Total pages in book: 82
Estimated words: 79319 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 397(@200wpm)___ 317(@250wpm)___ 264(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79319 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 397(@200wpm)___ 317(@250wpm)___ 264(@300wpm)
It started out the same as always. The two groups took over either side of the ice, did a few drills, and practiced puck handling and shooting. Coaches were encouraged to jump in and actively participate, which usually made it fun and made the time pass quickly.
Today, I was hopelessly distracted.
I’d thought I was doing okay at first. Denny and I had a decent system going. He fed them pucks while I corrected form. And between the upbeat music on the overhead speakers and the lighthearted chatter on the ice, the kids were engaged, honing basic skills and having fun. But it was a damn party on the other end of the rink, and of course, the loudest voice belonged to you-know-who.
For once I ignored Trinsky’s hijinks, but I was having a hard time keeping my eyes off him. He was a pretty skater, graceful and sure. He had a knack for taking corners at a wicked clip, and his backhand was a thing of beauty. So was his wrist shot. All I could think was…I’d held those wrists captive. I’d licked the underside of his forearms, kissed his elbows, buried my nose in his biceps, and bitten his neck. I knew what his stubbled jaw felt like on my inner thighs and holy shit…I knew how amazing he felt moving inside me.
I couldn’t wait to do it again.
Tonight, I hoped.
He’d have to come to my place. Annie was going to be looking out for her new neighbor with one eye peeled out her kitchen window. She’d notice if I showed up, and—
“You okay?” Denny nudged my shoulder.
I flashed a weak smile, embarrassed to have been caught staring. “Yeah, I’m good.”
Oskar, a gangly kid from Virginia, panted for air as he gestured toward Trinsky’s group with his stick just as another boom of laughter ricocheted off the rink walls. “Are they even playing hockey?”
Denny glanced over his shoulder. “I hope not, ’cause we’re going to scrimmage them in a few minutes, and only one of us will be ready to kick some butt.”
“And that will be us,” I assured them.
These early scrimmages were supposed to be fun. We saved the competitive ones for the end of the session after the kids had acclimated to camp life, time away from home, and the thrill of meeting and playing with pros. So I really wasn’t sure why I got so aggravated with Terren, the right winger who randomly made himself a D-man and the goalie who hovered in the net instead of the crease.
I didn’t yell. Much. I shouted a stream of reminders in a positive tone that fooled everyone…except Trinsky.
He sidled up to me at the coach’s bench and grabbed my flask out of my hands, one of those reusable ones with an air-tight lid and a slotted tab ideal for hot drinks or plain ol’ water. “Not the league opener, Milligan.”
“I know,” I grumbled, my gaze snagging on his handsome profile.
“Okay, you forgot your role. You’re supposed to be pissed that I stole your mug from under your nose, but I’m still holding it, Jakey. Someone’s gonna notice if you go sweet on me,” he singsonged, raising the flask above his head.
He was right.
I put a hand out, eyes on the action on the ice. “Give it over.”
“Beg me.”
I growled as I turned to him. “Give me the fucking water, Trinsky.”
His slow-moving, mischievous grin was pure trouble, but I was strong. I wasn’t going to be distracted by those pretty green eyes or that dimple or—
“Fine, but take a drink. You need to cool off.”
True. I gamely tipped the flask back, wincing as the top fell off and a full cup of ice cold water hit me in the face.
“Trinsky, you dick,” I sputtered.
He winked. “You’ve been pranked.”
“Yeah, I got that.” I pulled off my sweatshirt and dried my face on it, shaking my head ruefully. “You’re supposed to be setting a good example, asshole.”
“Me? No way. That’s your job,” Trinsky said loudly for the benefit of the coaches nearby. Then he slid his hand under my elbow and leaned in, his breath ghosting my earlobe. “Got a few stares on the ice. Punch me and make this look good.”
I shoved him instead. “Cool it. This is harder than I thought it would be.”
He made a mini production of picking up the clipboard I’d left on the bench, eyes lowered. “I know, but it’s pretty awesome too.”
It was. My heart was tripping over itself at the thrill of being so close to him. The smell of my shampoo lingered along with a trace of his aftershave and a hint of sweat. I wished I could lean in and lick him. I wished I could rub up against him and run my hands down his rock-hard body.
“Yeah. I might like it more if I wasn’t dripping water,” I groused without heat, my arm glued to his.