Page 25 of Puck Prince

“Yeah. I think we both know where I got my work ethic.” I smile at him to pull us both back to the present. “And my stubbornness. And my temper.”

“And your mouth.”

“What the fuck’s wrong with my fucking mouth?” I joke.

He lets out that booming laugh, slapping his desk for good measure. “You really are the niece of a hockey coach, that’s for sure.”

“Are you disappointed?”

“Fuck no!”

We both laugh for a while, and it feels good, easy, normal. All of that thorny Owen Sharpe business fades into a distant memory.

After we catch our breath, Uncle Randy’s grin cools to a warm and knowing smile. An obvious change of gears is imminent. “Just be careful here, Callie. Be professional. People are always watching, always listening, and always looking for a story to tell.”

I nod. “Got it.”

We both stand, heading for the door. “It’s a fresh start. And if I had to guess, it’s going to be a great season.”

We smile and hug again, but as he squeezes me, my smile dims a little. Somehow, I have a feeling this start isn’t that fresh. I can’tshake the feeling that my past is going to follow me everywhere I go.

I can’t shake the feeling that, even here…

The walls are very, very thin.

Uncle Randy and Miriam, the head athletic trainer, lead me around the rest of the arena, pointing out rooms and faces, awards and jerseys. We gaze down at the ice from the VIP section, and he offers me a drink for the second time. I decline again.

“Professionalism. I love it.” He grins proudly. We then make our way downstairs and round the corner. “And this, as you may have guessed, is the locker room.”

Yeah. I’m aware.

My stomach somersaults at thedéjà vu.

He shoves the door open and bellows out, “You ladies decent?” He looks back at me with a wink, but I’m having a hard time smiling. I was very, very much hoping not to seeyou-know-whoagain.

“Hold up, Coach!” one of the guys calls out. “Thatcher’s gotta get his bra back on.”

“Shut your mouth and go finish shaving your vagina, Craven.” Thatcher backhands him in the chest and a brief scuffle starts.

Then everyone notices me standing there.

Some are in pads and jerseys, ready to go. Others are shirtless. But they all straighten up and look my direction.

“Gentlemen,” Randy says, “meet Callie. She’s going to be the new PT.”

“Hot damn,” one of them mumbles under his breath. Another one nudges him for it, though the way he’s half-smirking with his tongue pressed to the corner of his mouth is really not much better.

“She’s also my niece,” my uncle tags on, making all tongues go right back into their mouths.

Honestly, I don’t give a rat’s ass about the Horndog Squad. My eyes are scanning for Owen, who, for whatever reason, isn’t here.

I will not look this gift horse in the mouth.

“Why do I feel like I’ve seen you before?” one of them asks as he approaches me.

“I’ve been in the industry for a minute,” I answer casually. Meanwhile, my heart is pounding so hard I’m pretty sure they can see it pulse through my shirt.

“Well, I’m Miles. And I swear I’ve met you before.”

---