Page 9 of Pucking Christmas Triplets Surprise

“Yes, coach.” She nods, turning on her heels towards the lockers.

I hold my breath until I can no longer hear the click of her heels fade into the distance. My pulse thunders in my ears, but it's not from exertion—it’s from her. Fucking hell, what is this girl doing to me? She’s all I think about. All I see. I’m chasing her around campus like some lovesick idiot, screaming at her in the rink like a madman, watching her every damn move during practice like she's the only thing on this ice that matters.

And maybe she is.

I try to shake the thought, but it lingers, gnawing at me. I’ve never been consumed like this, not by hockey, fame, or anything. It’s her. Always her. JosiefuckingRichards. I grind my teeth, pacing the empty rink like a caged animal. She’s beneath my skin, lodged in my veins. It’s more than desire now—a sickness, a craving. Something I can’t control, and I hate it. I fucking hate it.

I move deeper onto the rink, trying to put as much space between us as humanly possible, but it doesn't feel like enough. She isn't even within ten feet of me, and I smell her all around me - vanilla and fresh snow.

I stare at the ice as I rub at the fresh tattoo on my chest. It's only been a few weeks, but I can feel her stitched into my skin even deeper than her name already is.

Her routines play on repeat in my head. Every spin, every jump, every damn smile she throws at those idiots who think they have a shot with her. I can’t stand the thought of anyone else looking at her like I do. Touching her. They don’t get to—they haven’t earned that right.

Only I get to look at her like that. Only I?—

My spiraling thoughts screech to a halt when I hear the soft shuffle of footsteps. My body tenses, and I inhale sharply, my heart thudding in my chest.

The familiar sound of her skates hitting the ice fills the rink. She’s wearing them. The faint slide of blades on cold, smooth ice sends a chill through me, grounding me in the moment.

I don’t turn around, don’t let her see how twisted up I am inside, how I’ve been unraveling since the second she walked out of here. I let the silence hangbetween us, heavy, suffocating, until her voice—small, hesitant, but with that edge of defiance—breaks through the tension.

“Where do you want me?”

On my face.Is the first thing I think but I choke it down.

I turn slowly, my gaze as cold as the ice beneath us.

“On the ice,” I say, my voice icy and distant, betraying none of the chaos inside me. "The Biellmann spin. Keep it tight."

CHAPTER 4

JOSIE

He's watching me. I can feel the weight of his gaze on me, suffocating and demanding. My muscles tense as I glide across the ice, trying to shake it off, but it’s impossible. It’s always impossible when it comes to Christopher Jackson; the man just gets under my skin.

He's so demanding and moody. It’s been the same grunt responses for the whole training session. The same narrowed eyes. The slight nods, as if he didn't offer to bite my lip and spank my ass sixty fucking minutes ago.

My blades carve into the ice with every stroke, sharp and clean. I launch into a spin, the rink a blur around me as I gather speed. The cold air stings my face, but I welcome it, needing the burn to clear my head. My leg shoots out, extending perfectly as I whirl into a camel spin, but his voice snaps through the silence before I can settle into the rhythm.

“Faster, Richards! That’s not fast enough. Push harder.”

I grit my teeth, ignoring how his voice sets my nerves on fire. Harder? I’m already giving everything I have, but of course,it's not enough for him. It's never enough for anyone. All people want is more from me. All people do is fucking take from me. I'm an idiot to think that when Christopher Jackson offered to train me, that it had anything to do with me and not everything to do with him.

I push off, going into a series of footwork, my blades slicing the ice as I try to block out the sound of his commands. My body moves on autopilot, each step calculated, each twist sharp, but I’m losing focus. His voice is like a hammer, relentless.

“Your transitions are sloppy! Fix it.”

Sloppy? My chest tightens with anger. My hands clench into fists, but I keep skating, forcing myself through a lutz jump. My arms extend, my body twisting perfectly in the air, but as I land, the frustration builds.

“Again,” he barks. “You can’t afford to mess up those landings.”

The second my blades hit the ice, I’m seething. Mess up? I didn’t mess up! He’s just looking for a reason to tear me down, to get under my skin. And it’s working. I glare at him as I glide past him, but he doesn’t flinch. He stands there with his arms crossed, eyes narrowed, daring me to argue.

“Come on, princess, is that all you’ve got? Don’t waste my time.”

I slam my skate into the ice, spraying snow in his direction. I spin around, skating back toward him with fury radiating off me.

“Maybe if you’d stop barking at me like a damn dog, I could concentrate!” I snap,my breath coming out in angry puffs. I’m practically shaking with anger, but he just raises an eyebrow, looking annoyingly calm.

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