Page 1 of Trust Me

Prologue

3 YEARS AGO

Jasmine

I can’t believe I have finally made it. I glance around my new room for the year, loving the way I can see myself reflected in it instead of my mother.

I am officially a college student and classes are starting next week. Aurora, who’s my best friend and a year older than me, happened to need a roommate. And I was more than eager to accept her offer, not at all sad about skipping out on the dorms.

My phone vibrates with an incoming call, my father’s cheerful face filling the screen. I swipe right and put the phone to my ear as I unpack more of my clothes.

“Hi, Appa, what’s up?”

“I’m at the arena and wanted to see if you could swing by for a few. I wanted to catch up with you before all the joys of your freshman year take you away from your old man.” He chuckles, the sound comforting.

I glance at the clock and see that I still have four hours before I need to get ready for the Greek row parties that are taking place tonight. “I’ll be there in a few. See you then. Love you!”

He tells me he loves me too and then the line goes dead. It doesn’t take long for me to hop in my car and drive over to the arena since our house is right off campus, close to the athletic facilities.

Rock Land University prides itself on its academic and athletic prowess, excelling in both areas at the highest levels. We’re the home of the Coyotes. Our facilities are equipped with expensive training machines and modern locker rooms, along with a separate cafeteria from the normal school population that is tailored toward athletes.

Once inside the hockey arena, I make a left toward my father’s office, a plaque titled “Head Coach” resting above the window on the door. It makes me beam with pride for my father for finally getting the position of his dreams younger than most do, after working his whole life in the hockey world.

I enter his office without knocking like always. When I lift my head up, I realize he’s in a meeting, and another man is in the room with him.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt,” I apologize.

My father waves me off. “Nonsense. I don’t think you’ve met, but this is Elio Mazzo. I’ve been coaching him since he was seven, but now, he’s in the NHL and plays for the Bears here in Denver,” he explains, then points to me. “Elio, this is my daughter, Jasmine.”

Elio stands and turns around to face me with a smile on his face. “Hi. It’s nice to finally meet the girl I’ve heard about for years,” he says, a slight Italian accent accompanying his words.

His dark green eyes are soft as he takes me in, the opposite of his sharp jaw and hollow cheeks under the darkness of his beard. He’s tall, broad, and his body is perfectly sculpted. Although he’s well-known, I get the feeling that he’s not the arrogant asshole some athletes are.

It’s the first time I’ve ever looked at a man with intrigue, which never really happens to me.

We both take each other in for a moment before putting our hands out to shake. My hand instantly tingles from the contact, and we both pull away quicker than normal.

A phone rings, drawing my attention away from Elio. “Oh shit, it’s Paul. I have to take this, but I’ll be right back,” my father says before walking out of the room and shutting the door behind him. Paul is his best friend and the dean of our school. He also happens to be my best friend Aurora’s father.

Our families have always been close growing up, having spent numerous vacations and holidays together.

Elio clears his throat, alerting me to the fact that we’re now alone in my father’s office.

He crosses his arms over his expansive chest and breaks the silence. “What are you studying?”

“Business,” I answer, suddenly nervous that we’re alone.

“That’s what I took before I got drafted in my junior year. It was a breeze.”

I chuckle half-heartedly. “I’m sure I’ll have my work cut out for me.”

“If you’re half as smart as your dad says you are, I think you’ll be fine.” He smiles at me again. I know he’s eight years older than me, but the smile he sends me nearly makes me blush.

What the hell is wrong with me?

“Thanks.” I smile back at him. “How is it playing professionally?”

“It’s a rush and I love the game,” he says with an elated smile on his face, his eyes gleaming with passion. “You’re an athlete too, right?”

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