Page 48 of Axe-identally Married
I raised one eyebrow.
“You’re a good girl. You play by the rules. A guy like Cole? He’s gonna blow up every single one of them and leave you hurting.”
“Wow.” My stomach knotted, and suddenly, I’d lost my appetite. “I didn’t realize you had so little faith in me. Maybe I can handle myself.”
Head cocked, she blinked at me. “You don’t exactly have a ton of life experience.”
“Sorry I was so busy becoming a doctor I didn’t have enough time to date dozens of people.”
“I’m not judging,” she argued. “You know how fucking proud I am. Recall how embarrassed you were when I hired a skywriter at your med school graduation?”
One corner of my lips twitched without my permission as I nodded.
“Please be careful. And whatever you do, don’t sleep with him.”
I bit back a guffaw. That was not even a remote possibility. “I promise. It’s not like that. There is no attraction.”
Her eye roll could rival that of any teenage girl. “Do I need to go talk to him? Make sure he knows if he fucks with you, he will disappear?”
“Please don’t tell anyone,” I begged, my heart clenching at the possibility. “I’m protecting his reputation as much as my own.”
“I won’t. But I don’t like this, and I don’t trust him. As long as you don’t sleep together, maybe there is a chance this doesn’t blow up in your face.”
“I love it when you’re optimistic.”
“Only for you, bestie.”
Chapter Sixteen
Cole
Ilaced up my skates, shaking my head at the wild conversations that filled our little locker room. Moms and dads helped with equipment and fixed braids while the girls chattered in pitches so high they had me wincing on occasion.
Never had I envisioned myself coaching children. Mainly because it was something grown-ups did. Men and women who were mature, who had their shit together.
Who possessed patience, wisdom, and the ability to teach life lessons while also reminding the kids three hundred times to keep their sticks on the ice.
Not me. I was not coach material.
But yet, the youth hockey league had wanted me.
And I was still whittling away at my community service hours.
My court-mandated community service had taken many turns. First, I was assigned to volunteer at town hall, but even after the intensity of that experience, only part of my time qualified for my community service hours. It was ridiculous, really, since I’d worked nonstop for weeks planning the festival.
Arthur, the manager at the local rink, had texted me in September, mentioning that they were down a coach for the upcoming youth hockey season. I owed the guy for all he’d done for me throughout my years practicing here, so I told him I’d be happy to help.
I assumed they were looking for a coach for high school boys, or maybe pee wees.
But no, I was coaching the mites. Seven- and eight-year-old girls.
“Coach Hebert,” Kali Farrell whined. “Please don’t make us skate.”
“Sorry, kid.” I stood and headed to the door that led to the team bench. “We didn’t have practice last week because of Thanksgiving, so we gotta hit it hard tonight. We’re playing Lakeville this weekend.”
“They are so good,” one of the other girls complained.
“Yup,” I said, turning and gesturing for them to follow me. “We’re working hard today, ladies.”
