Chapter 2
Rhett
This girl had no idea what she’d gotten herself into.
Hockey wasn’t the same as baseball, or tennis, or all those other sports where you frolicked around and shook hands with the other players after a match.
Hockey players were full of piss and vinegar.
We were real men who fought it out on the ice, usually with our sticks. But sometimes with our fists.
And this girl thought she could tell me not to get into fights?
I chuckled to myself. She was lucky I was so understanding. The rest of this team was going to eat her for breakfast.
It was a shock to see her standing behind Andy in the trainer’s room.
I’d worked with Andy since I joined the team three years ago.
I was used to him knowing what was wrong with me at a glance.
He was part of my routine. Warm-up, game, then Andy.
I usually spent my time with the trainer thinking about the game, replaying it all in my head and making mental notes about what I needed to fix.
But when June had her hands on me? It was like my brain rebooted itself. I couldn’t remember the fight, let alone the rest of the game.
Cole Thibault, the team captain, walked by in his street clothes. “Hey, you see the new trainer?” I called out.
He was frowning down at his phone, but stopped long enough to ask, “I heard Andy was retiring. What’s the new guy like?”
“New girl,” I corrected. “Looks like she’s right out of college. And yes, she’s hot.”
“I didn’t ask,” Cole muttered, but he looked over at me. “You know, if you focused more on the ice, and less on women, maybe you’d score more than seventy points this season.”
“Dang, bro. Who pissed in your Wheaties this morning?”
“You pissed in them by picking a fight in a scrimmage,” Cole replied calmly. “We need you focused this season if we’re going to make a run at the Cup, Rhett.”
“I’m locked in,” I insisted as he walked away. “And I’m going to score a hundred points this season. Just wait!”
He was gone, but Elias, our Swedish goalie, was staring at me. “What?”
Elias shrugged, then resumed tying his shoes.
When my twenty minutes was up, I returned to the trainer room. To my disappointment, June was gone. I stripped off the tape and icepack and left them on the table like she’d asked.
Cole was wrong. I was totally focused on my season. We were one of the favorites to win the Eastern Conference, and I was going to lead the team in points.
Then why, I wondered, can’t I get the new trainer out of my head?