“In maturity level, yes,” I tease, his lips tugging up into a playful smirk, and he tosses me a wink before ambling off.
Walking to the front of the room, I glance down at my watch one last time before I speak.
“Thank you so much for being here, everyone. We—” I gesture to the guys with a wide smile. “—myself and the team, are so excited for today, and we’re so happy that you could behere. We have some fun things planned, but most importantly, I just wanted to take a second to thank the Hellcats team and coaching staff for being a dedicated partner to our program this year.”
The guys whoop and holler, a series of over-the-top whistles and claps echoing around the room, and I laugh, shaking my head. “Clearly, everyone is just as excited for the things we have planned as I am. Please make sure you sign up for our newsletter and information posts so you can keep up-to-date on the events over the next few months. And make sure to grab a bag before leaving. Marietta Fontenot, a local author, has signed her latest book for everyone, and they are included in the take-home bag.”
I can tell the children are starting to get restless, bouncing excitedly on their toes, tugging on the sleeves of their guardians, so I wrap my welcome up.
“So, who’s ready to play hockey and read?”
They all cheer and begin giggling loudly when one of the guys—Riley, I think?—hooks his stick around Saint and pulls him like he’s a sheep.
Even Saint, who’s perpetually the quiet, broody one of our friend group, cracks a hint of a smile at the ridiculousness.
The rest of the guys break away from the group and head over to where they’ve got the goals set up off the ice in stations. Our idea was to have them “teach” the kids how to shoot a puck without the logistics of actually getting them on the ice. That’s a whole different thing with liability and permissions because they could easily get hurt with skating blades or falling on the ice.
This was much more doable, and judging by their squeals of delight when the guys extend a kids-size hockey stick to them, it was totally the right move.
One of the kids, an adorable little girl with bright red hair who looks to be around the age of six, if I had to guess, swingsthe stick through the air, narrowly missing Bennett. I don’t even bother stifling the laugh that spills out of me.
He jumps back, his eyes wide with slight panic as she giggles uncontrollably and tries once more. This time, he catches the stick mid-swing, and crouches down. “Hey, so let’s not do that, ’kay? I need all my body parts so I can play hockey, and you almost took me out. You know, you might have a future in baseball, kid.”
She giggles again but nods, lowering it to the ground.
Honestly, it’s so freaking adorable, seeing all of the guys interacting with the kids, and my face hurts from how hard I’m smiling.
That is, until I look up and see Wilder slipping into the building through the double doors.
The smile falls from my face, my lips pulling into a scowl as I cross the room and make a beeline for him.
I ignore the way my heart picks up speed, racing wildly in my chest when I get close enough to smell his fresh bodywash, his scent invading all of my senses.
Screw that.
I’m far too annoyed to be turned on by him.
“Really,Coach Hawthorne?” I whisper yell when I come to a stop in front of him, noting the tense set of his jaw, which is covered in stubble.
His eyes flare with something, something I can’t even place because I’m too busy being annoyed that he’s conveniently decided to show up.
“You know this is something that we were supposed to be workingtogetheron, right?”
I’m not even pissed that I handled the setup and everything to do with the event. I’m completely fine with being the one to do all the heavy lifting and just leaving him to be the liaison for the team.
But he could at least show up for thekids,if nothing else.
On time.
“Yes, Maisie, I do know that,” he grunts, his voice low and rough as he glances around at the busy room before stepping closer. “I was taking care of something.”
My brow arches. “Something more important than a bunch of children who are excited to meet you? Sorry, but what is so important that you don’t show up? These kids need people who show up for them, Wilder.”
Who gives a shit about the Coach Hawthorne bullshit.
He’s not acting like an adult right now.
The muscles in his jaw flex before he blows out a sigh, reaching up to rake his hand through his hair.
