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I glanced back at Ronnie. She gave me a reassuring smile, and with that, I hurried out of the kitchen to go to the bathroom.
I slammed the door behind me and leaned against it.
There was a heat pulsing between my thighs, a need that wouldn’t be ignored. But there was nothing I could do about it here.
Even as I thought that, my hand slid down my stomach to cup the front of my chef pants and I pressed like you might on a healing wound, pressed and felt the ache centralize at my core. I rocked my hips forward, grinding against the heel of my hand. I closed my eyes and remembered Jamie’s mouth on me the night before. And his words. His dirty, whispered promises…
A knock on the door, right beside my head, startled me out of my reverie. My heart went from a trot to a gallop in my chest.
“Someone’s in here,” I called, straightening my uniform and smoothing my hands over my hair.
“Yeah, well hurry up.”
I glared at the carved mahogany door. Thacker was standing on the other side, undoubtedly wearing his trademark sneer. The thought made my face hot and thankfully distracted me from my vicious want. I looked myself over in the mirror, washing my hands and splashing my face. My cheeks were beet red and I was out of breath but otherwise, fine. Good enough to cook fifty-dollar steaks all night.
I jerked the door open, narrowing my eyes at the beautiful, horrible man who was standing on the other side with his arms crossed over his chest, tapping his toe.
He froze when he saw me, his eyes drinking in my face before they dropped down my body. I glanced down at myself, too. Did I look disheveled? Could he tell what he’d interrupted? What I’d been thinking about?
“If you’re in such a hurry, why don’t you get out of my way?” I snapped, shoving down all of those swirling, swarming feelings. When his eyes jumped back to my face, they were as cold and dispassionate as usual. He stepped aside and I brushed past him, still catching my breath. Before I pushed through the door to the kitchen, I looked back over my shoulder to see him still standing there, staring at me.
7.
Hope
Jamie was tearing across the ice, shepherding the puck and babysitting a new center who clearly hadn’t gotten his skates under him yet. He’d been missing the biscuit all night, so it was Jamie to the rescue. He slid in at the last second and shot it over the opposing goalie’s head, lighting the lamp.
I jumped up, screaming and waving my hands over my head. Behind his face mask, I saw his sky-blue eyes dart to me and the hint of a smile play on his lips before he returned his full focus to the game. The puck was headed back toward our net now, and the poor scrawny son of a bitch Branson brought in to replace Dallas “The Tank” Cash was trembling in his boots. Dallas could cover most of the net at once with his formidable bulk, but this kid was constantly darting back and forth, and he’d already let two shots in.
It was supposed to be a homecoming game, with home rink advantage. By all accounts, it should have been a barn burner. But the other team was racking up points against the Ice Hawks, and I could see the tension in Jamie’s shoulders from the stands.
The head coach, who by Jamie’s account was completely useless, was sitting behind the bench watching the game with a doughy, placid face. The new assistant coach, on the other hand, was red-faced and screaming, pointing aggressively at his players as they bumbled their way across the ice. Jamie’s shift ended and the assistant coach signaled for him to come back to the bench. He went flying over and threw himself down to catch his breath, looking thunderous.
I dropped back into my seat with a heavy sigh. Jeanine, wife to the third-liner Ice Hawks lifer and true beauty Lars Skinner, reached over, squeezing my knee and patting it reassuringly.
“Don’t let your disappointment show on your face, darling,” Jeanine said, demonstrating a bright smile when I looked over at her with despair. I rearranged my features to match hers as she shifted the little boy on her lap to give her growing bump more room. She was glowing, and looked like a different person from the drab downer who had tagged along with Lars to team functions last year just to sit, scowling, in the corner. Apparently Lola had given the married Hawks some hot tips, and Lars had applied them effectively in his and Jeanine’s bedroom. The chubby, curly-haired baby on her lap was proof of that. He grinned toothlessly at me, and my heart flip-flopped. I had no maternal instinct to speak of, personally, but I wasn’t immune to the cuteness of babies. I was a human woman, after all. Something in my DNA still wanted to propagate the species, no matter how independent and non-maternal I might be. Micah buried his face in his mom’s neck, and I turned back to watch the game.
Naturally, my eyes found Jamie again, coasting away from the bench and back into the fray. He was an intimidating presence on the ice, zipping circles around some of the other players. He’d only been on the team for three years, but he was already one of the most veteran players. The Ice Hawks were a development team, which meant that their locker room might as well have a revolving door. Players came and went, taking their talent with them to the big show and leaving Jamie and the other guys on the Hawks to piece a semblance of a team back together at the start of the next season when a fresh set of recruits was brought in.
They had a dynamite team last year and had made it to the finals before being smeared into the slush by the team from Montana. It was the Cinderella story on everyone’s lips. Several games into this season, there were no sports reporters in the stands. Just a smattering of die-hard fans and teenagers with nothing better to do on a Thursday night. And our little section of family—mostly wives and girlfriends. I’d known these women long enough to recognize them, at least. Most of the new recruits came to Casper as single men, so the WAGs rarely changed. They were the Hawks’ cheering section, mostly composed of the wives of the guys on the third and fourth lines who had little to no major league aspirations. Those players had settled into their high five-figure salary and their suburban neighborhoods and were perfectly happy to ride out the rest of their good playing years just being a solid support system in Branson’s talent funnel.
My eyes flicked back to Jamie and I felt an uncomfortable squirming in my stomach. He had a lot of talent, and he was a dynamo on skates. Another solid, dependable player, but he also showed the pizzazz and leadership skills of a major league second or third-liner, at least. I didn’t know why he was so content to stay where he was, but I was also glad that I didn’t have to worry too much about him getting transferred and our lives being uprooted. Like the wives, I was dug in here. It was my hometown, where my parents lived, and I loved working at the steakhouse even when Thacker was driving me crazy. He didn’t offer benefits but he paid me well, and like the lifers on the team, I was perfectly content to put my life on cruise control and keep it simple instead of always reaching for new heights. My brother was the opposite. It was like Reid was on fire from the inside, constantly burning with ambition, the need to prove that he was the best. That was why he was now in Denver with my best friend and I was still here in Casper with no plans to go anywhere anytime soon.
The small crowd around me screamed, drawing my attention back to the ice to see that our guys had landed another goal and pulled even with the opposing team. With Jamie’s number displayed proudly on my back, I jumped to my feet and screamed for my man as he stole the puck from the other team’s center and brought it back around toward their net.
8.
Jamie
Despite the momentum we built in the third period, we just missed the win. Our weak-ass new goalie, who I only knew as “Boomer,” let in a shot as the clock was counting down to zero. The mood in the locker room after the game was tense.
The head coach, Tom Rata, gave a tired, uninspired speech about teamwork and dedication. Scanning the faces of the men around me, I could tell that he wasn’t getting through to anyone.
The new center, Kane something, was scowling, looking like he was on the verge of an outburst. The new goalie, whose name I hadn’t even bothered to learn, didn’t seem to know where he was as he stared blankly into space. He was clearly a few cards short of a full set. The head coach trailed off and then ambled into his office, leaving his team looking every bit as disgruntled and discouraged as they had before his snooze-fest of a speech.
The new assistant coach, Rowan Wilder, watched his boss go and then jumped to his feet the second the office door swung shut.
“All right, boys,” he said brusquely. He commanded immediate control of the room. All eyes were on him, mine included. He looked like a movie star, tall with broad shoulders and a narrow waist, a swoop of thick chestnut hair, and bright hazel eyes. They touched on me for a second as he gave me the shadow of a smile. I liked him. He knew how to lay down the law but he also knew how to let the little shit go and focus on what mattered. “I’m sure y’all can see that we’re not playing so great.” He spoke with a thick Southern twang. “That’s to be expected with a development team early in the season. They don’t call it development for nothing, right?” Heads around me nodded. I watched the ripple effect as Rowan’s words spread through the locker room. The players sat up straighter. They squared their shoulders and raised their chins. It was the exact opposite effect of the one that Rata had on them. Too bad the head coach was old friends with Branson. Rowan was clearly a much better leader.
