Page 27 of Mac Meyers Needs Me

I’m still focused on the fact that she’s been creeping on my social media posts, so it takes a moment for me to dial in. “How do you mean?”

“How much have you gained this season?” Her gaze roams over me on a slow sweep. “Like fifteen pounds? Twenty? All pure muscle?”

“About that, yeah.”

She nods in contemplation. “So maybe it’s thrown your center of gravity off. Like Callie had a wicked growth spurt this year and it threw stuff off for her. Maybe it’s the same for you, and it’s changed the way you’re moving on the ice? I’m no coach, but I’ve spent an exceptional amount of time in arenas watching other people play and coach. Maybe I can be helpful?”

Fee might not play hockey, but she’s grown up surrounded by players. Still… “I don’t want to take advantage.”

“I’m the one who stalked you into the rink, Mac. I’m offering, so there’s no taking advantage here,” she assures me.

“Okay. It’s worth a shot.” And I get to spend time with her, it’s a double win.

Fee’s whole face lights up. “Great!”

“I love that smile.”

She pushes on my shoulder. “Oh my God, stop.”

I put my hand over my heart. “Seriously, Fee. I vow to make you smile like that as often as possible.”

“More hockey, less flirting.” She points to the cones I set up, but she’s still smiling. “Show me the moves that make all the girls wild for you.”

“Your wish, my command.” I bow as I skate backwards to the pile of pucks.

She shakes her head and rolls her eyes, but that smile remains.

I hook a puck with my blade and move into position, passing it back and forth as I skate around the cones, then break into a sprint before I pivot and slap the puck. It ricochets off the bar, just an inch shy of going in.

“Okay. Stay there!” Fee calls out.

“What? No heckling?”

“You’re already up in your head enough as it is.” She skids her way to the pile of pucks, gathers a handful and slides over to me, dropping them at my feet. “We’re going to work on your form and your shot before you skate the cones again.”

I smirk. “You’re the boss, Coach.”

She pokes my cheek. “Put your dimple away.”

I gaze down at her, loving the easy banter. “What’s wrong with my dimple?”

“It’s distracting.” She eyes my cheek with irritation.

“Why? And why do you look mad about it?” I press.

“Focus, Mac.” She snaps her fingers and points to the pucks in front of me.

“I am focused. You’re not going to answer the question?”

“It’s not relevant right now.”

“Yeah, but I’m curious. Why is my dimple so offensive?”

“It’s my kryptonite, okay? Now put it away so I can focus.”

I bring my hand in front of my face and adopt a neutral expression as I lower it. “Better?”

“Immensely.” She fights a smile and motions to the pucks. “So shots on net are all about the angles, right?”