Page 45 of Behind the Bench

My statement seems to land because the evil look on her face is replaced with one that, dare I say, looks like understanding?

She slowly walks toward me but I’m still on high alert. I stand straight and brace myself for impact because I never know what I’m going to get with Ellie. Much to my surprise—and relief—she sticks her hand out.

“Truce,” she says.

I stick my hand out to shake hers and she grabs my hand with such force, I can barely fight the smile that threatens to take over my entire face. Ellie is a badass and her handshake is one that saysdon’t fuck with me.

I respect the hell out of this woman.

She drops my hand, and I think we’re done here, but she wouldn’t be Ellie if she didn’t have one more smartass comment to send me off with. “Now, can I go back to enjoying my day off? You’ve already taken up too much of my time today. I’m supposed to be free of you for eighteen more hours. You’re really ruining my day here.”

I nod my head and gesture toward my door, signaling that she’s free to go.

“Thanks, Coach.” She turns and finally makes her way out of my office.

And I’m left, yet again, staring at that hockey ass, wishing she’d call me “Coach” one more time.

Everything is back to normal between Lincoln and me. No more awkwardly avoiding his gorgeous green eyes. I am free to stare and get lost in them all I want during our meetings and practices.

I mean, not that I’m making a habit of doing that. Nope, definitely not.

I can’t be doing that because it’s clear Lincoln is absolutely correct when he called our moment in the coaches’ room a mistake. Our team is on a five game winning streak ever since we declared a “truce.” If that’s not proof that our almost-kiss was a mistake, I don’t know what is.

This job is the greatest thing that has ever happened to me and that one moment of weakness kept me from doing my job to the best of my ability. I’ve never let a man stand in my way before, and I sure as hell am not going to start now. Especially when that man is Lincoln Scott.

What the hell was I even thinking?

It doesn’t matter. We’re past it and the team is winning. That’s all that matters.

That’s also why I’m currently getting ready with Sadie to go out with Hunter and celebrate our winning streak.Hunter and Sadie met after one of our games last week, and they’ve basically been attached at the hip ever since. They finish each other’s sentences, do daily yoga together, they even watch shows on FaceTime together like Sadie and I used to do when we were living apart. I’m still not convinced they weren’t separated at birth. They’re so similar, it’s freaky.

We’re heading to a dive bar a little bit outside of Green Bay. The extra twenty-minute drive is totally worth it to avoid any of our players or press. Especially the press. Luckily, there hasn’t been any other attacks on my character or qualifications since opening night. I’m not sure if that’s due to Lincoln’s threat at that first press conference or due to our winning streak. Either way, I’m extremely thankful I can focus on my job and answer questions about the game rather than questions about my worth.

Sadie interrupts my thoughts. “Ellie, you are not wearing yoga pants to the bar. I draw the line at leisurewear,” she says while applying her cherry-red lipstick.

I plop down on her bed and take a long sip of my margarita. Celebrating a winning streak is the perfect occasion for margs. I mean, any occasion is a good occasion for a margarita.

“Come on, Sades. We’re going to some dive bar in Pulaski. I’d rather be comfortable than dress to impress no one.”

Sadie turns from where she’s sitting at her vanity, and I already know I’m going to have to change my clothes. I’m not sure why I bothered arguing in the first place. “We don’t get dressed and dolled up for anyone other than ourselves, Ellie. Look good, feel good, right? You’re the one who taught me that.”

Damn her for throwing my own words back in my face.

“Now go put something on that makes you feel good. Who cares if we’re the only people at the bar. You deserve to feel sexy once in a while. You’re in skates six days a week.”

I mock offense and put a hand to my chest. “Are you saying skates are not sexy?”

Sadie laughs and turns back to the mirror to finish her makeup. “No, Ellie. The skates themselves are not sexy. Now, the people wearing them are a totally different story. Speaking of attractive men in skates, is Lincoln joining us tonight?”

I choose this moment to down the rest of my margarita. It’s strong and burns on the way down just the way I like it. “Hunter didn’t mention him tagging along, but I’m not sure,” I say while making my way across the hall to raid my own closet.

Sadie trails behind me and vetoes every option I try to pull out to change into. In her defense, it was more yoga pants that I thought could pass as “dressy” but comfy. Can’t fool the yoga instructor.

She continues to riffle through my closet until she finds something she’s satisfied with. “Ah ha!” she exclaims, holding up a sleek black jumpsuit I bought this summer for a wedding, but didn’t end up wearing. It has thick straps at the top and a V-neckline with a cinched waist. But my favorite part is the low-cut back, which cuts down to my mid-back and shows off my tattoo that trails down my spine.

“How am I supposed to go pee in that thing? I’d have to get practically naked in the bathroom!”

Ignoring my protests, Sadie lays the jumpsuit down on the bed. She turns to me and puts her hands on her hips. “Strip.”

---