Page 4 of Face Off
“I’m Dr. Marshall. The new team physician and according to my records, you haven’t been cleared.”
“That’s bullshit,” he counters. “Dr. Monroe signed me off last week.”
“Language!” Coach Stevens warns.
He’s much closer to me now, his body towering over mine as his warm breath fans my face. “Well, according to my paperwork, you aren’t. And until you schedule an appointment with me to be cleared, then you are to stay off the ice.”
“Coach, she can’t be serious.” He’s seething now.
Coach Stevens skates over to where we are. “Unfortunately, she can. So, I’m sorry, but I have to agree with her. Off the ice.”
He releases a chuckle. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.” He’s pissed, and I know it, but I could care less. “You’re here now. So, sign me off. Clear me.”
“Business hours don’t start till tomorrow. So, make an appointment, then we’ll see what I can do,” I respond in thesame condescending tone he tried on me while handing him the business card with my office number on it. “Cassidy looks forward to your call,” I say, smiling at him through a cocky smirk. He stares at the card before skating away to the player box, mumbling under his breath.
“Day one on the job, and you’re already pissing off my players. Living up to the Richards name, that’s for sure,” Coach Stevens says with a smirk.
“It’s Marshall to you,” I counter.
“Still going with that. You keep it Marshall to piss him off or what?” His stare is intense on me as I roll my eyes.
“To separate professional from personal life,” I say. “Besides, he already has the one person who means the most to have his last name.” I nod toward Cam, who’s standing center ice clearly embarrassed by my outburst.
“You’ll always be a Richards. Remember that. It’s in your blood,” he says, bumping me with his shoulder, causing me to slip slightly. “Now get your ass off the ice. You know better than to be out here in those whatever the fuck those things are.”
I glance at my boat shoes and laugh. Turning in my tracks, I walk off the ice. Glancing over at Cam, then at a pissed-off Brooks with his arms crossed over his broad chest, watching me intently.
Brooks
“Off. The. Ice.” Her sharp tone has my cock standing at attention the moment she opened her mouth.
Never in my ten years of playing hockey have I had a woman talk to me the way she did. Throw themselves at me—yes, but never tell me basically where to shove it.
I’ve played for the Seattle Skipjacks for eight years now. I was traded to them two years after being drafted thirtieth to Chicago. I was the hottest player at the time. Men wanted to be me, and women threw themselves at me. I was twenty-two and at my prime. Unfortunately, my bad boy party lifestyle ended me in some hot water which is how I ended up here.
Yeah, at first, I was pissed. The team that just signed me for another three years after my rookie season broke their contract and sent me packing. So, I partied a little too much… okay, a lot. And I had a hot-headed temper at the time. I was young and thought I was invincible. What a reality check that was.
Skating over the players’ box, I take a seat, watching her exchange words with the coach before walking up the stairs. Her hips swaying as I check out her ass. Nice. Very nice. I wonder how it would feel in my grip while I took her from behind, feeding her my cock, inch by inch as she screamed out my name in ecstasy.
Yeah, I’m a dog. I know. But I’m only human, and what man wouldn’t fantasize about her.
“Dude. What the fuck was that all about?” Halloway says as he skates to me, breaking me from my trance. Channing Halloway is a new addition to the Skipjacks. We signed him after he was traded from his team of three years, the Carolina Stormchasers. He’s fast and sharp on the ice and funny but down to earth off. So, it was no surprise when we became fast friends. “Hockey mom busting your balls. What, did you sleep with her and forget to call her back or something?”
I wish.
“It was nothing, man. Just some paperwork errors that I’ll have straightened out by tomorrow,” I say, pulling my stare away from a certain doctor.
He shakes his head as if knows. “So, who was she? You know if she was all on you about some paperwork.” His voice trails off as he stares in her direction, checking her out.
“Apparently, she’s the new team physician.”
He side-eyes me for a moment. “No fucking way,” he whistles out. “Well, I may have to get injured often this season so I can have some face-to-face time with her.”
What he just said has me wanting to tell him to fuck off. But I don’t. I don’t know her, and she means nothing to me. Instead, I stay put on the bench and pull my phone from my pocket, calling her office to schedule an appointment.
Clinic finishes for the day, and I hike the steps two at a time to meet up with her. Since I can no longer participate, I shower and just coach from the player’s box. The kids who come out for clinic are some of the best.
Looking around the arena, I search for her until my eyes land on her. She’s a fucking beauty. Like a goddess sent to earth by Zeus. Yeah, I know it’s a fucking cliché, but she’s stunning, nonetheless. Some of her auburn hair has fallen from her bun since this morning. How I wish I could brush it off her face so I can look into those bright emerald-green eyes. Heck, I probably would have spent more time earlier admiring her beauty if I weren’t too busy checking out her ass after she pissed me off.
