The athletic-type dress she’s wearing today is a shade of pale pink that hugs her curves, flaring out slightly at the waist.
And it’s the shortest thing I’ve ever seen her wear.
Trust me, I pay the fuck attention, whether I should or not.
So today, of all goddamn days, she chooses to get on a ladder wearing a scrap of material that barely covers shit to begin with?
Fuck.
Fuck.
Fuck.
My feet stay stuck on the floor, rooted in place, even though I want to snatch her off the first step and throw the ladder across the room. Maybe break it the fuck in half. Toss it in a dumpster. Like some inanimate object has offended me personally.
Not the girl standing on it, who I’m starting to believe knows exactly what it is she’s doing.
With each rung she climbs higher, the silky expanse of the back of her thighs becomes more on display, inch by inch. And when she gets to the top, she looks back over her shoulder at me.
Our gazes connect.
I scowl.
She smirks.
I grind my teeth together until they’re practically goddamn dust.
She tosses her hair over her shoulder, pretending she’s not doing this shit to provoke me. To push me over some invisible ledge.
I look around to see if any of the guys are looking, but thank fuck, they’re on the ice, practicing and not hanging around her and watching her like dopey idiots.
Like I am.
But that’ll be short-lived since practice is almost over.
Somehow, I’ve ended up standing below where she’s hanging the banner—not well, might I add—and a curse blows past my lips before I can even stop it.
“Goddamnit, Maisie.”
I can see right up her skirt. See the curve of her ass and the tiny scrap of purple lace she has on that barely covers her.
Which means every kid in this room will see it the moment they step off the ice.
And with that realization, I lose my fucking shit.
Internally, mostly, since I can’t do more than that in an arena filled with my players without exposing just how fucked-up over her I really am.
I glance around again to see if anyone is watching, and when I see that they’re not, I slide my hands around her waist and pull her off the goddamn ladder myself.
Fuckasking.
She lets out a small oomph when her feet hit the ground, surprise written on her face as she blinks up at me. “What the hell, Wi—Coach?”
I keep my mouth shut because I don’t trust myself to say a word right now.
Not when something a lot like hot, jealous rage is unfurling rapidly in my gut, making my skin feel tight and prickly.
Silently, with just a flick of my gaze as a warning, my fingers circle her wrist, and I’m tugging her into the nearest room.
