Page 22 of Not My Coach

When the Nighthawks club reached out to me with interest in coaching, I will admit, I was a bit surprised. I had coached before, but never at this level. They seemed to have faith in my abilities to lead their players, and I’m glad that I took the job. When I relocated here, my ex-wife stayed behind. At that point, we were already separated, just not legally. I still wore my ring for a while, but that felt like more of an obligation to my promises than to her. She had already broken every single one she’d made to me. My words mean something when I say them. But at some point, wearing the ring felt like more of a betrayal to myself than to the vows I made.

Moving here was kind of my fresh start. A new city with new views, new cultures, and new everything. I felt like I was starting over in a completely different life—a better one. There’s no place I would rather be than heading this team.

As we move into the second period of the game, the momentum does a complete one-eighty. Gone is the domination from the Thunder. We are running the game now.

The score is four to one as the period comes to a close, and we’re winning.

This intermission break is vastly different from the first. The guys continue to hype each other up in the locker room and discuss minute changes they can make to stretch that winning lead out even further.

I’m proud of them. This is exactly what I wanted to see happen tonight.

The third period starts off a bit slower, but by all means, we continue to maintain control of the puck eighty percent of the time.

Kostelecky is passing it to Costello as they drive down the ice into our offensive zone, right in front of our bench. A Thunder player skates up to Costello, tripping him, causing him to fly across the ice and land hard.

No whistle is blown while Costello fights to his feet and skates over to the bench, and our medical team immediately helps him the second they can.

I explode, my anger hotter than I can handle, and this time, it needs to be released.

“Ref! Are you fucking serious?! You are two feet in front of them. Open your fucking eyes before I do it for you!” I shout as loud as I can at him.

That’s pathetic and inexcusable. It’s the ref’s job to call that shit, and there is no way he didn’t see it, being so close. His eyes were practically glued to it. He just chose not to call it. Which means that the player who tripped ours now has a target on his back, one made even bigger by the lack of repercussions from the officials.

My heart is pounding in my ears, and I think steam might be billowing out of them. Forcing my gaze away from the ice, I need to focus on something else, anything else to get myself under control.

Turning around, I rub my hand down my face, closing my eyes for a brief second.

My stomach falls to the fucking floor as I open them. This can’t be real. I have to be dreaming. Can you be so worked up that you hallucinate? Because I don’t know what would be worse—seeing the girl that I have been dying to get my hands on again since that night even thought it was only a one-time thing or her not really being there at all.

I blink a few times, but the image in front of me remains the same. Evie is less than ten feet away, her stark blue eyes locked dead with mine. Her lips part, and I see her gasp in a breath of air, eyes widening with shock.

Clearly, she is just as surprised as I am.

She is wearing a Nighthawks jersey, and part of me wants to rip it off of her unless it has my name on the back. But since I know they don’t sell those in the shop, that chance is zero.

Maybe she knew who I was all along. Maybe this was just a ploy to sleep with the head coach. But then again, I was the one who instigated our interaction. She was there with a different guy altogether.

Her lips are painted red, and an image of those plump lips wrapped around my cock flashes in my mind. My dick twitches at the memory.

Her lips purse together, like she’s fighting back a big smile, and I want her to let it go free. I want to see the way I make her beam.

She grabs air at the base of her neck and wiggles it like she’s tightening a tie.

Oh fuck.

I wore my new favorite tie today, the same one that was wrapped around her throat just a couple of nights ago.

My brain is scrambled. I can’t think straight.

Assistant Coach Monroe bumps my shoulder, and I force myself to turn around and face the game. It does nothing to help me refocus. I might as well still be staring at Evie because that’s where my mind is.

God, I know that she is absolutely stunning, but seeing her dressed down in casual wear does something else to me altogether. Her beauty is incomparable to every person in this arena and the entire goddamn world. If you look close enough, I think she might actually radiate a soft glow. She’s fucking intoxicating, and I want to get drunk off of her body.

Our top line skates off the ice, changing out with the next one, huffing and puffing. At least these guys are thinking properly and continuing to dominate the ice. Because I’m fucking helpless right now.

Brett waves at someone in the crowd, and my heart drops at the thought he could be waving at my girl.

Following his line of sight, I see a cute older couple sitting next to Evie, who wave at him endearingly. The second my head turns, Evie’s attention shifts straight from Brett to me.

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