Page 6 of Pucking Christmas Triplets Surprise

The low rumble rolls over my skin like the bite of the ice. I take in a shaky breath, closing my eyes in a slow blink. My eyes lock on his, and the roll of his jaw makes my core clench.

"Respect is earned." I snarl. "You don't know anything about figure skating. You know nothing about me, saying that I am afraid of the ice...do you know how wild that is?"

"I know what I saw." He sighs, scrunching up the sleeves of his gray thermal shirt, showcasing a mirage of colorful ink encased in thickblack lines.

There is nothing hotter than a man covered in tattoos with muscles that look like they could crush you into a million pieces. I yank my ponytail out of my head, suddenly feeling suffocated. I need to get out of these wet clothes and away from Coach Jackson's intense dark gaze. I need to breathe somewhere; I can't see my breath with every exhale. I need to be warm for the first time in my life. I need the sun but can't move; instead, I fist my wavy blonde stands and huff.

“You are afraid of the ice.” Coach stretches his neck and arms, straining the veins in his forearms as he approaches me.

I shake my head, taking a step back with each of his steps forward because fuck this! He tackles people and runs after a puck all day. I am flinging my body into the air, hoping that asshole Dylan saves me from cracking my skull open again or that I extend my leg to the right more and catch myself before I fall.

"My life is on the line every time I skate," I whisper.

Coach Jackson stops just inches away, his eyes locked on mine. The air between us grows dense, and I can practically feel the heat radiating from him. I want to be closer, to run my hand along his skin and find where the core of his warmth is. I want his sun to be mine. I avoid his eyes, looking at my bare feet.

"You think hockey is just a game of chasing pucks? Whenever I stepped onto the ice every shift, someone could slam me into the boards hard enough to break bones. Or worse." His voice lowers to a ticklish whisper, crawling across my skin.

"That’s different," I snap back, my voice rising in frustration. "You're wearing layers of padding, and you’re in control. I’m out there in practically nothing, with blades strapped to my feet, hurling myself through the air?—"

"Don’t act like you’ve got it worse because you're spinning in sequins while we get bruises and bloodied."

My breath hitches, my mind racing, the frustration boiling over. "I’m not saying you don’t get hurt, but?—"

"But what? Our risks aren't valid because we wear helmets?" His jaw tightens, his blue eyes darker than a stormy ocean. "You want to talk about danger? I’ve seen guys go down and not get back up. I’ve been hit so hard I didn’t know where I was. And guess what? I still get back on the ice."

His voice rings through the locker room, and my head tucks into my chest. I feel like I want to scream. I feel like I am in so much trouble that he has no excuse but to punish me.Punish me? Have I lost my freaking mind?

"You don't look like you want to be on that ice, “ he whispers, his palm flat against the wall above me. His body encases me in a warm cocoon, and his smokey firewood scent invades my nostrils.

I freeze, watching the rise and fall of his chest, holding my breath like it is the only thing that will keep me alive. The ice is my home. The ice is everything to me. I can't be afraid of the one thing that makes me, right?

"Let's say you're right, Coach." I look up at him through my eyelashes, slowly licking my dry lips and watching as his eyes follow the lines of my tongue. "What do I do now?"

"You let me coach you."

I lean back against the wall and click it to the right. "And what makes you qualified?"

His eyes darken, and I gulp, fidgetingwhen he spreads his lips into a Cheshire smile. “I can make you fear me more than the ice."

CHAPTER 3

CHRISTOPHER

"Again." I bark.

The clatter of groans and skates rings through the stadium. The boys on my team aren’t special, but they aren’t bad. They just need discipline, something only one of my star students has: Josie. She sits on the other side of the stadium despite my politely asking her to sit next to me, which only proves to me that next time, I won't ask.

Asking with her has gotten me nowhere; she avoided me for three weeks after agreeing to let me coach her. It's now damn near fucking Thanksgiving, and I haven't seen her once. I had to pick her up from her final class today at 4 p.m. to make her come to the rink. I told her if she moved, she would be suspended from the rink because she needed my permission to use it anyway.

Having Josie at tryouts isn't ideal. The boys kept whistling at her and earned a round of suicides because they got whipped up into a frenzy when she put her hair into a ponytail. I mean, who could blame them? This girl is mine, and I am not muchof a sharer. She doesn't know that yet, so I can't blame her for her flirtations, but I can punish everyone around her for looking.

Right now, the boys are on their final lap, and I am more than ready to kick them out of the stadium, peel off that princess layer, and give all my attention to my little hellion. She is doing the terribly naughty task of chewing on the end of her pen as she marks up an old copy ofThe Tempest.How fitting that my temptation only learns more ways to torment me.

"Kelsey, you're behind!" My assistant coach and best friend since grade school, Caleb, barks at the players. Caleb and I have been inseparable since birth and probably will be that way until death. Caleb has dirty blonde hair with dyed green tips, no tattoos because the punk is scared of needles, but a bright smile that practically melts panties.

He elbows me in the side, lowering his voice. "You're staring."

"Can't help it." I automatically said back, watching as she pulled at her leg warmers and shuffled her legs to get comfortable on the bleachers.

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