Page 4 of Coach Sully

Shit. I’ve worked alongside casting and have interviewed people more times than I can count. Sully is easy to read; he’scandid with his words and body language. He doesn’t seem like the type to change his mind once he’s made a decision, and it’s obvious he’s not comfortable with the show.This is where I should end the night.

Brushing off the rejection, I give him a tight smile and hold up my hands. “None taken. Also, it’sunscriptedtelevision,” I say, the same way car salespeople saypre-ownedrather than used.

“Right.”

Maybe another shot. “It’s only a three-month commitment.”

“For you!” He laughs. “Sounds like it’s a lifetime for me.” He takes another sip of his beer.

“I mean, why are you dating? Just to get laid?”

He cocks an eyebrow. “No.”

“Well? You’re sick of dating. Don’t you want to skip to the good part?”

By now, I’m two and a half beers in and have no clue how to let this woman down easy. No way in hell I’m doing her show… It sounds like my worst nightmare. Besides, I don’t like the idea of her setting me up with someone. Mostly because I’m attracted to her and want to run with it. This “business meeting” is ten times better than any date I’ve had in the last year. She keeps me on my toes. She’s funny and driven and knows how to hold a conversation. I like that she throws a little sass my way. On top of that, she’s fucking gorgeous with her rich warm skin, curly hair, and light-gray eyes I could get lost in for a week. Don’t send a search party.

I find myself forgetting to breathe, and instead of telling her no, I’ve been stalling, redirecting our conversation. I’ll do anything to draw this out.

“Do you miss hockey?” Kendra asks.

“I do, actually. I miss it a lot. I’ve tried other sports, but nothing has been able to fill that void that hockey left.”

“I mean, not to talk you out of being on my show or state the obvious, but why don’t you do something hockey related?”

The half-full pint glass in front of me slides as I pass it from one hand to the other. I nod because itiswhat I want to do. “I was offered a commentary spot with MNSports, but it’s not the same as being on the ice. I don’t want to sit in a studio and talk about hockey, I want to be out there again,” I explain. “Barrett Conway is my best friend, we played together on the Lakes. He recently retired and has a hockey charity called Camp Conway, so I volunteer with that on the side, working with some of the kids. I love it, but it’s only during the summer.”

“What about coaching?”

“I’d love to coach. Honestly, that would probably make me happiest, but the university just got a new coach last year. If they ever asked me, I’d say yes in a heartbeat… Until then, I’m happy spending my mornings at the arena skating or volunteering with kids. I share the ice with a couple young figure skaters. I was a figure skater before hockey, so I’ve been able to do a little bit of coaching with them. It’s nice, but obviously very different from a hockey team.”

“Wait, you were a figure skater before a hockey player?” She stares at me wide-eyed. A lot of guys started with figure skating. They’re usually the more graceful players.

I nod after taking a sip of beer.

“Like triple Salchows and shit?”

Her beaming smile is contagious. “More like a double, at best. That was a long time ago. You know, because I’mold.”

“When did you find out you were better with a stick?”

“When I was tired of being the only guy in a class full of girls.” I chuckle. “But as it turns out, the guys were all jealous that I got to touch Amber Tolefson during our partner routines.”

“Oooh. Did you and Amber Tolefson ever… ya know…” She bounces her eyebrows.

I smile and shake my head. “No, Amber was not my type. Also, we were nine.”

She laughs. “You had a type at nine?”

“Oh yeah, I had a type. My English teacher, Mrs. Wilbur. Every time she turned around at the board, her ass was covered in chalk marks.”

She parts her lips in faux shock. “What a tease.”

I take another sip and chuckle. “Right? What about you, who was your childhood crush?”

“Hmm…” She narrows her eyes toward the ceiling, and a big smile splits her face. “Oh, I know! Corbin Bleu.”

I laugh. “Isn’t that a food?”

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