Page 12 of Coach's Temptation

Her hips sway, those goddamn leggings hugging her like a second skin. Her glossy pink lips part slightly, and I swear to God, my brain just shuts down.

For the first time in my entire life, I'm considering calling a timeout on my own damn practice.

I should look away.

I don’t.

I physicallycan’t.

She stops dangerously close, her vanilla scent wrapping around me like a noose.

Natalie shifts the injury report in her hands, tapping the corner of the paper against her thigh like she’s barely restraining herself from vibrating out of her own skin.

“Coach! Oh my God, can you believe it?” She moves in front of me, eyes shining, bright and happy and everything I shouldn’t be getting attached to.

I blink. “Believe what?”

She scoffs, actually scoffs, like I’ve just asked if ice is cold.

“The playoffs, Hunter! The fact that your team made it this far!”

Your team.

The words hit something deep in my chest.

I drag a hand over my jaw, shifting my weight as my eyes flicker to the ice, watching Logan shove Blake off the puck in the corner.

Wes was right.

This team has something.

And maybe, just maybe, if we play the way I know we can, if I focus and keep my eyes on the prize, we could make it all the way.

Maybe I will see Wes again in Vegas.

Maybe we’ll be standing across from each other, benches roaring, fighting for the fucking Cup.

It’s a dangerous thought.

Almost as dangerous as the woman bouncing on her toes beside me, tapping her fingers against my bicep like I’m supposed to be keeping up with whatever bubbly nonsense she’s saying.

“Earth to Hunter,” she sing-songs, waving the injury sheet in front of my face. "Did you hear me? Connor has a cat, and I think we need to deal with that."

I frown, tearing my eyes away from the ice to squint at her. “What the hell does Connor’s cat have to do with anything?”

Natalie snorts, barely containing her laughter. “You weren’t listening to a single word I said, were you?”

“I'm busy working.”

She hums, like she doesn’t quite believe me. “Sure. Working. Not just standing there, lost in thought while I waste my breath?”

She taps the injury report against my chest, soft, but pointed.

“Anyway, I was saying that aside from Logan’s ankle, there are no major injury concerns. Just the usual bumps and bruises. But, in a shocking turn of events, Connor showed up thismorning covered in scratches because his cat, Tuna, apparently doesn’t appreciate bath time.”

I blink. “Tuna?”

Natalie grins. “I know, right? Big, intimidating goalie, named his cat after his favorite sandwich.”

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