Page 18 of Not My Coach

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“I think that sounds great. It will give lines three and four a refresh, and I’m eager to see their success in the next game,” I say, shutting my laptop. “We’d better get out there before they start fucking around”—I laugh—“or at least more than normal.”

My assistant coaches laugh at the truth in my statement.

We gather our shit and make our way to the rink. This morning, we have a short practice, as the guys will be doing weights and light conditioning this afternoon. We are going to run the new lines and let them get a feel of working with the new groups before we implement them in tomorrow’s game. Our top line is the only one not changing, consisting of Alec Kostelecky, Cam Costello, Brett Burns, Reed Larinski, and Jensen Donnelley.

All the players are already on the ice, warmed up and waiting for instruction. As we enter the team bench, they drift toward us, giving their full attention.

“Good morning,” I greet them warmly, feeling an uncontrolled smile stretch across my lips.

Jensen chuckles and mumbles something under his breath at Cam, who bites the inside of his cheek, stifling a laugh.

“JD, share with the rest of us, please,” I bark out.

His face reflects fear for a fraction of his second before he smirks and busts out laughing, Cam following along with him. God, working with them sometimes feels like professional babysitting.

Jensen rests his hands on the top of his stick in front of him. “I was telling Cam that it’s about time…”

“About time for what?” Cam asks mockingly.

Jensen laughs. “About damn time that you got some ass and lightened up.”

My face falls into a scowl, but even I can’t stop the smirk from breaking across my lips.

The team bursts out in laughter and cheers, high-fiving each other.

Even my assistants laughs behind me, and I know I need to get this team under control before this practice completely goes to waste.

“Way to go, Coach.” Brett whistles, and I chuckle before clearing my throat.

“All right, that’s enough. If you want to win tomorrow, you guys need to focus a lot more on the puck and a lot less about me.” Placing the whistle between my teeth, I say, “Lines one and two on the ice. Three and four start off, and Coach Miller will be rearranging your lines to try something new. We have the exact same record so far as the Boston Thunder, who we’re facing tomorrow. We need to be at our best when that puck drops.”

I blow the whistle. Coach Miller starts talking to our third and fourth lines, and my other assistant coach skates out onto the ice with the puck in hand, skating toward center ice.

As the puck slaps the ice, I get a flashback of my hand slapping Evie’s juicy ass, and my cock throbs in my pants.

Fuck.

How can I ask the team to focus when I can’t even get my sweetheart out of my mind?

“I’m not joking, Gracie!” I scoff and laugh. “Literally the best sex of my life!”

She chuckles. “He spanked, choked, and opened every door for you?”

Some people might judge that Gracie and I spare no details in any aspect of our life to each other. But I feel bad for them. Because that means they don’t have a best friend like I do. We are basically sisters.

We first met our freshman year in college. We were paired up for a research project in our biology class, and we quickly became aware of how well we fit together. Like two fucked-up peas in a pod—a perfect pair.

We were both early education majors, and our class schedule practically mirrored one another throughout all four years. During that duration, we became inseparable, and that hasn’t changed since we graduated last fall, a semester early.

Talking into the phone, I hum, “Yes, every single door.”

“You got that man’s number, right?” her voice squeaks, the words fumbling out of her mouth. “Evie, I swear to God, if your answer is anything but, Of course I got the number of the man of every girl’s dream, I am going to strangle you when I get home.”

Gracie and I have shared a house together since our senior year. We rent a three-bedroom and two-bath home. Moving out of our old apartment was such a relief. I hate living near that many people and having to hear every argument on the other side of paper-thin walls. Plus, now, we have a backyard. Which will really come in handy soon because we want to get a dog or two—haven’t decided really.

“Your silence is killing me, Eves,” she groans in disappointment. “I’m so sorry.”

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