Page 57 of Uncoachable

“Coach Talvi,” Cash says, looking solemn. “She’s hot, she’s funny, she’s terrifying. But her friend—” he gestures toward Scottie and groans. “Someone kill me. She just told me my career earnings wouldn’t cover her shoe budget.”

Kovács slides in, raising his brows. “What just happened? You both look like you just saw a ghost or a goddess. Possibly both.”

Brick knocks a glass over. Leo laughs too loud at something that isn’t funny. It’s chaos around me but I barely notice any of it. My eyes keep finding her in the crowd.

I hate it.

I love it.

It is twisted, electric, and entirely unavoidable.

Something tells me this isn’t going to be simple. Not even close.

***

The bar fades behind me as I eventually step outside.

The night air hits like a punch. The neon signs and the chaos are behind a pane of glass now, muffled and distant. I lean against a car, letting my hands fall to my sides, trying to shake the heat from my chest that has nothing to do with the whiskey.

I shouldn’t feel this way.

She’s my boss’s daughter. She’s the assistant coach. She’s Iveline. Smart, lethal, and disciplined. She is controlled.

And yet tonight, she was none of those things.

Tonight, she was alive. She was dangerous. Not in the way of the ice, but in the way she makes you question your own self-control.

I want to be angry. I want to tell myself to step back, that this is unprofessional, and that her warmth shouldn’t mean anything to me.

But I can’t.

Frustration builds like a knot in my throat.

I hate that she has this effect on me. I hate that the rest of the team’s antics don’t even register past her presence. I hate the way my body betrays me.

And most of all, I hate that I keep thinking about her.

I shove my hands into my pockets and pace a few steps.

God, I hate that I want her.

I think about William St. James. If he knew I spent the last twenty minutes trying to memorize the texture of his daughter’s skin, he’d have my contract shredded before sunrise.

But it’s not just the job. It’s the team. If the guys see me as “Coach’s boyfriend,” I lose the room. The authority I’ve spent four years building will evaporate in a heartbeat.

Is she worth it? the voice in my head asks.

I think of the way she looked in that red dress. I think of the way she told me I was distracting. I think of the “thank you” she whispered on the plane.

Yeah, I think. She’s worth the whole damn team.

A part of me revels in it; the risk, the tension, the uncertainty. It’s the same part of me that reads a rink like an open book and anticipates every play. But this is uncharted territory.

I’ve never liked being out of control, but with her, I don’t seem to have a choice.

I take a deep breath, let the cold air fill my lungs, and try to calm the storm inside my chest.

* * *