Page 3 of Pucking Amazing

Lord almighty. It’s a sensory overload.

But the energy seems off, even to my untrained eye. There’s a palpable tension, a simmering hostility.

As Vincent and I watch, two players—a stocky D-man and a lanky forward, terms I’ve learned with Emma’s help—slam into the boards, shouting in each other’s faces.

“Told you,” Vincent mutters. “Powder keg.”

As the coaches pull the guys apart, I spot a familiar brunette on the bench.

Emma.

Her eyes crinkle with a warm smile when she sees me. I beam back, fighting the urge to run over and hug her. It’s been too long.

Emma and I are way overdue for a catch-up, but I just got into town a few days ago and have been busy unpacking and settling into Selena’s apartment. It used to be Emma’s apartment, too, until she moved in with her boyfriends—plural—earlier in the year.

“All right, let’s get you introduced.” Vincent strides over to the coaches, waving them over. “Blizzards! Bring it in for a sec.”

The men coast to a stop in a loose semicircle, removing their helmets.

And oh... oh boy.

I was not prepared.

Chiseled jaws, smoldering eyes, crooked grins. It’s a buffet of raw male beauty.

Down, girl.

But damn, one guy in particular—a tall drink of goalie with dark hair and piercing blue eyes—makes my knees a little weak when his gaze lands on me.

And is that guy...? Yep, the tatted-up forward is shamelessly checking me out, a flirtatious smirk playing about his full lips.

I snap my eyes away, heat crawling up my neck.

Pull it together, Syd! You’re here to help these guys, not drool over them. I take a deep breath, trying to calm the butterflies wreaking havoc in my stomach.

Vincent points out Coach Daniels, and I do a double take—even the head coach is attractive. Not my type, but silver foxy in that George Clooney kind of way.

Coach Daniels shoots me an encouraging nod, and I immediately sense an ally.

“Gentleman,” Vincent booms as I step forward. “I’d like you all to give a warm Blizzards welcome to Sydney Nelson...”

Vincent’s voice fades into the background as I step forward, my heels moving awkwardly on the rubber flooring. I paste on my most confident smile, even as my palms grow clammy.

“Hi everyone,” I begin, hoping my voice doesn’t betray my nerves. “As Vincent said, I’m Sydney Nelson, the new…”

I remember Vincent’s warning and trail off for a moment, swallowing the words ‘addiction specialist.’ I clear my throat.

“Um, the new team counselor. My door is always open to anyone who needs to talk, and anything that we discuss will stay between us. I’m not just here for the three of you,” I nod toward Jason, Mikey, and Tomas, who I recognize from all the unfortunate media coverage, “but for any of you who needs support.”

I meet the eyes of the three players I’ll be working with most, trying to convey warmth and kindness.

They shift uncomfortably, clearly not thrilled to be singled out.

“Again, I want to assure you all that anything discussed in our sessions is confidential. I’m here to support you, not judge you.”

Scanning the group, I’m met with a mixture of guarded expressions and curious gazes. The goalie’s electric blue eyes bore into me with an intensity that makes my stomach flip. I quickly glance away, my cheeks warming.

Seriously, Syd? Keep it in your pants.

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