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The woman suddenly turns around to get back toward the bench. Her eyes snap to me, and everything in me freezes on impact.
It’s the first time I’ve been speechless since arriving. A plethora of choice words have left my mouth since then. It actually started even before I arrived when I couldn’t find the address to this shithole, and the name of the street was wrong.
Fuck, if this woman isn’t smarter than a box of rocks, I’m leaving.
How the hell can I be an assistant coach to someone who can’t even give out a correct address?
“Hi,” she beams in a giant smile that shouldn’t be meant for me. I’ve only been judging the hell out of her and everything since arriving but...fuck me.
She’s absolutely adorable.
Adorable. When the hell—
“Are you pickin’ up one of the kids?” she asks me before one of her feet gives out underneath the slippery surface, and she almost crashes to her face like the kids before her.
The fucked-up part is that I didn’t even reach out to save her. I’m not used to seeing women on the ice. Not because they can’t skate but because there are zero associated with my team, except for the doctor.
And we all try to stay away from her because she’s a raging and recent divorcee who hates all men right now and isn’t afraid to let us know that we’re all pieces of shit.
The woman catches herself right before her knees fully give out on her, clutching onto the white banister wall for stability.
“Whoa.” She laughs and glances back up at me with blazing blue eyes that almost knock me on my ass. “That was a close one.”
Long eyelashes that feather toward her brows, light pink cheeks, and lips made to bring men to their knees make me forget who and where I am.
She’s cut out meticulously. Everything about her is flawless and worthy of eye-fucking for as long as you can without getting caught. A white tee hides a good look at anything else, but her blue jeans are tight enough to make up for it.
“Which one is yours?”
Huh?
Oh shit, kids.
“None,” I deadpan, shoving my hands into my pockets and inhaling deeply. She might be hot, but this isn’t the time to flirt. I just want to know what I’m dealing with so I can either see if it’s a situation I can work with or something I’m calling Dylan about to bitch.
“Oh.” Her smile fades a bit. “Can I help you with something, then?”
“You the coach?”
She presses her lips together and, please God, don’t tell me she’s already confused. “Sort of,” she replies. “But we’re going to use that term loosely.”
I don’t know what that means.
Yet, she gave me the wrong address to get here, so why should I entirely be surprised? I may have offered up too many compliments in my head about how she looks because if she’s a complete flake, that’s where they’re about to stop.
“You knew I was coming?”
Her brows clash together in immediate confusion. “What?”
My fingers begin to curl into a ball because I know Dylan set this up. I argued for something else, he told me it was already done, and here I am. I’m forty-five minutes late, but that’s got nothing to do with me.
“I’m the new assistant coach,” I force out as calmly as I can. “I’m here for—”
“Oh, wow,” she quips, rounding the corner of the wall so that she can get on solid ground.
Somehow, with her off the ice, I notice that the top of her head barely hits the edge of my shoulder. She’s short but curvy. Something easy to pick up and shove into a wall while—no.
“I’m Hollyn.” A small hand is shoved in front of me, and she smiles again like I’m the best thing she’s seen all day. Same. “It’s really nice to meet you.”
