I turn to Mac. She looks perfect with the wild curls and cheeks still pink from her orgasm. Her blue eyes are glassy but bright. She doesn’t look mad, just disappointed which is totally fair. I feel the same. “I have to go to the arena. Emergency team meeting.”
"Oh. Fuck. That's big. I don't remember my dad ever having one of those," Mac says as I get off the bed. I'm still hard. Mostly. God, what I wouldn't do for even five minutes to have a quickie with her.
"You still have to head back today?" I ask stupidly because she's scheduled on the night shift and there's no reason that would have changed.
“Yes. It sucks and I hate it but yeah. I don’t have a choice.” Mac folds her arms over her chest, which is barely covered by the sheets.
"Well, at least we made up." I wink at her.
“Don’t think that orgasm was me surrendering to your dumb idea,” she counters, frowning. “And just because I’m gonna drive your car home doesn’t mean I’m accepting it. You can’t gift someone a car Conner.”
“Ausedcar,” I argue because the facts in this are… well they’re irrelevant. They don’t make the gesture any less flamboyantly generous, but I don’t give a fuck. “I have a new car, Mac. I don’t need two and you don’t have a car and have been borrowing mine anyway. So like just consider it a permanent borrow.”
“That’s not a thing. Permanently borrowing something is stealing.”
“I promise not to press charges.” I bite back a smile as I shove my neglected cock into underwear and then pants. “Okay. Fine. We can talk about it on Thursday. You’re still planning on coming?”
“Yep. But you won’t be coming again, not in the good way, if you don’t agree take your damn fancy car back,” she says, trying and failing to keep a smile off her face at the threat. “And let me pay you back for that tow you paid for, even though you had my credit card.”
I laugh as I tug the sweater over my head and then lean over her on the bed to give her a searing kiss. “Princess we both know that’s an empty threat. You can’t live without my mouth on your pussy.”
She gasps at my dirty words and feigns shock. I kiss her hard, my tongue stealing a moment to remind her how talented it is. I know she can taste herself on me.
“You’re not fighting fair,” she says, breathless as I pull away.
“Because you love it when I’m dirty,” I reply.
I make my way through the modest bungalow collecting the things I need as I go. My wallet off the kitchen counter, my keys on the hook by the front door, my coat from the closet. The house is a tiny two-bedroom. I could afford bigger, but I also don't need bigger at the moment. Plus this place reminded me of the barn apartment in Silver Bay, which holds some pretty great memories so I had to scoop it up. And it's one house off the beach.At night, when it's still, you can hear the ocean rumble from the bedroom window.
Mac loves it too, which I knew she would.
“Drive safe, princess,” I call out as I leave.
There’s not a lot of traffic on a Sunday afternoon as I drive to the arena. The weather is clear and dry, just like the roads, so I’m pulling into the staff parking garage in record time. I park and walk towards the entrance with my security pass around my neck. I shoot Abbott a quick text.
Here. Where to?
Locker room.
There’s a weird feeling as I walk through the halls on a day I’m not meant to be here. The place is mostly empty since the office and backend staff don’t work Sundays unless we’ve got a game. The locker room is half full when I get there. Players are sitting by their stalls, murmuring amongst themselves, keeping it quiet like students in a library. I catch Abbott’s eye as I walk over to sit down and he gives me a silent nod of recognition.
“I’m going to keep this brief boys,” one of the owners, Chris Caldwell, says as he moves swiftly into the room.
Dave Langston, the other owner, is right behind him. He claps his hands once to get our full attention. Walking along behind them are three men, all former hockey players. I can tell by their builds and the scars on some of their faces. And one I know for sure is a former player because it’s Alex Larue. Mac’s dad.
Our eyes meet and he flashes me a lightning-quick smile.
“We’ve relieved Coach Maxwell and his team of their duties,” Caldwell announces.
Good, is my very first thought butthen… oh. Fuck.
"Some of you may know Alex Larue, Mike Choochinsky, or Sebastian Deveau. They're all former players. All Cup winners. And they are now your new coaching team," Langston tells us.
The room is peppered with applause. I join in but I can barely feel my hands as they come together. I stare at Alex as he walks a little in front of the other coaches.
Mac’s dad.
Is my coach.
