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I’d read the roster as soon as I came in. Pre-season practice is supposed to start at ten. It’s seven-thirty. Nobody should be here to witness my self-guided tour of the stadium.
And nobody should be here to swing their undercarriages in my face.
“It’s funny,” Mr. Fully-Dressed says, running his thumb along his darkly bearded jaw. “Because turning the team around is my job.”
“And who are you?” I ask him, ignoring the pain in my cheek. My eyes hurt, too, especially when I try to narrow them.
The naked player sniggers. I’d forgotten just how sculpted hockey players were. I look at the man in front of me, wondering if beneath his sweats and black t-shirt he has the same kind of physique.
And then I look away because hello! Who cares? Not me.
Not one bit. Nope, not even when I can see every ridge of his chest through the fabric of his t-shirt.
“Eli Salinger,” Fully-dressed says. “Head coach.”
“Great.” I force a smile. “I’d like to talk to you later. Say four o’clock in my office?”
“Where is your office, exactly?” he murmurs.
“In the administration block.” Or at least I think that’s where it is. I only dropped my things off before I came down here to explore the stadium. “If you come up at four I’ll be there to meet you.”
“I’m not available at four.”
So it’s going to be like this. I expected resistance. It happens with every project. But usually I’m more resilient. Kinder, maybe.
This time I’m feeling annoyed. And it’s not this guy’s fault. He didn’t ask for me to come here the same way I don’t want to be here. But we’re going to have to work together, anyway.
“Three?” I suggest.
“Six,” he counters, like we’re bidding in an auction. “I’ll be back at the rink by then.”
I’m going to be dead on my feet by six. But I don’t want to finish my first day without speaking to everybody on the staff. And if he’s doing a power play here, I’m going to win.
“That’s fine.” I nod.
“Okay then. And can I ask a favor of you?” he says, his voice laid back and easy now that he’s taken control. He has that same casual confidence my brothers have. Maybe all hockey players have it. Wherever it comes from, it makes me bristle.
“Go ahead.”
“Don’t come into the locker room without knocking. No matter what time it is. It’s bad for the team.”
I swallow hard because he’s got me there. “I won’t.”
He winks and I feel the effects somewhere near the base of my stomach.
Okay, lower down than that.
Deciding now might be a good time to leave, I give him a nod then force my eyes over to the two team members I’ve kind of bonded with in the most ghoulish way. They wave at me as I leave. Or at least attempt to leave. The stupid door won’t move at all now.
I think it hates me.
I go to tug at it again but then I feel the warmth of a body behind me. Eli reaches around my waist, his arm brushing mine and I feel the steel of his bicep as he curls his fingers around mine on the handle.
“It’s a little temperamental,” he says softly, his breath warm against my ear. Then he pulls and it opens with ease. He’s steps to the side, and I have to remind myself to move.
“Thank you,” I tell him.
“No problem.” There’s a smile in his voice. I don’t look back as I walk through. I’m halfway up the corridor when I hear sudden laughter followed by a sharp reprimand.
