Page 33 of Offside and Off-Limits
Ilovemy new job.
Satisfied I have what I need, I’m about to leave when Coach Hauser tells the players the practice is done, and they begin to peel off, skating over to the exit to hit the showers. Nate Simpson is the first to reach me, and as he steps off the ice, he pulls off his helmet to reveal his blond hair stuck to his forehead, sweat drips landing on his broad shoulders.
“Hey, Claire. Did you capture that last move I pulled?” he asks with a grin.
“Which one?” I reply because I’m quickly learning that if there’s one thing you can rely on with this player it’s his flashy moves on the ice—that and his inability to get my name right.
“The one where I flipped the puck onto my stick while skating at full speed, then slotted it between my legs, and then over my shoulder in a perfect lacrosse-style scoop before I sniped a top-shelf shot right into the net!” he says, his face shining like polished glass as he relives the move.
I’m about to respond when Cade swoops in, clamping a gloved hand on Nate’s shoulder. “That shot was risky as heck, Simpson. It could have gone all kinds of wrong.”
“But it didn’t. You know it was pure genius,” Nate replies with a smirk.
“It was pure something,” Cade replies, and he slides his grin my way that immediately sets my chest fluttering, despite how much I don’t want it to.
I need to focus on Warrior. We have a real connection. He gets me and I get him. That’s what matters.Notthis annoying and inappropriate physical attraction to the wrong kind of guy.
“Well,Iwas impressed,” I tell Nate pointedly. I hold my phone in the air. “All caught on video.”
“Awesome! Be sure to tag me when you post,” Nate says.
“I will,” I promise as he takes off, leaving me alone with Cade.
Which is not a good situation to be in.
I paste on a smile and say, “Enjoy the rest of your day,” before I turn to leave.
“Hey, Triple. When do you want to come over to film my talent?” he asks, and the way he says “talent” has something skittering down my spine.
Something I need to squash, STAT.
I turn back to him, Veronica’s warning ringing in my ears. “Enough with the nickname, okay? This thing?” I gesture between us. “It needs to be purely professional. Got it?”
He throws me one of his knee-weakening smiles. “I am being totally professional, and besides, I can’t help it that you’re a triple threat.”
This man is infuriating.
And hot. Definitely hot.
Dang it!
“How about we film your talent here at the rink? I’ve got a bunch of the team who’ve volunteered to showcase theirs, too. Clément recites poetry, Carson plays the guitar, Asher dances, as you know. I figure I could capture all of you in the space of an afternoon. Here. Together.”
Subtext: not alone with just you and your flirty ways and risky hotness.
He looks around as though searching for something. “I’d love to, but I can’t do it here, Triple.”
“Why not?”
“There’s no piano.”
The thought of this huge, burly guy scrunched over a piano with his big fingers jabbing at the keys is akin to an elephant on ice skates: totally incongruous.
“Youplay piano?”
He pulls off his gloves and waggles his fingers in front of me as though this is proof of his piano-playing prowess. Which of course it isn’t. It simply proves he’s got big fingers.
I cross my arms and shoot him a look that tells him I don’t believe for one second that he can actually play piano.
