Page 64 of Wallflower
I know them all by name, I’ve looked at their stats, and I’ve studied their form. All good players, but I’ve got no idea if they’re good guys.
I grunt, which earns me a sharp look, so I smooth my features. “Fine.”
“I was just coming in to let Chord know that the physiotherapists are all set up in the pool house,” Violet adds, “and the restaurant is on track to deliver the special menu for lunch, so we’re good to start as soon as everyone arrives.”
Coach claps his hands, then rubs his palms together. “Fantastic. Thanks, Violet.” He looks at me but tips his head Violet’s way. “This woman is worth her weight in gold, you know.She’s done all the work to get everything set up for today. Made my life a hell of a lot easier.”
Violet drops her eyes, uncomfortable with the attention and the praise, and I fight the urge to lift her chin and remind her to keep her eyes up. But she must feel the press of my gaze because she raises her head and subtly rolls back her shoulders.
“You’re welcome, Coach,” she says.
He replies with a firm nod. “Now, I wouldn’t mind a quick look around the place before the team arrives. Chord?”
It takes effort to tear my eyes away from Violet, but I manage it—just. “Let’s do it.”
I transfer our empty coffee cups to the sink, round the counter, and slide open the back door. At my gesture, Coach walks through, but I pause before following him so I can get a moment alone with Violet.
Thanks to the pictures all over social media, our involvement is hardly a secret. It’s not defined either, I remind myself with a hint of regret as I recall our conversation on the front porch, but it’s not something we need to hide. That said, today is a workday for both of us, and I don’t want to do anything that might put Violet’s professional reputation at risk.
“I won’t see you much today,” I tell her, skimming my fingertips down her arm and then loosely twining my fingers in hers.
She bites her lip to stop a smile. “But I’ll see plenty of you.”
“Oh, yeah?”
“Mm-hm. Coach has asked me to hang around in case anyone needs anything.”
I frown. “That’s not your job, and you don’t have to do that. I’ll talk to him.”
She chuckles lightly. “It’s hardly work to spend the day watching a team of professional ice hockey players get all hot and sweaty. I’ll just… hover. Nobody will even know I’m there.”
“Hm.”
I like the sparkle of mischief in her chestnut eyes. There’s a lightness in her expression that wasn’t there before, and I assume it’s because her dad is on the property, eliminating the worry she’s kept to herself all these weeks. Of course, there’s an equal chance that Violet’s relaxed mood is the direct result of my magic fingers. I cast a quick look outside to check on Coach—he’s already halfway to the pool house—then give Violet a quick pinch on the ass.
“You better be looking at one of those hockey players and one only,” I warn, and her grin grows wider.
It’s a joke—mostly—but after the conversation I just had with Coach, it makes me think about my ex, Emma, and how it felt to have my girlfriend cheat on me.
We’d been dating for a year when I found out about her and Cook. It was a blow to my ego, but I wasn’t surprised. We might have had feelings for each other early on, but over time, our relationship became one of convenience, not depth. Emma was a social climber: in it for the money, the cars, the travel, the notoriety of dating the NHL’s most controversial player. I was done with sleeping around and too focused on hockey to care that Emma was like most other women I’d dated in the past.
Sticking with one woman was supposed to be less of a distraction than hooking up with many, and it was probably true, but it didn’t equal love. When Emma finally admitted to having an affair, she was already halfway out the door.
Anyone would think I have trust issues after everything I’ve been through but with Violet in my arms, looking at me the way she is, I’m stunned by one revelation: I’ve never trusted anyone the way I trust her.
Emma might have caused me a shitload of trouble but thank God she didn’t have the power to break my heart. I must have known even then to never let her close enough to try.
My last session for the day is cool down in the gym, and when I’m finished with the stretches prescribed by the physiotherapist, I find a foam roller and set myself up on a mat near the door. Beside me, left winger Hayden is on his back, wincing and sweating on his own roller as he pushes through a series of lat releases.
The energy between me and the guys today has been dry—not hostile, but not what anyone would call friendly—and Coach has given me enough side eye to start a fucking fire. But I’ve spent almost a year actively shutting people out, and I wasn’t exactly approachable for a long time before that. One day of team building and training isn’t going to make these boys family. But Iamthinking about what Campbell said. I need to put the anger and the resentment where it’ll do the most good, and that’s on the ice. It doesn’t belong inside the team I’m supposed to lead to the Cup.
There’s just one big fucking problem. I’ve earned my reputation as a cold, distant asshole, and it’s not the kind of status I can erase in one afternoon.
I lower myself to the floor, arrange the foam roller under my pelvis, brace myself on my elbows, and rock in a thrusting motion that loosens my hip flexors. It hurts in a good way, and I lose myself in the steady rhythm of rolling back and forth.
“Oh, my.”
I suppress a smirk at Violet’s version of a curse, lifting my head just enough to take in her boots before running my eyes up her bare legs, over her denim cut-offs, and across her vintage Metallica tee. I know I’m supposed to be on my best behavior today, but I can’t fight my shit-eating grin when I see her wideeyes pasted to my rocking ass. I slow the movement down a little, pressing harder into the foam and clenching my glutes, and watch with amusement as her eyes follow the thrust of my hips, her pink tongue darting out to swipe her bottom lip.
