Beckett’s face is a mask of cocky pleasure when I finally force myself to meet his gaze. “You liked me?”
“Oh, please. You were”—I wave my hand to encompass his whole body—“all of this, and I was sixteen.”
He reaches out, grabbing my hand and pulling it toward the center of his chest. The sound that comes from me is most definitely a grunt of surprise—not a sound of pleasure.
“All of this, huh?” he teases, a cocky grin on his face. “Sixteen-year-old you had such great taste.”
Such great taste. Unfortunately, thirty-one-year-old me has similar taste, and that’s the fucking problem.
Instead of telling him that, though, I roll my eyes and pull my hand back. “I’m worried someone from high school will start saying shit. Tell people how I had a crush on you when I was younger. It was a standing joke on my teams in high school and college that you were the only person I’d give up my no-dating rule for.”
“No-dating rule, huh?” Beckett asks before turning serious. “A high school crush is nothing, Fin. I know it seems like a big deal, but even if they did say something, no one would care.”
I wish I agreed. But this wasn’t just your standard starry-eyed teen who then forgot all about the boy when they left home. I was slightly obsessed with the man. And I’m his coach now. And that crush might be coming back with a vengeance.
Fuck,who am I kidding? It’s all the way back.
“People would care. You’re my player, Beckett. I’m your coach. We’re… We probably shouldn’t even be hanging out as much as we are now.”
Beckett’s eyes meet mine, and there’s pain there, even as he asks, “Do you want to stop?”
I shake my head. “No.”
“Then fuck what people think. We aren’t doing anything wrong.”
Maybehe’snot. But he’s never liked me as anything more than his coach. Maybe a friend. A friend he occasionally wants to kiss when it’s late at night and he’s on an adrenaline high from his game. I’m the one who has gone and made it inappropriate. It’s my feelings that aren’t okay.
I fucking told White not to trade for Kane. I told him. If he’d just gone off my damn list, I wouldn’t be in this situation. I’d be—alone. Watching film by myself as I eat yet another steak and bagged salad for my dinner. And my job would be… well, still on the line because Beckett has been instrumental in turning our season around. But I wouldn’t be conflicted.
And I sure as hell wouldn’t be considering throwing my career down the garbage disposal just to feel his lips pressed against mine.
“I know,” I say finally. “But I’m not sure where that line is, so how do we know when we’ve crossed it?”
Chapter 20
Beckett
“It’snotaboutgettingthe puck, Li,” Finley—Coach Blake—yells from where she’s skating at the center of the ice. “You can’t give up your defensive positioning. Do it again!”
“Yeah, Li! Culture of accountability!” Larsen chirps from where he’s standing off to the side, waiting for his turn. “Your mistake. Now, fix it.”
We run through the drill once more, the defense working through PK scenarios while our offensive team focuses on exploiting the extra manpower to score.
Skill-work practices used to bore me, but now that I’m with the Yeti, I’m starting to appreciate them. I’m sure it has nothing to do with these practices being the ones that Finley is most likely to join.
Almost everything I do with the Yeti feels more enjoyable than when I was in Florida. It’s like I have my old spark back. The one that told me I was one of the luckiest motherfuckers in theworld, getting to play hockey for my career rather than work some boring desk job.
If it weren’t for my damn body reminding me how old I am, I would swear I have another decade left to play. I’m excited to come to the gym each morning. It’s no longer solely about my routine and making sure I make it through the next game. I’m excited about the future and the things I can achieve here. Unfortunately, during the game last week, I took a hit that has made my hip a constant reminder of my age.
When practice is over, we make our way into the locker room, the team surprisingly quiet as they shuffle in. Too quiet. I glance around, taking in the way the guys seem to be watching me out of the corner of their eyes. Except Larsen. He’s just staring at me and my locker.
Crap on a cracker. What does this buffoon have planned?
Not willing to ruin his fun, I cautiously approach my locker. I snort out a laugh when I see what’s inside.
“Rookie, did you get this made just for me?” I ask, holding up the apron with a female yeti body clad in a black-and-blue Yeti bikini.
The room breaks out into raucous laughter, Larsen the loudest of all.
