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How does she even walk in those things?
No normal person would wear shoes like that into a
cold-ass rink where they have to climb stairs and maneuver through thousands of crazy fans. Here I am, in Alex’s jersey, jeans, and a winter jacket while these chicks are decked out like they’re about to hit the club after the game.
I’m so out of my element with a woman like her that I have no idea how to make small talk. I prefer the company of men because they don’t look at me sideways when I start rambling off the scores for the day or tweet about my favorite disasters from SportsCenter Not Top Ten.
I’m trying my best to watch the game because Alex is on point tonight, and I really don’t feel like talking, but she leans onto my armrest, drawing my attention from the ice to her.
“What’s your name, sugar?”
“Coach.” My voice is firm, and even though she seems confused, she doesn’t press me.
“I’m Candice.” She points to the girl next to her and says, “That’s Monica.”
The dark-haired beauty waves.
Then, Candice spins around to face the ladies in the row behind us, and she rambles off, moving her hand from left to right, “Peyton, Lana, Kim, Sally, and Michele, this is…Coach.”
“Coach, what an interesting name,” Peyton says.
“Sure is,” says, Lana. “How’d you get a name like that?”
“I used to play college ball before I became an agent. My last name is Coachman, and it just stuck.”
“Oh, wow! That’s so neat,” Candice says. “You were an athlete. I bet you can relate to these guys a lot more than we ever will. Sometimes, Spence comes home and complains about some hockey gibberish that I can’t even understand, and I’m like, Okay, just shut up and kiss me already, and stop talking about hockey.”
The girls around me chuckle, and the young brunette who I think is Sally says, “I know, right? I’m still trying to figure out the penalties and how this all works. As much as I love watching my man, I have no idea what’s going on most of the time.”
I want nothing more than to get away from these women. Next time, I’ll take my chances around the boob flashers one section over. If only Jamie were here to shoot the shit with me while we shoveled food in our mouths. This isn’t the same, watching the game with the wives.
By the time the third period starts, I’ve been giving the girls around me the rundown after each stoppage of play. How they can be married to professional athletes and not even attempt to learn the sport is beyond me. Candice seems like she’s trying to understand, but most of the time, she mixes up the penalties and doesn’t understand when or why the lines constantly change. One minute, she’s talking about how amazing her husband looks on the ice, and the next, she’s inviting me to Sunday brunch with the girls, as if I’m one of them. I politely decline, of course.
The Flyers are down by one point with thirty seconds left on the clock until the Penguins take a shot on goal that hits the crossbar and lands next to Alex’s skate. As a defenseman with serious offensive skills, he rushes down the ice, his speed and agility working in his favor. Kane catches up to him, and Alex passes the puck, allowing Kane to take the shot that sails between the goalie’s legs.
They score, and the entire arena erupts into chaos, everyone around us clapping and cheering. The team huddles together into what I like to call a hockey hug.
Isn’t that every girl’s fantasy to be trapped between all those men?
Hockey is a sexy sport. There’s no denying that, and watching Alex tear it up tonight is such a turn-on.
With the score tied 2-2, the period ends, and overtime begins. Alex looks amazing tonight. He’s slowly reverting to the player he was in DC. His mojo is back, and he’s stronger and faster. The team has a nice rhythm going. Scoreless after two minutes, the Flyers take possession of the puck and make it into the neutral zone before a hard check sends Spencer into the boards. Kane scrambles to get the puck back and trips over a player’s skate, resulting in a turnover that leads to the Penguins scoring the final goal.
The mood around me plummets into the toilet. Our excitement turns to disgust, and most of the people boo the visiting team. Losing a game at home sucks. I look over at the Flyers bench and spot Alex staring at me. I expect to find irritation on his face, but instead, he presses his glove to the glass, and I return his smile.
“That man likes you, sugar,” Candice says into my ear. “You’re one of us now. I’ll see you for brunch on Sunday.”
Her words terrify me, but I can’t take my eyes off Alex.
Can I make this work between us? Is it possible to be Coach, the agent, and Charlotte, Alex Parker’s girlfriend?
He gave me one week. I can give him one date.
Coach
We were supposed to have dinner at Luciano’s, an Italian restaurant in town, for our first date. Except I had to call twenty minutes before our reservation to cancel because Dante Fisher, the highest-paid basketball player in the NBA and Mickey’s gold mine of a client, had another crisis I had to deal with.
I bet a woman canceling a date is a first for Alex. But it’s not as if I have any control over my clients’ lives. I also doubt Alex even dates, which means this was a big deal for him and I left him hanging. We’re not off to a great start.
