Page 11 of On Thin Ice

“Stryker doesn’t need someone breathing down his neck,” he continued. “He doesn’t need a babysitter. What he needs is an example of how to be a professional. How to carry himself in a league that will chew him up and spit him out if he’s not careful.”

I wanted to argue. To point out that I was the worst person for this job. But I couldn’t deny that Stryker was talented. And talent, as any player would tell you, wasn’t always enough.

Still, the idea of being his mentor made my skin itch. “And what if he doesn’t want my help?”

“Then make him want it.”

My stomach churned at the picture Coach’s simple words conjured. I swallowed hard, gripping the armrests to keep my hands steady.

I knew all aboutwant.

Like how I wanted to know if Stryker would let me put my hands on him. Like how I wanted him on his knees, looking up at me, eyes flashing with reckless challenge.

But makinghimwant something?

I didn’t have a goddamn clue how to do that.

I exhaled through my nose, forcing my expression into something neutral. Something that didn’t betray the way my pulse had kicked up or how my entire body felt too fucking hot all of a sudden.

After a beat, Coach shifted back in his chair. “And since he just got into town and doesn’t have a place yet …” He let the statement dangle, waiting for me to put the pieces together.

I let out a groan. “No.”

He ignored me. “You’re taking him in until he gets settled.”

“You’ve got to be kidding.”

“What, you’d rather leave him holed up in a hotel for weeks on end and see what sort of trouble he gets up to?”

“Yes. That.”

“Nice try, but no. Greta’s available if you need help getting one of your guest rooms ready.”

I wasn’t exactly sure what Greta’s job title was, but she’d been with the Aces as long as I had—longer—and was a whiz at getting new players set up with housing, cars, and whatever else they needed to function. was his executive assistant, and she was a whiz at setting up.

I ran a hand down my face, willing myself to stay calm. Living with Stryker? Having him in my space—in my orbit—twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week?

Fuck me.

I exhaled sharply. “Anything else?”

Coach tilted his head, studying me for a long moment. When he smiled, I knew things were about to get a whole lot worse.

“He’s also your new roommate on road trips.” He clasped his hands over his abdomen, his expression telling me this was already decided and no amount of arguing on my part would change his mind.

Fuck me, indeed.

CHAPTER3

BELL

I wasn’t sure how long I’d been sitting in my car in the lot outside the Aces’ practice facility, but I figured it was long enough that it was probably starting to look weird. I’d already scrolled through all Instagram twice, texted my old roommates to find out what they were up to, and double-checked my fantasy football lineup for this weekend’s game.

I tapped my fingers against the steering wheel, jittery with restless energy, my leg bouncing despite the cramped interior.

By the time Ethan finally emerged from the arena looking just as broody and annoyed as he had all fucking practice, I was already halfway to losing my mind with boredom.

He stopped abruptly when he noticed my BMW X6 parked next to his GMC Acadia. His expression instantly darkened when he realized I was sitting inside.

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