Page 15 of Power Play
"Thank you," I whisper. Ben has never had anything but my best interests at heart. I know he's hoping for a happy reunion. And maybe one day we can have that, but I'm truly grateful for the patience he's shown me.
He's a good man.
"Goodnight, Lacey."
Chapter nine
Scott
We're in Vancouver and just won our first away game of this leg. We have Edmonton and Toronto after this. The "kids", as I call the players, and most of the younger staff, have gone out to find a club to celebrate in. I prefer to find a quiet pub or brewery to have a few pints, scroll social media for highlights and fan reactions to the game, before heading back to the hotel for an early night.
What? I'm old as fuck. Leave me alone.
Tonight, I'm at a brewery called Grover's Farm. It's all dark woods and metal, giving a rustic, industrial, masculine vibe. The lighting is low and intimate, and brewery bros hang out in groups, sipping and comparing the different flavor profiles of different beers.
I’m perched at a high-top bar, alone, radiating ‘fuck off’ vibes to anyone nearby, when I hear her. Lacey - my sexy as fuck new PT and coworker.
She's not shouting, but there's a strain in her voice that has me lifting my eyes. I've been far too aware of the sweet new PT than I would like to admit. I'm always aware of her when she watches the practices, where she is behind the bench during games, and my eyes can't seem to help but follow her.
Fuck. I’m way too aware of our new PT. Of course I've been attracted to coworkers before. The men and women surrounding professional athletic teams are driven, determined, and athletic. I'll ignore my crush until it fizzles. She'll do something someday to completely turn me off - give me the ick, as the ladies say.
Yeah, real fucking old.
My eyes clock her. She's at the long bar, on a bar stool, tucked in the corner, giving off the same "fuck off" vibes I have.
Her hair's in a messy bun, she's got a book open, and she's tucked against the wall with her back to the room. Except, leaning over her is a tall man. Maybe mid-twenties? And he's large. He might have been a football player in high school? His light blue polo hugs his larger midsection and love handles tightly. Yeah, he hasn't played in a few years.
But he's tall, and his chest is broad, his arms huge...and it's clear from hisand herbody language, that he doesn't realize how intimidating men are to women. Or, if he does, he doesn't care.
I'm on my feet before I'm conscious of what I'm doing.
"No, thank you. I'm fine," Lacey says, her words said clearly, and with force.
"Come on, baby, lemme buy you a drink. I know the owner," former football-bro pleads, as he sways on his feet and slurs slightly.
Oh, fuck this.
I slide up behind her, pressing her back to my front and wrap and arm around her waist. My broad shoulders effectively shove football-bro away from her. She starts and turns in surprise, but when she sees it's me the relief that floods her face hits me straight in the gut.
It was a gamble to touch her so intimately, but by her reaction I know she trusts me and is grateful for the save.
"Sorry I'm late, angel. It's impossible to get a cab in this town." On impulse, I lean down and kiss her. The idea was to stake a claim, make sure football-bro knows I'm not her brother or friend, and to get him to fuck off. But when my lips make contact with her soft mouth andher lips mold to mind, I lose my head for a moment. I forget that we're Lacey and Ward, PT and Coach, employee and boss. All I can think about is how soft her lips, how responsive they are to me, how she smells like strawberries, and how her lips taste like wine. She tilts her head up to give me better access.
I breathe harshly through my nose and pull back. I stare at her face, searching for an answer I'm not sure I have the question for. Why was that so good? Why did she let me kiss her? Why did her eyelashes flutter and a pretty pink creep into her cheeks? Why did I want to do it again and again and again? Why did it make me want to drag her to my hotel room and have my way with her? My cock swells against my zipper, and I shift my weight to adjust it.
But what I see on her face isn't an answer. It's more questions. Her lips are still parted, panting slightly, her eyes are glazy and hooded and her pupils are blown wide. Fuck, she's turned on.
This wasn’t supposed to happen. I wasn’t supposed to notice her like this. But the way she fits in my arms, the way her smile lights up the room... Fuck, this is dangerous.
I turn on dude-bro and stick out my hand. He looks down at it, frowning.
"Hey man, how're you?" I try to make polite conversation to get him to fuck right off.
He holds up both hands. "Dude, I didn't know. She wanted it. She was hitting on me."
Lacey scoffs behind me while I bristle. "She wanted it," is a phrase that should be abolished from the English language unless it's said on the heels of a yacht, or a pony, or a fucking mansion.
Instead of decking the guy, though, I decide to play into the drama a little, hoping she's quick enough on her feet to play along, and the drama will fuck this guy all the way off.
