Page 60 of Daddies on Ice
Women have come and gone, but none of them stuck.
None of them mattered.
Not like this.
Trisha matters, even if she shouldn’t.
She makes me feel like I’m standing on the edge of something great. All I have to do is reach out for it. Reach out for Trisha.
The crowd roars when we score our first goal, and I raise my arm in celebration with the rest of the bench.
Still, out of the corner of my eye, I catch Trisha clapping, her face lit with pride. My chest tightens at the sight, and I know I’m in trouble.
By the end of the period, we’re up by two goals. The guys are grinning, slapping each other on the helmets as they skate off the ice. The fans are wild, the arena electric.
Then I notice Jake, the last of the players still on the ice.
Instead of heading straight to the locker room like he normally would, he veers off toward the bleachers. Straight toward Trisha.
My stomach knots. This is what we planned. He needs to show the world he’s not the reckless, arrogant player he’s always been. He’s changing. Evolving.
This is my idea after all. Make everyone believe the playboy has settled down. That he’s found a woman who claims his heart. Still, watching him head toward Trisha knots my gut.
Jake leans over the railing, says something that makes Trisha laugh. She looks nervous, glancing around as if she can feel every eye on her. Then she leans forward and kisses him on the cheek, exactly like we talked about.
That should’ve been the end.
But Jake doesn’t know when to stop. He’s a showman through and through.
He loves having fans’ eyes on him and this is no different. I should have remembered that when I came up with this idea of Jake and Trisha pretending to be exclusive.
Jake pulls her closer and presses a quick but tender kiss to her lips.
My whole body goes rigid, hands gripping the edge of the boards so tight my knuckles ache.
Trisha freezes, shock flashing across her face an instant before she blushes and smiles shyly. Jake just grins like he scored the winning goal.
The fans around them erupt in cheers. Cameras flash. Reporters scribble notes. And me? I’m ready to tear him off the ice and bench him for the rest of the season.
For one insane moment, I imagine doing it. Sitting him down, teaching him a lesson about boundaries, about sticking to the plan. About keeping his damn lips to himself.
But I can’t. The team needs him.
It takes me a minute to dissect what I’m really feeling. It’s not jealousy as much as envy.
I want my lips on Trisha’s sweet mouth.
I want to taste her, feel her body pressed snuggly against mine. As Jake skates off the ice, I give myself a mental shake.
This is ridiculous. I’m twice her age.
My granddaughter is a year older than her child.
I’m a widow and coach of a team that’s sinking under bad press. I have no business desiring her. But I do and I can’t help it.
I take the stairs up the bleachers two at a time to where they are sitting, telling myself it’s just to check on Krystal.
That’s the excuse, anyway.
