No, that wasn’t the right word.
Permission?
Permission to make what we wanted out of the situation without worrying about anything else.
There was a shift in the air between us, thankfully. A new kind of game had been started, without either of us realizing it until now.
And I couldn’t stop smiling. Because as messed up as it all sounded, I fucking loved the idea of a little playful competition for the woman that had been driving us both mad with need for years.
The challenge.
The chaos.
The shared obsession.
Frankie Blake was right in the middle of it all, loud, stubborn, sexy as hell and somehow on the receiving end of all the overdue care and devotion she had been missing her whole life.
Hope she was ready for us.
“Okay, line drills!”Travis yelled, blowing his whistle, and the tiny tots scrambled to the blue line. “Set.” He warned, and they all dropped their shoulders, getting into position. “Go!”
The kids shot off, skating to the next blue line and resetting, ready to race back to prove who was fastest. Parents lined up against the glass, watching their kids excel at practice for the first time, probably ever. Even the kids who lacked skills but had heart competed and proved they had a right to be there.
And Emmie—damn. The girl took shot after shot, and every kid on the ice cycled through drills, ending with shots on each goal at opposite ends of the ice. The goalie the old coach kept in the crease missed more than he stopped, but he was getting the hang of it.
Emmie didn’t need any guidance; she justgotit.
She got the game. She got the mechanics. She got the puck.
Every. Single. Time.
She was natural. Travis had been right, and if she worked hard, she could go big with her skills. It felt incredible to be a part of it all. Helping the girl and her teammates finally craft their skills and dive into something worth spending time on.
Never mind the fact that it felt really damn good to feel Frankie’s proud gaze from the sidelines too. That made something in my chest all gooey.
God, she looked fucking good too. Perhaps I was just imagining things, but she appeared to have put a bit more effort into her look as she came down the bleachers before practice.
Her black jeans looked painted on, and her white sweater embraced her curves like a caress I wanted to be a part of. Instead of her signature topknot of dark hair, she wore it down, letting the long locks dance around her shoulders and down the long line of her spine to the top of her ass.
An ass worth worshiping too, if I did say so myself. I wasn’t even an ass man by choice, but I’d still fall to my knees behind Frankie any day of the week because hers was that damn sexy.
“Sunshine!” Emmie screeched from goal. “Take a shot. I bet I can stop it!”
I chuckled as Trace cheered her on from next to the net, “Yeah, give it your best shot!” He called.
I grabbed a puck and started toward her, skating fast, keeping the puck moving like I would in an actual game, and she hunkered down in net, locked in. I passed it back and forth, trying to trick her and even did a quick spin, faking to the left before shooting it at the top right of the net.
As it soared toward her, it was like the whole rink quieted, watching to see if she managed to stop a full speed puck.
She started to the left, where I led her before shooting, but she quickly corrected and got her glove up into the right corner, plucking the puck out of thin air and dropping it onto the ice to show her prize.
“Boo-yah!” She cheered and broke out into a fancy little moonwalk dance as she pumped her arms up and down excitedly. “Top shelf, where Mama hides the cookies!”
“Damn.” Trav said as he came to a stop at my side. “I didn’t think she’d get it. You put a lot of smoke behind it.”
“Sure fucking did,” I said with pride. “That girl has spunk.”
“Just like her mom.” He said, skating around in front of me and nodding to the bench behind me.
