Page 2 of Not My Coach

Unlocking my office, I step into the black, gray, and white room with simplistic decor. A large metal cutout of the Nighthawks logo hangs, centered on the light-gray wall behind my spotless, oversize black desk.

Grabbing my Nighthawks backpack, I throw my laptop, notebook, and hockey clipboard inside before zipping it shut. I’m going to get some prep work done for tomorrow’s meeting after dinner tonight. There’s no other way I’d rather celebrate than focus on the one thing that’s always been loyal to me—hockey. Grabbing my car keys, I lock my office up and head to the parking garage.

I make the quick drive to Donnatello’s and find a seat at the bar, opting to leave my laptop in my car.

Lifting my fingers up off of the marble countertop, I wave the bartender over and order a whiskey on the rocks.

“How’s your day going?” he asks me as he pours my drink.

“Good. Yours?” I ask him as he slides the drink across the counter, and I hand him my card.

“Not too bad,” he responds and types into the computer a few times before handing my card back to me. “Are we keeping that tab open for right now?”

“Yeah, please. And can I get a menu?” I ask him as if I’m not going to get the same thing I always do when I come here—the chicken Alfredo.

“You got it, boss,” he says before walking away, returning a moment later with a menu in hand. “There you go. I’ll be back.”

“Thanks,” I respond and swirl the delicious golden liquor in my glass.

My glass is emptied and refilled twice more before I pick up the menu and mull over the choices. After a minute of looking it over, I can’t seem to find anything that intrigues me more than my usual order.

“Goddamn,” I hear the bartender mumble under his breath, and I look up from the menu and find him staring at something behind my right side.

Curiosity gets the best of me, and I turn, hoping to see what caught his eye. I expect to find an attractive woman or man based on his response. But what I don’t expect is to come eye to eye with the sexiest and most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.

Her bright blue-eyed stare is mesmerizing, and I can’t seem to pull my gaze away. She smirks at me, and I swear to God, my dick twitches. Her body is being caressed by a tight black dress that runs over every curve of her body, down to the middle of her calves. The dress’s tiny straps seem to be fighting for their life to hold her plump breasts up. Her hair is long and dark, cascading down her bare shoulders.

I’ve never been so instantly aroused by a woman I’ve never met. But I’ve also never allowed my eyes to wander for the past ten years—even if my ex-wife had no issue with doing it herself.

She is sitting at the table catercorner behind me to the right. She chooses the seat facing me, and I wonder if it was intentional or a coincidence that I am looking into too far.

Forcing my attention away from her, I look down at my glass and continue to swirl it around. Every fiber of my being wants to turn around and look at her again, but I keep myself under control and stay facing forward.

When I close my eyes, those stunning blue orbs glow in my mind. God, she is breathtakingly gorgeous.

The bartender walks over to me and mumbles, “Decide what to order?”

Looking up from my glass, I find him staring at the girl over my shoulder. I can’t blame him. If it wasn’t so obvious for me to do it, I would look at her incessantly. Someone that beautiful needs to be seen, to be gazed upon like the art that they are.

His eyes flash to mine, and I chuckle at his sudden embarrassment. I’m a second away from ordering the same thing I always do when a surge of spontaneity strikes me. “You know what? Surprise me.”

He says, “All right,” and takes the menu back and walks over to the computer, continuing to sneak glances behind me while typing.

A guy clears his throat behind me, and I eavesdrop immediately. “I’m so sorry I’m late. Wow, you are, like, so hot.”

Dropping my head to the side, I peek at the guy giving the world’s worst compliment to the most stunning human.

He’s wearing jeans with holes and a shirt.

Wow, good job getting dressed up for your date.

She clearly put more than five seconds of thought into her outfit and spent at least an hour getting ready, if not more. The most he could do was throw on a wrinkled shirt and a pair of jeans.

On top of that, he showed up late and empty-handed. Maybe I’m more old-fashioned than most, but he could have at least shown up on time, perhaps with some flowers too.

The second I hear her sultry, sweet voice, goose bumps run down my arms. “Thank you, and don’t worry about it. I just sat down.”

Yeah, and pulled out your own chair. Yet another fault on his part.

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