Page 9 of Love of the Game
If I wanted a good tumble in the sheets, I could find that at the bar. What I really wanted with Drake was to see him smile. On the ice. Preferably after scoring a goal or three.
Yeah, and I wanted that smile in my bed, too.
Team first. Drake’s future first. My libido could wait.
Drake didn’t look any happier when Mac blew the whistle to end practice and gathered us all in.
“Tonight’s going to be a fun one, boys. The Gators are tough and hungry and they need the points as much as we do. I expect you all to show up, work hard, and have fun.” He gave the ice a tap with his stick. “Behere by five.”
After Mac left, we all stretched out at center ice. Some left after that—Drake was one of those—and some of us stayed out to work on shooting. My one-timers had been missing the net more than hitting, so I worked with Lou for a while to recalibrate myself.
By the time I got into the locker room, the grumpy dragon was gone. By the time I got showered and dressed, I’d received word to talk to Mac before heading home. I went to his office, pausing to rap on the open door. “You wanted to see me?”
He pointed at the chair in front of his desk, and my heart did the flip it always did. Sitting down with your coach or your GM—that could be good or it could be bad or nothing at all, and I’d been through all the iterations.
I gestured to the door. “Open or…”
Mac glanced at the door. “You can leave it open.”
Well, that meant it wasn’t going to be too horrible a talk. I lowered myself into the guest chair. “I’m all yours.”
He smiled and grunted. “I doubt that.”
Heat touched my cheeks and I clamped my lips closed to stop from stuttering out a bunch of nonsense.
Mac snorted and shook his head. “You deserved that.”
“Okay, yes. Probably.” I took a breath. “But you’re our coach and married and…” I bit off my words with a littleeepas he raised an eyebrow at me.
“Straight?”
I shrugged. And kept my mouth shut. I was too busy swallowing my pride. And my Pride.
After letting me shift in my seat, he shook his head again. “I called you in here to talk about Drake Williams.”
I cleared my throat. “Okay. Yeah. Drake. What about him?”
“You actually think you can work some kind of miracle with that kid? He absolutely does not want to be here.”
“I know,” I said. “And yes.” I didn’t know Drake, but there’d been something in those blue eyes that had drawn me in last night. And a joy buried underneath all that anger and sadness and frustration. “But it’s probably not going to go well tonight, I don’t think.”
“No shit.” Mac leaned back in his chair. “And I’m going to handle it like I always do.”
Which meant limited ice time. You had to earn it in this club. Come to think of it, that was true for the Lions, too, which explained Drake’s demotion. “Good,” I said.
Mac watched me. “You like him.”
Yeah, I kind of did. “I want to make him smile,” I muttered. “That’s all.”
“Oh my God, Jonny.” Mac picked a pen up off his desk, then tossed it back down.
“What wrong with that? He looks so unhappy.” Unhappy players played shitty hockey. Everyone knew that.
Mac studied me, entirely like I suppose a father might—but not my father. My papa would smile, wave, and tell me to get to it. Mostly because Papa never wanted me the kind of unhappy I thought might be eating at Drake. Mac, though—I suspect he thought I just wanted in Drake’s pants or something.
Which I did. But not yet. I gave Mac my best puppy-dog eyes. “Trust me?”
He snorted. “You’re wearing the C, Jonny. I trust you. But don’t make me regret that, yeah?”
