth time, which is overkill, seeing as how the email that I fired off when I was losing my ever-loving mind has probably not even been read yet by the intended party, considering he was slightly preoccupied for the last two hours.
I probably shouldn’t have done that, but he also shouldn’t have spoken to me the way that he did.
It was rude, and condescending, and… sexist.
