Page 30 of Her Coach

His eyes flickered down my body as he slowly swiveled against the doorframe. My god, he was massive, even just leaning there. His forearms were on display again in the rolled-up sleeves of his practice shirt, and I made myself look back at my screen before I did something embarrassing.

"What you wear is fine," he said.

For some reason, warmth settled in my chest. "Thanks."

"No thanks needed for the truth."

The way he said that damn near made me shiver. I kept my eyes on my screen and did not look up, which was the only dignified move available to me.

I heard him push off the doorframe. His footsteps moved down the hall. I waited until they faded before I let myself exhale.

He is supposed to be the perfect match for Mom.

I stared at my screen.

So why was that getting harder to remember?

12

COLTON

I’d left her doorway and walked back down the hall, and I’d stood there for longer than I was going to admit before I moved.

She had been gone twenty minutes by the time I made it to the ice.

I'd sat at my desk for ten of them staring at a schedule I wasn't reading. Spent the other ten changing into practice gear and reminding myself why I was here.

First practice. Twenty-three men waiting. That was what mattered right now.

I stepped out through the gate and pulsed my whistle twice.

They snapped to.

Good reflex. That I could work with.

Even though I’d met them in a hallway Friday afternoon, and saw them at the bar that night, the ice was where I would find out actually what kind of team I had

“Tighten it up,” I said as I moved along the boards. “You’re sloppy on the left side. Jett, your weight’s back again.”

Jett shifted forward immediately. “Sorry, Coach.”

“Don’t apologize. Fix it.”

I moved them through the first set of passing drills, watching form, watching footwork, watching where their eyes went when the puck wasn’t with them. That last one told you more than anything else. Players who tracked the puck exclusively were predictable. Players who tracked the whole ice were dangerous. Right now I had a team with exactly two dangerous men on it and twenty-one predictable ones, and we had six weeks before the season opened.

Doable. Not comfortable, but doable.

“Rhett,” I said, not using his nickname the way the team did, “your release is late. You’re holding it a half second longer than you need to.”

He nodded. “Yeah. I’ve been working on it.”

“Work harder.”

He grinned like I’d given him a compliment. I probably had.

I kept them moving for the first hour, running the drill cycle I’d mapped out the night before in my office while the penthouse sat quiet around me and the Strip glittered outside the floor-to-ceiling windows. I’d been in the city four days and I still wasn’t used to those windows. In New York you looked out at buildings. Here you looked out at light, just light, in every direction, the whole city going at once like it had something to prove to the dark.

I’d gotten more planning done in four days here than I had in four weeks in New York.