Chapter 3
JACK
I shouldn’t have joined them. I knew that.
I’d accepted the invite because a coach needed to get to know his players, and sometimes having dinner or a few drinks with them helped.
We didn’t tend to hang out with the players the way they hung out with each other, but socializing like this once in a while wasn’t out of the ordinary.
When that coach had been ridden into oblivion by the player sitting across from him—that was when things quickly diverged from normal.
I barely followed the conversation around me.
There was some chirping, because that was inevitable with hockey players.
There was some gossip about trades that may or may not have been in the works, and about who might be getting called up to the big leagues for good.
They were all absolutely sure a particular goalie on Boston’s affiliate team was going to get called up any day now.
Boston’s starting goalie was a mess, and the one on the affiliate team had been killing it, so it was only a matter of time before calls were made.
Beyond that, I struggled to focus on much besides the man sitting across from me. Or the way we kept catching each other’s eyes. Or—
Jack. He’s a player. Stop.
I pulled my gaze away from him for the forty-ninth time and tried to focus on what Rizz was saying about… about… something. I didn’t know.
At least we’d made it through practice without incident.
Granted, I hadn’t been running the show yet, just observing, so there hadn’t been much need for interaction.
But Devon had played well, especially during the scrimmage at the end of practice.
I’d understood very quickly why Emil acquired him; he was the kind of offensive defenseman this team lacked and his previous coach had squandered.
While his D partner tended to stay back by the blue line, Devon would get in deep with the forwards.
He was a more physical player than a lot of the Grizzlies, bodying around players who had forty pounds on him.
If he got the puck, he’d barrel into the offensive zone rather than finding a forward to carry it.
He had serious potential. If Vancouver wasn’t sniffing around to call him up by the end of this season, I’d eat my skates.
Beside Devon, Pells grumbled and put his phone down beside his empty plate. “Shit, we should call it a night. We’ve got practice tomorrow.”
The guys all groaned theatrically.
“And a game,” Yanni said. “We just played one. God.”
“The coaches are so mean,” Rizz said with exaggerated exasperation. “They’re such assholes, expecting us to—oh, hey, Coach. Forgot you were there.”
The guys all laughed, and I chuckled.
“Sorry, boys,” I said. “I don’t make the schedule.”
“But you make the practice schedule,” Pells pointed out. “So, this is kind of your fault.”
I put up my hands. “I just got here. You can’t blame me for the way the schedule is right now.”
“Mm-hmm.” Rizz narrowed his eyes. “But you’re going to make it better, right? Right?”
“Absolutely,” I deadpanned. “I think everyone should have more time to spend with their families instead of killing half the day at practice.”
Some of the guys cheered. Rizz and Pells eyed me dubiously, as if they knew there was a potential monkey paw outcome here.
I smirked and delivered: “That’s why practices will start at six instead of eleven.”
That prompted a chorus of protests. Rizz and Pells just rolled their eyes and shook their heads. They probably knew I was kidding. Or at least hoped I was.
Everyone settled up their tabs, and we all filtered out.
On the way outside, Arts turned to Devon. “Hey, Claus is going to stay a bit later, but I can take you back to the hotel.”
Before I could stop myself, I said, “Uh, Devs and I are staying at the same hotel.” To Devon, I added, “Why don’t I give you a lift?”
He stared at me, eyes full of uncertainty.
“No shit?” Arts said. “Oh, if you guys are at the same place… I’m on the other side of town, so…”
Devon glanced back and forth between us. Then he shrugged. “Yeah, sure. Why not?” I wondered if anyone else noticed how forced his smile was. “Thanks, Coach.”
“Don’t mention it.”
We all trooped out to the parking lot, and no one gave us a second look as we climbed into my SUV. Everyone headed off in different directions, and I casually pulled out of the parking lot toward our hotel, which wasn’t far.
Silence hung between us for the first minute or so. When Devon finally spoke, his tone was flat: “Did you know?”
I glanced at him. “Know what?”
Devon huffed with annoyance. “Think about it.”
I did and—oh. Right. That
Clearing my throat, I fidgeted in the driver seat and shook my head. “No. I didn’t.” Again, I glanced at him. “Did you?”
“No!” He tsked sharply. “I wouldn’t have hooked up with my fucking coach if I knew!” He fidgeted just like I had, pressing his elbow beneath the window and gnawing his thumbnail as he stared out the windshield. “I… Christ, I would never do something that stupid.”
“Neither would I.”
More silence. The hotel was already coming into view, its glowing sign sending panic through me because how much more privacy were we going to get?
I needed to put it out there—it happened once and it couldn’t happen again. Period.
But my tongue stuck to the roof of my mouth. And Devon didn’t say anything. And… fuck me, we were here.
I pulled into a parking space and killed the engine.
We both took off our seat belts, but neither of us got out of the SUV.
We still didn’t speak. My God, when had I become such a tongue-tied dumbass?
I’d faced down media scrums since I was seventeen, smoothly answering questions on the fly while lenses and microphones encroached on my space.
Tonight, all I needed to do was tell this man—this player on the team I was employed to coach—that we couldn’t sleep together again. No thinking necessary. No second-guessing. The answer was as cut-and-dried as they came.
But could I get my stupid mouth to work? No, I could not.
As I looked around the parking lot, I felt extra conspicuous.
There was no one out here that I could see, but we were in full view of half the hotel’s rooms, a lot of which had their lights on.
Several people associated with the team were staying here, and they could be peering down at us from behind any of those sheer curtains.
“Let’s take this inside.” I opened my door. “Less chance of someone seeing us.”
Devon didn’t argue. I thought he cursed, but otherwise, he just got out of the car and followed me inside.
To anyone who didn’t know, we were just a player and coach arriving at the same time and getting into the same elevator.
Happened every day, especially if we were both coming from the same practice, game, or team meeting.
I doubted anyone noticed us at all, but that didn’t stop me from being certain everyone was watching us and wondering.
The elevator had just closed when Devon said, “Let’s go to your room.”
I jumped, both from the broken silence and the subtly commanding tone. “Oh. Uh. Why my room?”
His expression betrayed nothing. “It’s closer to the elevator.”
“Oh. Right.” Not that I would’ve known—I hadn’t been to his room. He’d only been to mine.
Last night.
When we’d—
The doors opened, and Devon stepped out first. What could I do but follow?
My room was three down from the elevator. We stopped there, and we both glanced around as I touched my keycard to the reader. Then we stepped inside.
As the door clicked shut behind us, I knew bringing him into this hotel room was a mistake. A huge mistake. Fuck, what were we doing?
We were returning to the scene of the crime. Facing off just steps away from the bed where he’d made my soul leave my body. I was holding his gaze in the same soft, warm light we’d been in when he’d told me to get on my knees, and… yeah, this was a colossally bad idea.
Devon crossed his arms and shifted his weight, and I tried not to think about how hot he was with his hips canted like that. “So… what is there to talk about?”
A lot of things. I knew that. But those light-brown eyes were boring into mine, and I forgot words.
I forgot everything except the way those eyes had burned with hunger and lust as he’d told me, “I’m going to fuck your face, and then I’m going to fuck your ass.
” He’d inclined his head just a little and asked, “Yes?”
My voice had been little more than a strangled croak as I’d whispered, “Fuck, yes.”
His grin had nearly knocked my knees out from under me. His next command and that downward nod absolutely had. Even now, facing off long after the smoke had cleared, I could still feel the carpet biting into my knees and his fingertips drifting beneath my chin as he’d grinned down at me.
In the present, unaware of the memories he was conjuring up, he dipped his head in that same way he had just before he’d asked for confirmation that I was onboard. This time, instead of checking in that I consented to being fucked six ways from Sunday, he asked, “Coach?”
Coach.
Right.
Because he was Devon Jarvis, and he was a player on the hockey team I coached, and the last thing I needed to think about was everything he’d done to me.
The last thing I needed was to be getting hard thinking about those things.
No, scratch that—the last thing I needed was for Devon’s gaze to flick downward, right to my crotch, and for his eyes to narrow as the corners of his mouth turned up.
Fuck my life, we had to stop this before—
“If you hadn’t turned out to be my coach,” he said evenly, closing some of the distance between us, “would you have hit me up again?”
I avoided his gaze as my face heated. As I tried to find my breath, damn it.
“Well?” he prodded gently, a playful lilt to his voice. “Would you?”
I swept my tongue across my dry lips and made myself look at him across the too-narrow space. “You saw what you did to me. You don’t think I’d have asked for a rematch?”