Page 8 of Lawson

Confused chatter erupts among the rookies, several of them voicing what I'm thinking.

“Skate skills?” a rookie named Sanson asks to my left. “Like running drills?”

“Not exactly,” Coach answers before he divides us into groups.

I end up being shifted into the skate skills group, along with a few other rookies, and Clay Kiplin and Nash Stokehill. He's the only one who doesn't seem bothered to be in this group, but the other rookies aren't shy about wearing their attitude on their faces.

“Coach?” I ask, raising my gloved hand after he's done sorting all the players.

We all stand in four groups on the ice, the other coaches and the owner having moved off to the side where the bleachers are.

“I'm all for running drills, but the last thing I need is a brush-up class on how to skate.”

Coach smiles and casually slides his hands into his pockets. He's wearing a Bangor Badger tracksuit, and for some reason he can pull the look off where other people would look like a clown. He's got a real approachable air about him, but of course I haven't seen what he looks like pissed off yet. Knowing me, I'll see it soon.

“You think you're a good skater?” he asks, no maliciousness in his tone.

“I know I am,” I answer. “I was faster than half the guys in Denver.”

Coach’s eyebrows climb up his forehead, his mustache twitching as he holds back a smile. “Better than half the guys?” he asks, humor lacing his tone. He nods to Kiplin, who stands behind me in the skating group. “You hear that, Clay?Half.”

A few chuckles sound around me, and I roll my eyes but keep my mouth shut.

“While I'm sure that being faster thanhalfthe guys in Denver is a perk that we’ll appreciate, I guarantee that none of you guys can skate like your new skate coach can. She's a decorated figure skater and is lightning quick on the ice.” Coach’s voice rises as murmurs and questions rumble at his mention of a figure skater being our new expert skate coach. “And she is an integral part of this team now,” he continues, finally getting everyone to quiet down. “Trust me, she knows more than you, and if any of you so much as disrespect her, you’re gone. Treat her like your sister—no, like yourgrandmother. Treat her like you would a member of this team. Listen to her, and I guarantee you're going to be faster on the ice than you’ve ever been.”

Silence falls as he continues to explain what the other groups will be doing.

After a few moments, he finally tells us to break. The other three groups shuffle off to their designated spaces, leaving my group on the ice.

“All right everyone, Coach Wren is going to take it from here.”

We all turn our heads to watch as Coach Wren takes the ice. I'm expecting at least an over-fifty woman based on the grandma comment Coach made, but that couldn't be further from the truth.

Coach Wren, who can't be over twenty-three, glides onto the ice like she was born wearing skates.

Fuck. Me.

Not that I have any reason to, but I would recognize those long legs tucked into a pair of figure skates anywhere. She propels herself on the open ice before us, doing several spins and a leap that has my jaw dropping.

And when she stops showing off, she skids to a halt so quickly she shreds ice onto my skates.

“Blakely?”

She smirks. “Wolfe.”

CHAPTER 2

BLAKELY

There’ssomething about the smell of the ice that has a way of soothing my nerves. The crisp clean scent has always offered a sense of comfort and peace whenever I breathe it in, but this morning it's not as comforting as usual.

My body is in knots despite knowing I'm about to step onto the rink, which has been one of my favorite places to be since I was a kid. Sometimes it feels more natural to be in a pair of skates than it does to be in a pair of heels, and I'm chiding myself for my current nerves.

It was just a kiss.

But it wasn't.

Before the kiss, Lawson—the mysterious stranger—had saved me from a terribly awkward and uncomfortable situation with my ex, Brian.

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