Page 16 of Cross Check Hearts

So I streak around the ice, leaving the other guys in the dust, and although Theo makes a crack about me showing off when I lap him at one point, I ignore him. We start our drills a couple of laps later, taking different positions and formations on the ice and squaring off against each other. I do my best to keep up with the level of talent that’s out here with me, but I still feel like they’re outpacing me, and that frustrates the hell out of me.

When you’ve spent your life being the best player on every team you’ve played for, it’s humbling to suddenly be surrounded by guys who are just as good, if not better.

But that’s the NHL. That’s the level I’ve fought to reach, and I’m not about to back down from the challenge.

Dunaway’s whistle shrieks an hour later, ending practice, but as the rest of the team scatters, Coach whistles again. “Murray!” he shouts, pointing at me, so I circle back across the ice toward him at the center.

“Yeah, Coach?”

“I want to talk to you for a minute. Come with me,” he says and skates away without another word, so I follow him with my heart pumping a little faster than I’d like. My first thought is that this has something to do with Hannah, and that doesn’t do anything to calm me down. Did he catch what was going on between us?

I play a mental guessing game until we enter Dunaway’s office near the locker room.

“Close the door behind you,” he says as he heads for his desk, so I kick the door shut and stop in front of his desk. He flops into a worn office chair and points across his desk at a folding chair on the other side. “Have a seat.”

“Is everything okay?” I ask warily as I join him.

Dunaway waves a hand before folding his hands together on the desk. “Don’t worry, Murray. You aren’t getting cut from the team or anything.”

“That’s a relief.”

“I’m really pleased with your playing. If that pass you made in the last game was any indication, we’re in for a hell of a season with you.”

“Thanks, Coach. I really appreciate that.”

“Sure. But just like anyone else, you still have some areas you could improve. I’ve noticed you’re a little slow on your pivots.”

I sigh and nod. “You aren’t the first person to tell me that.”

“Any idea why that’s been a problem area for you?”

“Not really, but I’m open to feedback,” I say firmly. “I want to fix it, whatever it takes. I didn’t come this far to plateau now.”

“Good, that’s what I like to hear.” Dunaway nods approvingly. “I bet hip flexibility is part of the issue.”

“Okay, I can work on that.”

“The team’s strength and conditioning coach can help, but I think you’d probably benefit from doing some yoga, too. And I know just the person to help you with that.” He reaches for a pad of paper on his desk, tears a piece off and scratches something on the paper with his pen, then slides it across the desk to me. “My daughter teaches yoga, and she’s damn good at it. Give her a call and tell her I sent you.”

I manage to keep my expression neutral at his words, although my pulse kicks up a notch. The universe has a twisted sense of humor sometimes—or maybe it’s trying to tell me something.

A grin splits my face as I take the paper from him. “Oh, I definitely will.”

Chapter8

Declan

Six Months Ago

Isabelle clings to me as the last waves of her orgasm ripple through her. I slump over her, my breath coming hard and heavy against her neck where I buried my face. Her scent floods my nose, heady and intoxicating, and I feel it seeping into my senses, lodging itself permanently in my memory. I think I’m getting addicted to it.

Addicted to her.

She already smells perfect on her own, but the scent of sex that clings to her soft, dewy skin just as tightly as she’s clinging to me makes it even better. I could stay like this until the sun comes up, letting all five of my senses feast on her, and that’s exactly what I’m hoping to do—despite the sweet ache that’s already taking hold in muscles I haven’t worked out like this in a long time.

“Wow,” she breathes as I gently pull out and collapse on the bed beside her. I run my finger up and down her stomach, starting at her navel, and feel it rising and falling quickly in time with her breathing.

I trace a slow pattern across her skin, enjoying the contrast of my calloused fingertip against her softness.

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