Hayley #2
I can’t help but roll my eyes. Just as I turn to walk away, I run into a hard wall, large hands gripping my arms to steady me on my feet.
I tilt my head back, taking in the sight of the man before me.
He’s tall, maybe about six-foot-three but taller in his skates.
His hair is wet and disheveled as if he just had shower sex, and his beard is neatly maintained.
It’s almost like he stepped off the cover of GQ Magazine with his perfect lips and piercing blue eyes that have me frozen in my tracks, with my voice suddenly evading me.
Snap out of it, Hayley, I inwardly scold myself.
My heart rate increases, and my breath hitches at the sound of his voice. “Chill out, Halloway. You wouldn’t know what to do with that if it smacked you in the ass.” He looks down at me with a smirk and a wink.
He releases my arms before moving around me and entering the ice. Cocky and rude, should have known he was anything but the typically playboy. And God knows there’s no way he’d bless someone as hot as him with manners.
“Could have at least said sorry,” I mumble under my breath as I make my way back toward my father.
He’s in his power stance, so I know he means business. Not even looking at me, he says, “Monroe has.”
I cut him off before he can finish. “Five rookies starting Monday who all need physicals and two vets that need to be cleared.” He looks at me with a raised eyebrow.
“Cassidy sent over the files right after our little chat this morning. So, I’ve already looked over them.
In fact, I plan on working on them while I’m here. ”
He nods while continuing his focus on the rink below.
Pulling my I pad from my bag, I thumb through the roster to familiarize myself with the team.
Some of the guys I’ve known for years, but there’s been a few additions I’ve missed since med school and the ER became my life the last six years.
I make my way back down toward the rink, matching each face to the team picture and name on my list.
“Miller,” Coach Stevens shouts, and I watch as the mysterious man with dangerous blue eyes skates past.
I quickly scroll to his player file. Five-year veteran on the team. Top goal scorer, not as good as Alex Ovechkin though, and captain. As I scroll toward the bottom, two bold words jump out at me.
Injured reserve. Seriously? He hasn’t even been cleared, and he’s trying to skate on the ice. Putting down my iPad, I approach the entrance to the ice doing something I know I probably shouldn’t do.
Walking cautiously on the ice, I head toward him. “Brooks Miller.” My tone comes out harsher than intended.
“Hayley.” Coach Stevens’ voice echoes behind me. “You can’t be walking on the ice with those shoes.”
“Brooks Miller,” I repeat again, slightly slipping before stopping behind him.
Looking over his shoulder, his eyes pin me to my spot. My heart pounding slightly in my chest. “Can I help you?” he says with a cocky smirk plastered across his face.
For a moment, I lose all train of thought, as his clear blue eyes lure me in. But I quickly bring myself back to reality. “Off the ice,” I say, my tone firm.
“Excuse me?” His cocky grin slowly fades.
I say it again, this time slower as I take a step forward showing him I’m serious. “Off. The. Ice.”
He lets out a chuckle as if I can’t be serious or my authority means nothing to him. “And you are… That’s right, you’re one of the hockey moms. What? You wanna discuss one-on-one sessions for your son. Or yourself?” His cocky smirk returning.
“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 the same 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.