Page 11 of Desperate Pucker
Anger flashes in her eyes. “Don’t call me that.”
“Why not? It suits you pretty well, I think. You’re the daughter of a billionaire. You think you’re entitled to this skating coach job even though you have no actual work experience. That’s textbook princess behavior,” I taunt.
A storm brews in her eyes as she glowers at me.
“You’re right about one thing though,” I say, my tone turning serious. “In the hockey world, I’m old. And that’s exactly why I don’t want to work with you. I need someone who’s experienced and knows what the hell they’re doing so that I recover properly and don’t get injured again.”
I start to walk off until I hear her voice.
“One training session,” Maddy says. “All I want is one training session with you to show you what I can do. If you don’tsee the results you want, then I’ll quit. You can find a different skating coach, and you’ll never have to see me again.”
I exhale sharply, annoyed at how much she’s pushing this, but also impressed at how tenacious she is. This rich girl doesn’t give up, I’ll give her that.
“Fine,” I say. “But I’m not waiting a month to do this with you. It needs to be sooner.”
“Next Monday at 8 a.m.,” she says without missing a beat. “Meet me at the rink.”
I walk off without saying a word, eager for that training session so I can be rid of this spoiled princess once and for all.
Chapter 5
Maddy
Iskate around the empty Bashers arena, breathing in the cool air.
The muscles in my legs loosen as my body warms up. My right ankle feels stiff, but that’s no surprise, given I broke it a few years ago and rushed my recovery.
An ugly, regretful feeling swoops through me. Every time I think about my ankle, I think about the Winter Olympics. It was one of the reasons I lost my shot at a gold medal.
Everyone thought I had it in the bag. I was favored to win. I really thought I was going to pull it off.
The muscles in my neck and shoulders tense when I think back to that day. How I was so nervous that I threw up. How all the breathing and visualization exercises that usually calmed me down before a competition didn’t work.
How I was on edge, my entire body rigid, my heart crashing through my chest like I had taken speed. How my ankle was throbbing despite the painkillers I had downed.
How I was crying on and off the whole week prior because I had found out that my boyfriend was cheating on me.
How my dad called to tell me that he was going to show up to watch me skate.
Just thinking about it now sends a wave of nausea and anxiety through me.
If I had taken more time off, if I had rested more, if I had done physical therapy for longer, if I had slept longer the night before the competition…
A million other what-if’s swirl through my brain like a tornado. But I push them all to the back of my mind. That sick-scared feeling dulls. But the ugly feeling dragging through my gut remains.
Even at my best, I wasn’t good enough.
“Hey.”
The sound of Ryker’s voice pulls me out of my thoughts. I look over and see him standing at the edge of the ice. He’s wearing his trademark grumpy expression that gives me a funny feeling in my tummy.
He’s decked out in his hockey pads and a practice jersey. The only things he’s missing are his helmet, gloves, and stick.
As I skate up to him, I try not to gawk. He is massive in his gear.
I’m used to being the tallest girl on the ice. Most of the other figure skaters I used to compete against were tiny—right around five feet tall and maybe one hundred pounds. I was a full head taller than most of them and weighed a lot more too. So many times I felt like a giant around them.
But next to Ryker, I feel so dainty and small. I hate that I like it.
