11. Ariella
ELEVEN
ARIELLA
HOOCHIE DADDY SHORTS
I set my stuff down by the giant whiteboard hanging next to my office door, picking up one of the markers to write down what I’d run the team through. I hadn’t been sure if I’d be training the players right away or spending the first week doing all the boring onboarding. Thankfully, I’d come up with an introductory workout just in case.
The faint scents of bleach and Pine-Sol tickled my nose, covering me like a blanket of comfort. That bubble of familiarity and peace soon popped when shouts and loud conversation filtered in from the hallway, spiking adrenaline through my veins. I caught a few mentions of “new coach,” and, “Monroe will kick our ass if we’re late.” As the voices grew louder, I ran a hand over my shorts—the slick fabric catching on my callouses as I attempted to wipe off the layer of perspiration.
“You’ve got this, Ari. You know what you’re doing, and you can probably out-deadlift some of these guys,” I muttered, bracing as the players finally spilled into the gym .
Several pairs of eyes landed on me, pausing for a minute before scanning the gym.
I clocked the exact moment they realized there wasn’t anyone else here because they went silent. It was as if the whole room held its breath, waiting to see who would react first.
Put on your big girl chonies.
“Hello, team, I’m Ariella Contreras.” I gave them a calm, collected smile as I scanned their faces. There were looks of shock, disinterest, and skepticism—nothing new.
I was about to say more when a deep, all-too-familiar voice cut through the room, freezing me in place.
“Ari?” An all too familiar green gaze locked on me, Dalton’s expression a mixture of confusion and shock that I knew was mirrored on my own. “What are you doing here?”
What was I doing there? What the hell was he doing there?
This man was supposed to stay in my memory, maybe make the occasional cameo in my dreams. He was definitely not supposed to turn up at my new job, pinning me with that intense gaze that made my stomach flip. I forced myself to break eye contact, but if I thought looking at his stupidly handsome face was difficult, staring at his muscular thighs was way worse. My brain felt like static, and I had to bite my lip to keep from groaning—or barking.
Who did I need to talk to about getting him issued nine-inch inseam shorts instead of the five-inch ones he was currently wearing? Or sweatpants. A burlap sack would be even better.
“I— ”
“Hey, you’re Cap’s new girl. I’m Roberts,” a kid barely out of his teens shouted, breaking the tension as he shoved his way to the front and threw an arm around Dalton, extending his other hand to me. “You’re even prettier in person,” he said, earning him an elbow to the ribs. Dalton’s look of confusion was replaced with irritation.
But the comment got my brain back online and functioning. “No, I’m your new strength and conditioning coach,” I said firmly, working to rein in all of the emotions coursing through me in that moment.
“Now we know how she got the job,” someone else snickered, barely loud enough for me to hear.
I didn’t appreciate the insinuation, especially since I didn’t know what the hell was going on.
Dalton didn’t either. He untangled himself from Roberts, pushing through the other players and making his way toward the bearded guy who’d made the remark. “Watch it, Stephens. I hear you talk to her like that again, and you’ll be missing a few more teeth.” His tone was harsh and his hands fisted by his side.
A twinge of warmth stirred low in my stomach at seeing Dalton stand up for me, but I had to make it clear that I was here for my skills and nothing else. These were my players now, and if I didn’t demand their respect from the get-go, I’d never get it.
I placed a hand on Dalton’s chest, stopping him. “I can handle this.”
He scanned my face in a way that made my heart beat faster before dipping his head. “Yes, Coach,” he said with a slight smirk, stepping back and glaring at Stephens.
Was I ovulating this week? Was that what this was? Because I’d been called Coach many times over the last few years, primarily by men, but none of those other times had made my stomach do a full lurch in excitement.
Stephens scoffed, rolling his eyes as he crossed his arms over his chest. The guy was massive and looked like his nose had been broken a time or two. I wondered if one of those times was from catching a woman’s fist to the face.
“Did you have something you wanted to say, Stephens?” I asked, voice sharp and commanding as I closed the distance between us. He recoiled slightly, his eyes darting to the side as he shifted uncomfortably, looking for support from his teammates, but none came.
I crossed my arms, meeting his gaze without blinking. “I’d think carefully before you speak, because whether you like it or not, I’m your coach.”
His mouth snapped shut, but the defiant fire in his eyes remained.
I stepped back, grabbing my whistle and glancing toward the trashcan near the gym doors. “Alright, looks like we’re doing this the hard way. When you’re hanging your head over that trashcan, Stephens, remember you brought this on yourself. We could’ve eased in, done a nice introduction workout while I got to know you guys. But now…”
Groans and muttered curses rippled through the group, and I hid my smirk before addressing them all. “Listen up. I was hired because I’m damn good at my job. You get one workout to get over whatever issues you have with me. After that, if you’ve got a problem, take it up with Monroe.” I paused, letting the silence settle before giving them my biggest smile. “If you can still talk, that is. Gentlemen, welcome to your new hell.”
“Y’all are acting like a bunch of babies,” I called out, my voice competing with all the labored breathing. There was a slight possibility I’d gone a little too hard on the guys. But at least one of them didn’t seem fazed. I was far too aware of how distracting it was to see Dalton dripping with sweat, hands on his hips as he paced the turf, catching his breath.
He’d come in first. Every. Single. Time.
Jimenez, as I’d come to learn his name was, had been right on his tail for the first few sprints but eventually fell away. Not Dalton, though. He was like a machine.
“Coach,” Roberts groaned, struggling to get onto his elbows like sitting up was the hardest thing he’d ever done. “We’re on skates all game. We’re not cut out for this sprinting and dragging a sled shit.”
I had to fight my smile at the whine in his voice. He sounded like my little cousins when we didn’t allow them into the living room with the adults.
“Oh, I’m sorry,” I replied deadpan. “I didn’t realize you don’t use your legs in hockey.” Just then, the door opened behind me.
Josh walked in then stopped, blinking a few times. “Why are all my players lying on the floor?”
A flicker of worry snaked up my spine. Josh was hard to read. He’d seemed confident in his decision to hire me, but that was before he walked into all his players looking like broken toy soldiers.
I cleared my throat, keeping my tone steady. “Some of them had doubts about my qualifications, so I thought I’d introduce them to my methods firsthand.”
Dalton’s voice cut in. “Turns out we suck at weighted sled sprints and not being judgmental dicks.” He glared at Stephens, who was busy studying his feet. At least the guy had the decency to look embarrassed.
Josh’s gaze cut toward Dalton, the two exchanging some silent communication I couldn’t quite read, ending in the corner of Josh’s mouth pulling up slightly. “Well, assholes, it looks like y’all earned yourselves lines on the ice to finish up. Get your skates on. You have five minutes. I add a line for every minute you’re late. Stephens, you have an extra five for being an ass.”
Ignoring the groans, Josh turned toward me, holding a fist I tentatively bumped. “Knew I picked the right person. Now you’re needed over in HR. I’m guessing they’re wanting you to sign this shit,” he said, handing me the new hire packet.
“Thanks for having my back.”
A heavy hand landed on my shoulder. “Trust yourself, Ariella. You’ve got the résumé to back it up.”
“Not at the NHL level,” I said, unsure why I was arguing about this.
He held my gaze. “Yeah, well, I didn’t either before getting this gig. But I believed in myself enough to know I could do it.” Monroe paused, arching a brow in what felt like a challenge. “And I thought you would too.”
His words were the kick in the ass I needed. Monroe was right, I’d earned this. I could do this. Straightening my shoulders, I gave him a curt nod. “You’re right. I’m the right choice for this job.” The statement was as much for me as it was for him.
“Of course she is,” Dalton cut in, startling me. I hadn’t realized he was still standing there. His expression was unreadable, but I appreciated the respectable distance he kept between us.
I’d pushed our situation out of my mind the entire practice, but we’d have to address this at some point.
Josh looked at him with surprise. “Dalt, what the hell are you still doing in here? You’re never late to the ice.”
He shrugged, holding my gaze with a gleam of mischief. “Just wanted to talk to the new coach. Introduce myself properly since we’ll be seeing a lot of each other.” He winked before heading out the gym door behind Josh.
The hidden message in those words left me sweating. It was coded, sure, but I knew exactly what he meant by it.