Page 12 of Mile High Coach

He’s been gracing the covers of magazines for years, popping his dimples and flashing his broad smile. I’ve seen him at least a dozen times on my TV screen, charming late night TV hosts and flirting with every reporter asking questions after a game. I’ve heard him promising the Blue Crabs fans an exciting season. I’ve watched him show up to ask for donations for this year’s canned food drive on social media.

For all my careful planning, after all my research and preparation for this job, I didn’t even recognize the head coach before sleeping with him on a flight. The first major reckless thing I’ve ever done in my life, and I’m already facing the consequences.

Just hours after slipping out of his first-class pod, I’m face-to-face with him again.

He’s sitting at the table, turning around, his eyes settling on my face as the door shuts noisily behind me.

And I am so fucked.

Chapter 6

Harrison

Ican’t stop a laugh from bubbling out of me.

There I was, this morning, thinking I’d never see Knockout again and being pretty fucking butt-hurt about it, and now here she is, standing right in the doorway to this conference room.

I’m so taken with the sight of her in that suit, the way it hugs her curves and accentuates her form far better than the shorts from yesterday, that it takes my mind a second to meander the rest of the way through my thoughts.

Yes, she’s here—but why?

It’s not divine intervention or insane luck.

It hits me as she clears the panic from her face and steps into the room. Knockout is the New York yuppie. She’s the fucking consultant hired by the team that we absolutely do not need. She’s the brand new obstacle in my way, stopping me from starting up what would be a perfectly good program.

“Ms. Waters,” Ki says, standing, running his hands down his suit, and extending a hand to her. “I hope your flight was okay coming in.”

Is that a blush I see crawling over her cheeks? That flight was more than okay, obviously. Her blush tugs at something in mystomach, reminding me of the way she felt last night, but I shove that down, reminding myself that no matter how good the sex was, I was unwittingly sleeping with the enemy.

Not for the first time. Maybe that’s my lifelong curse.

“It was fine, thank you.”

Ki turns so he’s standing next to her, and gestures to the table, glancing between the rest of the people in the room and her. “Everyone, this is Lovie Waters, our new consultant.” He glances at her. “To introduce you, I’ll just go right down the line. First here is Coach Harrison Clark,” Ki nods at me, but Lovie noticeably does not meet my gaze before Ki goes on. “ Senior assistant coach, Colt Donnell. A representative from HR, Ms. Maya Winthrop, and a representative from public relations, Mr. Jared Davis….”

Ki goes around the table, introducing one person after another, and I keep my eyes trained on Knockout—Willow—Lovie—even as she avoids my gaze at all costs.

When introductions are finished, Ki turns over the floor to her, and she stands at the front of the room, looking completely confident again as she launches her presentation.

“Good morning everyone,” she says, turning around and shooting us a broad smile. A ripple of jealousy goes through me at the knowledge that I suddenly have to share that smile with everyone else in this room.

Gesturing to the presentation, she goes on, “As Mr. Park said, I’m your inaugural Director of Player Development. I’m sure if you’re someone in this room who focuses on the hockey side of things, that might seem like a buzzword position to you, something to pad the roster without offering any actual results.”

I resist the urge to let my eyebrow rise. He's already piquing the interest of Colt beside me, who was telling me before the meeting that he just wanted to get this administrative crap over with so we could get back to season prep.

And now that she’s identified and pointed out those sentiments, all my coaches are leaning in a bit. I sit back in my chair, appraise her again as she changes the slide, she knows what she’s doing. At least, when it comes to selling herself professionally.

“I’m not just here to take a spot at the table,” Lovie assures, and when she turns, she catches my eyes for the first time since walking into the room. Her gaze flicks away quickly, and I instantly feel a loss. “My modernization approach is all about quantifying and optimizing—put our performance into numbers, and look for every single marginal gain we can scrape for. As someone wise once said,” she flips to the final slide of her presentation, which shows a movie still, “the inches we need are all around us. Maybe that’s the wrong sport, but hopefully, the sentiment still rings true. No matter what your position is in this organization, I want to help you perform the best you can. This is my contact information. I encourage you to use it.”

“Thank you, Lovie,” Ki says, nodding and scooting his chair in as Lovie gathers her things and returns to the table. The room is charged, something energetic and new hanging in the air.

I am not a fan. She may have said her position isn’t just another admin role, but it sure sounds like that’s what it is.

Lovie takes diligent notes, and the rest of the meeting passes quickly, reminding me of a lot of long-ago college lectures in a room full of people, my mind somewhere far away from the discussion. As an undergrad, I was always busy thinking about hockey. Now, I’m staring at Lovie, mind working, trying to figure out what’s going on inside her head.

By the time Ki calls the meeting to a close, giving one final welcome to Ms. Waters, I’m basically vibrating out of my seat to talk to her. Maybe she’s a little high-strung, but surely she will get behind my program, right?

But Ki catches me before I can stop her, and I spin around to face him with a barely contained grimace on my face. “What’s up?”

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