Olivia punched it into the register, her smile polite but strained. Professional.
"Coming right up." Her voice came out lighter than yesterday—practiced cheerfulness that didn't reach her eyes.
The rookie grinned wider. Leaned against the counter like he owned it. "You're new, right? Haven't seen you before."
"First week." She turned toward the espresso machine, clearly hoping that would end the conversation.
It didn't.
"Yeah? How you liking it so far?" He shifted his weight, angling himself so she'd have to look at him when she answered. "Must be pretty cool working around professional athletes."
Her shoulders tensed. Barely noticeable, but I caught it.
"It's fine." Short. Clipped. The universal signal for please stop talking to me.
He either didn't notice or didn't care.
"Hey, you want to grab dinner sometime? After the game maybe?"
She froze mid-motion, steam wand forgotten in her hand. Color flooded her cheeks—not the pleased kind. The panicked kind.
"I… can't." She set the wand down carefully, like her hands needed something to do. "I don't date players. It's against the rules."
Smart answer. True, even. Company policy existed exactly to prevent situations like this.
The rookie's smirk sharpened. He leaned in slightly, lowering his voice to something he probably thought was charming.
"We could keep it between us."
Heat exploded through my chest—sharp, immediate, threatening to crack through the control I'd maintained for years.
My jaw locked. Fists clenched hard enough my knuckles went white inside my pockets.
She said no.
Crystal clear. Unambiguous. The kind of no that should've ended the conversation immediately.
But he'd heard her and just… didn't care. Thought he could smile his way past it. Thought the rules didn't apply to him because he could skate fast and had a pretty face.
I stepped forward.
I hate rookies.
I stopped beside them. Close enough to crowd the space. Silent.
The rookie's grin faltered mid-sentence. "Coach Ackerman—" He straightened, some instinct finally kicking in. "I was just?—"
I looked at him. Didn't say a word. Didn't need to. Just held his gaze with the same expression that used to stop fights before they started—flat, dark, utterly devoid of warmth. The kind of look that said I see exactly what you're doing, and you need to stop.
His face went white.
"I'll just—yeah. See you later, uh—" He glanced at Olivia, then back at me, then grabbed his drink from the counter so fast he nearly knocked it over. "Practice. Gotta get ready for practice."
He left without looking back, shoving through the café doors hard enough they slammed behind him.
Silence dropped like a stone.
Two staff members near the pastry case stared at me with wide eyes, frozen mid-restocking. One barista at the far end of the counter gripped a rag like it might protect her.
