Page 87 of Playing the Pucking Game
“No, that’s different. She makes him a better person, a better player.”
“And you don’t think there’s someone out there who could do that for you?”
He falls silent, his eyes dropping to the floor and his hand lifting to the back of his neck.
“Maybe I did once upon a time, but things change. Excuse me,” he says before marching forward with his bag thrown over his shoulder. Not five seconds later, his bedroom door slams closed, leaving me standing there alone.
“Well, okay then.”
Abandoning my bags, I take off for the kitchen to grab a drink and some snacks before heading to my room for a much-needed nap.
My afternoon napends up being a little longer than I was expecting. When I eventually wake up, my room is in darkness despite the fact that the curtains are wide open.
I blink in confusion, trying to remember where the hell I am. I need to get used to that, with all the travelling I’m going to be doing in the coming months.
After checking the time, I throw the covers off and pad toward the windows and stare out at the star-filled sky.
It’s beautiful and an unusual sight in the city. I guess being this high up does have its benefits.
Minutes tick by as I lose myself in thoughts, both of the past and the future. I run treatment plans through my head and think about how the upcoming team meetings are going to go.
Jarad seems to respect me and my opinions. Mitchell is another story, though.
I get it. I’m young and female—probably the very opposite of the person he was expecting to fill the vacant trainer role. Trust me, I was as shocked as anyone when I got the call to tell me I got the job.
I have experience working with athletes and ice hockey teams, but not at the NHL level. But they saw something in me. Something I’m not going to question because I’m here. I made my dream a reality. And I’m not going to let any chauvinistic bastard question my place on the team.
We all have to start somewhere, and I’ll thank my lucky stars every single day that I get to start here.
After freshening up, I pull on a sports bra and a pair of shorts before silently slipping out of my room and heading toward Linc’s home gym.
I’ve wanted to spend some time in it since I first found it, but life has gotten in the way. But this morning, while the rest of the city sleeps, is the perfect time to test it out.
I’m not really a gym person. I prefer Pilates, or a bit of yoga if I’m feeling tired. But seeing as it’s here for the taking, I figure it would be rude not to indulge.
I start off on the treadmill. I take it slow and steady, but before long, my face is red and I’ve got sweat running between my shoulder blades.
I move to his weight bench and work on my arms a little. But as good as the burn feels, it’s not my chosen type of exercise.
So instead, I abandon the equipment and walk toward the wall. I don’t need a fancy reformer to practice. I find a rolled-up mat, get it into position, and get to work.
With my back on the floor and my feet on the wall, I lift my ass off the ground, loving the pull of my muscles as I do so.
I work through a series of exercises that I’ve honed over the years.
I’m pushing up on my hand, my knees spread on the mat, and my feet against the wall when a figure appears in the door before me.
I gasp as Linc’s eyes run the length of me, but I don’t miss the way they linger on my ass.
“The fuck are you doing?”
“Pilates,” I state as I right myself and climb to my feet, not wanting to be at a height disadvantage.
“I have all this equipment and you’re using my wall?”
“Yeah, problem?” I quip, my hands on my hips.
Without trying to hide it, he drops his eyes again, taking a leisurely stroll over my body.
