“Coach Blake.” She looks at Larsen. “Not Elsie, never fucking Elsie.”
“Wait, I thought your first name was Finley?”
The rookie and Li are both laughing as Larsen explains, “No, Elsie, like Elsa, like—”
“Fucking rookies,” Coach Blake mutters, moving back into her apartment. “See you at practice, Kane,” she shouts as she shuts the door behind her.
“I cannot believe you’re living across the hall from Coach.”
The two men help me carry my belongings into the apartment, Larsen unreasonably excited to learn I have the exact same layout he does. He then proceeds to ask me a million questionsabout whether I have a wife or girlfriend who will be moving in with me. If my family is going to be coming out for my first game as a Yeti.
As I continue to tell him no, even when he almost pityingly asks if I have a goldfish or something, I realize how isolated I’ve let myself become.
And when they finally leave, taking their chaos with them, I’ve never felt more alone.
Chapter 4
Finley
“Iamexcitedtobe in Denver and to join the Yeti. So far, I’ve seen nothing but the highest level of play and professionalism from every level of the organization: from the coordinators who helped me get everything here on short notice to the players to the coaching staff,” Beckett Kane says from his seat in the media room.
BeckettfuckingKane.
And damn it, if he isn’t just as handsome, just as composed, as he was when he helped me with my slap shot when I was sixteen.
Not that I’m paying attention to that. Or the fact he doesn’t remember me. Even if it was a long time ago—and literally lasted for less than twenty minutes.
Okay, even I can admit that the nineteen-year-old version of him pales in comparison to the chiseledmanin front of me.
I’m trying not to take it as an insult that White traded for one of the players I’d specifically crossed off my list, but it’s not as easy as I’d like it to be. I had my reasons for not wantingKane on my bench. Like the fact he clearly didn’t read the PR prep package he was given before this interview, or he would know that we only mention the coaching staff on this team when absolutely necessary.
“And howdoyou feel about playing under the first female head coach?”
Andthiswould be why. Just what we didn’t want to happen. To somehow turn this interview into yet another chance for the press to try to twist some player’s comment to make it seem like I’m anything other than your average head coach.
Kane glances up, his dark brown eyes meeting mine from where I stand in the very back of the room. I lift my coffee cup to my lips, covering my mouth and wishing I had a dry-erase board to hide behind instead.
Give them nothing.
“She’s not the first woman coach I’ve worked with. I respect those who’ve managed to break into the field. Plus, when you get to be as old as I am,” Kane says, earning him a chuckle from the reporters, “you’ve been through a number of first practices with a new team. And I can honestly tell you the practice today under Coach Blake was no different. She knows her stuff, and I’m excited to be a part of an organization willing to do things a little differently in order to make sure they’re giving their fans the best possible team to cheer for.”
“Not too shabby,” Charlotte remarks next to me, and I jump.
“When did you get here?” I ask quietly, again using my coffee cup for cover.
She shrugs. “I was promised a hot new veteran. Didn’t want to miss the show. And I’m glad I didn’t. Damn, Mr. Kane is a hottie. And apparently not an idiot—or did your PR team tell him to say that?”
I shake my head. “We, in fact, told him to stay away from the coaching staff in general unless he’s specifically mentioning Rob.”
“So, he’s going to get the wrath of Finley when he gets down from there?” Charlotte nods toward the podium where Kane is still answering questions.
“As good as the answer was, I need to know my team can follow directions.”
We stand in silence, listening to Kane’s response to a question about leaving the Cyclones, until Charlotte turns to me and whispers, “As someone who climbed the corporate ladder on the media side of the industry, I want to tell that man to smile more when he’s up there, but unfortunately, he just looks damn good with that slight glare. Like, okay, Daddy.”
Daddy energy, for sure.
I suck in a deep breath, intentionally focusing on the bald head of Billy Carlson, my least favorite reporter, to keep myself from following Charlotte’s train of thought.
