The timer beeps, and I pull the food from the oven, plating a piece of cod and a healthy scoop of asparagus for each of us.
“You didn’t have to feed me,” she says.
“Might as well. We both have to eat.”
“Well, thank you.”
We eat in a silence that isn’t quite uncomfortable, but it’s not natural, either. I just… don’t know what to say. She’s in full coach mode, and for some reason, all I want is for her to be able to be herself around me. To not wear the fake smile she puts on when she’s trying to be the perfect version of herself that people expect. The one that makes it impossible to get to know the real her.
“I’ve been working on that whole leadership thing we talked about the other day,” I offer when I can’t handle the silence any longer. Wanting to offer up something more, I continue, “Seeing it from your point of view, I understand why I’ve been overlooked as captain for so long.”
“I’m glad I could help.” Her shoulders lower just slightly.
“So, since you’re clearly all-knowing.” I send a grin her way. “Any thoughts on what you want to do for the talent show?”
She lets out a small groan, and fuck—I feel that a little too deeply. “Look, I know that after meeting Lilly, you and I are both totally in on winning the Challenge, but can we please acknowledge how ridiculous it is to have a talent show? You are literally professional athletes. Playing hockeyisyour talent. People watch you do it multiple times a week.”
“I don’t think you coaching me while I play hockey is going to win us this one,” I say.
She lets out a soft chuckle, and I catch myself staring at her lips for a fraction too long.
“I can still do a few hockey tricks,” she replies, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear, and pulling my gaze back to hers. “We could put up one of our opponents’ mascots and break it. Show off the slap shots.”
She’s out on the ice with us regularly, so I know she’s not just volunteering me. I have no doubt her slap shot is worthy of the talent show.
“God, that would be…” Hot. It would be fucking hot. Though I obviously can’t say that. “Good. Yeah. But we aren’t on the ice,” I remind her instead. “Sabrina’s email said we’re performing in the team theater.”
I was honestly surprised when the HR woman showed me that room on my tour on the first day. Turns out, playing for a team that just built a new practice arena and office space has definite perks.
“Well, shit,” Queenie curses, leaning back in her chair. “I have no non-hockey-based talents.”
I snort. “That’s a lie.”
She doesn’t smile this time. Her fingers tap against her plate once, controlled but still noticeable.
“Well, I sure as fuck can’t sing,” she says after a beat, and I grin, pleased that her snarky side is making itself known again. She pauses, her jaw clenching. “It’s not that I don’t want other talents or interests, or maybe it is. But it’s more that I just don’t have… room in my life for them.”
Her words hit me in the chest. It’s exactly the wayIfeel. Yet, I’ve never met a woman who understood the space this sport takes up. The way that curiosity for something more will occasionally poke its head up, only to be whacked back down again by training or games or just the headspace of staying on top of everything. “I know a thing or two about not having enough room in your life for anything but hockey.”
She lets out an exhale that might’ve been a sigh or a laugh. “I’m sure you do. It’s pretty hard to make it this far without it taking over your entire life.”
We both sit in a charged silence, and finally I moan, “God, I bet Larsen has a million ideas for things to do.”
She chuckles. “Yeah, to make a complete fool of himself.”
“True.”
“It’s also…” she starts before trailing off.
“What?” I ask.
“Well, it’s just that—it’s challenging, doing something like this. In my position, I mean. If Larsen does something stupid, it’s funny. If I do, it somehow becomes a meme about why women shouldn’t be allowed to coach men.”
“I don’t know if that’s true. You’re a person like the rest of us. You’re allowed to be silly.”
A smile flits across her face, but then she swallows whatever she’s about to say. Finally, she shakes her head. “I’m not like the rest of you. I mean, you literally call me Coach Blake rather than Blake.”
I shrug. “I call you Queenie most of the time. At least, in my head.”
