Total pages in book: 118
Estimated words: 113072 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 565(@200wpm)___ 452(@250wpm)___ 377(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 113072 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 565(@200wpm)___ 452(@250wpm)___ 377(@300wpm)
At nine on the dot, though, he appears. “Morning, Coach!” he calls out, giving me a wave as he sits down to lace up his skates.
“Morning!” I paste on a smile and stride out onto the ice for a warm-up lap. I need to be sharp. If this session goes well, Tremaine can help me convince the rest of the roster that a session with me is both useful and interesting.
But hey, no pressure.
Tremaine steps onto the glistening oval a couple of minutes later. He pushes off on powerful legs and takes a warm-up lap, and I snap into coach mode. Long stride. Smooth transitions. His upper body is relaxed, while his legs do most of the work. A textbook stance that stabilizes his center of gravity.
As I catalog his technique, I relax by a fraction of a degree. Because I know how to do this job. I have a lot to offer—I just need a chance to make my point. And this is it. I have thirty minutes to impress the captain with my deep knowledge and sparkling personality.
He finishes his lap and skates toward me. “Hey, Coach Carson. I asked a few guys to join us. But we got back pretty late last night, so I didn’t make it mandatory.”
My heart drops. “No problem.” I grab a stack of cones and drop a couple of them on the ice. “I thought we’d start with a simple dexterity drill to get the blood flowing.”
“Sure,” he says. “Anything you want.”
I hastily set up a row of cones down one side, and then another one for the journey back. “I’d like you to take this in a U shape—down and around, then up again.” And I give him a brief explanation of the pattern I want him to skate around the cones.
“Got it,” he says easily. He’s been doing drills like this since before he put away his teddy bears.
“Awesome. Ready… set… go.”
And as soon as Tremaine moves, I push off, too, heading around the course from the other corner.
At first he doesn’t realize that I’m skating in parallel. But even as I power down the course, I clock the moment he notices. That slight twist of his head, and the sideways glance.
After a beat, his gaze snaps back to the task at hand. He tucks his chin down and focuses all his energy on the job of maneuvering his large body back and forth around the cones, like a slalom skier.
He’s got a long stride and smooth edgework, powered by two of the strongest legs in the Eastern Conference. But this drill doesn’t favor speed—it favors precision. That’s why I’m able to keep pace with him as we hit the first turnaround and start back down the ice.
I make the second turn with him, too. And the third. I’m a foot shorter than he is, and I’d bet cash money that he didn’t miss that. No professional hockey player wants to be bested by a girl half his size.
And yup. His competitive urge kicks in, and he shifts into a higher gear, pulling ahead of me on the fourth and final leg of the drill. I end up finishing about a half stride behind him.
Then he drops his hands to his knees and laughs. “Holy heck, Coach. You got wheels.”
And now I’m preening inside. “First of all, call me Zoe. And secondly, I’ll never ask you to do a drill that I can’t do myself.”
But we both know this was a setup. I’m wearing black hockey skates just like his. And I picked an exercise where I could impress him, because I need him to understand I didn’t come here to play.
“All right, Coach Zoe,” he says, aiming a stealthy glance at the big clock on the wall. “Point made. Now what do you want to work on? Or is this just a getting-to-know-you session?”
Skating up to him, I make a quick stop. “I watch a lot of tape, so I already know you’re one of the best skaters on the roster. And you don’t have many bad habits.”
I see the flicker of pride in his eyes, because literally everyone is susceptible to praise. “Does that mean we’re done here?”
“Not so fast.” I flash him what I hope is a friendly grin. “I have some ideas about your corner work. You’re known for your strength. Even guys who are bigger than you assume they can push you off the puck. But they try it and find they can’t.”
He gives a modest shrug. “That’s what spending your whole life at the squat rack can do for a guy.”
“Exactly,” I agree. “So what I’d like you to demonstrate is the body position you’d take when some monster of a D-man is trying to bully you.”
“Sure.” He takes a wide stance, knees bent. His center of gravity is low and stable.