Page 16 of Dirty Pucking Player

Shit.

I jerk them back up before he can comment again, but I’ve been caught.

He flashes me a smile that probably has had hundreds of women falling into his bed all over the country. “Look, Coach”—he runs a hand back through his wet hair, only accentuating his beautiful, lean muscles—“you and I have different philosophies on the game. That much is clear. It doesn’t mean we have to be enemies.”

“It doesn’t mean you have to be a jerk.”

That cocky, panty-melting half-grin returns, and he moves forward and spreads his palms flat against the desk, leaning in until our noses almost touch over it. The clean, cool scent that wrapped around me earlier almost knocks me over now.

“No”—one corner of his lips curls up—“my personality means I have to be. But you don’t think I’m a jerk. Not really. You just don’t want to admit it to yourself.”

I pull back and shake my head.

Unfuckingbelievable.

This guy has an ego bigger than the Grand Canyon.

He doesn’t move from his position poised over the desk. “You know how it is, Coach…to be the best player on the team. To be the best of the best.”

Wait a second…was that a compliment?

His biceps flex, and he glances at the wall where my Olympic medals hang. “I watched you play. I know how talented you were as a player and how good of a coach you must be to have brought the team to where it is today in such a short period of time.”

“But…”

Here it comes.

Bash Fury is incapable of giving me a real compliment. I should have known.

“…you’re inexperienced. I’ve played for coaches who have done this for twenty or thirty years. I see a novice like you, and I feel obligated to help you figure it out.”

“Figure it out?” I scoff. “Is that what you think you’re helping me do? The only thing you’ve figured out is how to get me to develop high blood pressure.”

He jerks back with a grin. “It’s nice to know I have that effect on you.”

“You don’t have any effect on me.” My response is a little too quick and a little too sharp. There’s no way he didn’t notice.

He points at the small V in my blouse just above my breasts. “That flush rising up your neck says otherwise, Coach.”

And there he goes again.

Paying me a compliment in one second and flipping right back into flirtatious, arrogant Bash the next. Typical behavior given what I’ve heard about his reputation and already experienced myself in the two days he’s been here.

This kind of attitude cannot continue. I won’t fight with one of my players for control for the rest of the damn season. “You may come from NHL royalty, Bash, but that doesn’t mean you know everything. You are not the god of hockey.”

Sex god…maybe…if the swagger he puts out is more than just an act, but I won’t ever be finding out if he can live up to the game he plays.

I point at him. “You are not the know-all and end-all of the sport. No matter what you think, this is my team. You need to remember that. I won’t hesitate to bench you if you do this again.”

5

BASH

I step back and hold up my hands in mock surrender. “I just play the game, Coach. A game you are really fucking good at.” Her already wide green eyes open more and draw my smirk even wider. “What, Coach, you think I don’t know who you are? You think I don’t know your history? You think I don’t know all that you’ve accomplished?” I wave at her medals. “It’s fucking impressive for a man, let alone for a woman. And I’m not some sexist pig. I have a sister. I had a mother.”

Those last words are hard to get out. The fact that she’s gone still hasn’t completely registered in my heart. Maybe it never will.

“This disagreement we’re having has nothing to do with the fact that you’re a woman. It has to do with the fact that you don’t have any experience head coaching at this level.”

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