Page 11 of Coach's Temptation

“Fuck, man. I don't know." I exhale, rolling my shoulders. "You ever notice how the past has a way of kicking you in the teeth at the worst possible moment?”

Wes chuckles. "Only every damn day."

I force a smirk. Wes was there when it all fell apart for me. When I hobbled out of with a busted knee and a shattered dream.

And now?

Now, after watching them power past Chicago last night, it's confirmed that I'll face the franchise that ended my playing career all those years ago.

“Guess it’s time to write a new chapter, huh?” Wes muses. “Not that you need luck, Brody. You’ve got everything you need right here.”

I arch a brow. “And what’s that?”

He grins and gestures towards the ice. “A great fucking team that believes in you.”

I scoff, shaking my head. “That, and a hell of a lot of film to analyze before next week.”

Wes claps me on the shoulder. “Well, I’ll leave you to it. But if you ever feel like trading your snow for some desert heat, I’ve got a spot open in Vegas.”

"Hopefully I'll be seeing you before then."

Wes smirks, knowing damn well what that means. If Iron Ridge and Vegas both make it through playoffs for our respective conferences, we’ll meet in the Stanley Cup Finals.

He steps toward the exit, reaching for the heavy steel door. “Alright, Brody. Try not to overthink this Vancouver thing. They're lucky to make playoffs. Just beat what's in front of you.”

He waves and I give him a wink, but the second he pulls the door open, a rush of cold air blasts in, carrying something far more dangerous than a playoff rival.

Natalie Hayes.

She breezes in like a goddamn movie entrance, all dark hair and glossy skin, emerald-green eyes scanning the rink like she's lost something.

And the worst part?

She’s wearing one of our team-issued jackets, zipped up just enough to be professional but tight enough to remind me exactly what’s underneath.

Except she’snotone of the guys.

She’s the woman I shouldn’t be thinking about. The woman I shouldn’t have had my hands on. The woman who is currently making it impossible to think about anything but the fact that I’ve seen her in a lot less than this.

Wes, still holding the door, doesn’t move. Instead, he leans a shoulder against the frame, watching as Natalie adjusts her grip on a sheet of paper, shifting from one foot to the other.

She flashes a polite smile. “Thanks for holding the door.”

“Anytime,” Wes says, easy as anything. Then, without missing a beat, he tilts his head toward me. “You looking for Coach Brody?”

Natalie exhales, exasperated. “Yes, in fact, I am.”

Wes grins like he just won a poker hand. “Well, sweetheart, there he is.”

And then he winks.

At me. At her. At the whole damn situation like he sees exactly what’s happening here.

Then he’s gone, letting the door crash shut behind him, leaving me to my fate.

Natalie’s gaze finally settles on me, her lips twitching like she knows exactly how much I wish I could just walk straight into the boards right now.

And then, because fate fucking hates me, she starts walking.

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