Page 92 of Coach's Temptation

A light breeze catches the fabric, pressing it against her body in ways that make focusing on anything else impossible.

Everything except for Wes Callahan’s phone call that still echoes relentlessly in my ears. It was a bombshell dropped casually between congratulations for beating our old team, and friendly banter that's become normal between two rival coaches.

“Hunter, there’s talk. Team USA’s looking at you for the Olympic squad. Head coach.”

He'd said it so simply, like it wasn't a life-altering announcement. Like the idea of coaching the best players inthe country at the Winter Olympic Games, of representing our country on the world stage was just small talk.

But I can’t deny the adrenaline it had sparked.

Hell, I didn’t even know it was something I wanted until Wes had said the words. The Olympics. Team USA. Gold medals. The pinnacle of a coaching career, a chance to etch my name into hockey history.

If we win the Stanley Cup, I’d be a shoe-in.

If.

I glance over at Natalie, whose attention is caught by the elaborate window display of a designer fashion boutique, and the harsh reality hits me square in the chest.

Natalie loves Iron Ridge. Her life, her friends, her grandmother's apartment… they’re all there.

And watching her yesterday, nestled comfortably in my parents’ kitchen, laughing freely as my mother showed her embarrassing childhood photos, told me everything I needed to know about her heart’s deepest desire.

Family. Home. Stability.

Everything that's not exactly compatible with a life chasing Olympic glory around the world.

But right now, none of that matters.

Game One against Boston is tonight. We need to get off to a flyer if we're any chance at making the Finals.

So I've bought my girl out to the finest precinct in Boston to spoil her before we head back to the trenches tonight.

“Hunter, seriously,” Natalie protests lightly, laughing as I tug her inside the upscale boutique. “We’re just window shopping.”

“No…you’rewindow shopping,” I correct her, grinning mischievously. “I’m a man. We actually shop and buy things.”

A sales assistant immediately recognizes me, rushing forward with an excited smile and a pen in hand.

"Mr. Brody, huge Icehawks fan. Can I trouble you for an autograph?"

"Of course," I reply easily, quickly signing my name across the notepad, smiling politely even as my mind races. I pose for a quick selfie and off they go again.

Would Olympic-level attention be even more intense than this?

Natalie watches me, a teasing smirk playing on her lips. "Famous everywhere, aren't you?"

"Only the important places," I wink back and slap her playfully on the ass as we roam the racks of dresses.

As we walk through the boutique, my mind drifts back to the call with Wes. I deflected as best as I could when Natalie asked why he called. The truth is, I couldn’t tell her. Not after yesterday. Not after the night we shared at the ice rink.

She’s become so important to me, and the thought of shaking up our world with news of that magnitude feels wrong.

I watch her as she moves from rack to rack. She deserves stability, not the chaos that would come with an international coaching career.

But then again, is there even news yet? There's nothing to tell her, because it's all just speculation and rumors. For all I know, Wes was just trying to distract me because he doesn't want his team facing mine in the Stanley Cup Finals.

No need to worry about something that isn’t certain, right?

Natalie stops in front of a mannequin displaying a stunning emerald green dress. Her eyes light up, and she bites her bottom lip, clearly taken with it.

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