Chapter 5 #2
Well, shit. She was reading a book on professional hockey.
“Not that my reading material is any of your business, but I was encouraged to learn as much as I could about the sport. I’m sure the coach believes that in doing so, I’ll have a better understanding of why the game is so important to you and to the other team members.
What I’d learned so far has been fascinating.
You all have larger than life egos, personalities that would indicate a need to prove your worth.
If that’s the truth, then I would believe you’d embrace every opportunity to improve your skills through the use of any method available. ”
Well, damn. She had me there. “Yeah. Sure.”
“Good. I’m glad that’s settled. Then we won’t speak of it again. On the table on your stomach and don’t make me regret accepting this job.”
While only a flash and one most men wouldn’t catch, I was given a bird’s-eye view into her vulnerability.
Whatever reason had brought her here, she hadn’t done so completely willingly.
My curiosity was piqued more than before.
Perhaps the realization kept any additional zingers in check.
She struggled with removing her sweatshirt, which incidentally had the picture of a dog on the front.
Underneath, she was wearing what looked like a leotard, the material clinging to every curve. It was impossible not to salivate over her hourglass figure, but I tried for the first time since we met to act like a gentleman, looking away. That didn’t mean the rest of me wasn’t affected.
Nodding, I climbed onto the table, almost amused that only seconds later she covered my ass with the towel.
“Arms by your sides,” she instructed and I didn’t argue.
I watched as she grabbed a bottle of oil, rubbing the liquid on her hands for several seconds. She wasn’t paying me any attention, but her body remained tense.
When her hands were placed on my back, I was shocked at the level of warmth. I honestly couldn’t remember the last massage I’d had. We’d lost our last guy not long after I’d joined the team. Money was tight as with every organization. For her to be hired must mean we were doing something right.
Georgia didn’t utter a single word, merely taking the time to roll my muscles through her long, very talented fingers. What she was doing was relaxing, more so than anything I’d experienced in a long time.
“You’re very tense,” she said, her tone carrying a different inflection than the schoolteacher talking down to a disruptive student from before.
“Yeah, I guess.”
“The playoffs?”
I turned my head, which caused my line of sight to land on her voluptuous breasts. Well, shit. Now lying on the table had become uncomfortable, my fully aroused cock crushed. “That’s one reason.”
“There’s always next year.”
Every muscle bristled, which she noticed. “You don’t understand. I’m getting to the point of being too old to make the NHL.”
“The National Hockey League.”
“Yeah. Like pro football.” Wow, her fingers were like magic, prying the kinks out my neck. “I’m twenty-eight, older than when a lot of centers are selected. Teams want to get the most mileage out of a player. You know?”
“You seem extremely agile from what I could tell. You command the ice and not just with your big personality.”
“How would you know? You haven’t seen me play.”
“That’s where you’re wrong. The coach also gave me some links to a couple games. I watched them last night.”
I lifted my head, trying to find her eyes. She immediately pressed it down. But more gently than she’d done everything else with me.
“So you liked what you watched? How aggressive I am?”
“Maybe I should alter the words I just used. You attack the ice as if angry with its very existence. I thought you were supposed to be one with the cold surface, playing hockey a Zen moment.”
In laughing, I could instantly tell I’d brought another wave of annoyance to the surface.
While I didn’t mind getting under her skin, I hadn’t intended to do so this time.
“You’re not wrong that most players are completely submerged in the game when playing.
You could call it being in the zone. There is nothing like the exhilaration of skating twenty miles per hour on a three-millimeter steel blade. ”
“That sounds terrifying to me,” she admitted. “The hit you took was extremely violent. I’m honestly surprised your injuries weren’t much worse.”
“Not if you grew up with the sport. There’s nothing to fear but your own mind, and injuries of course.
” I shifted on the table, longing to scratch my balls from the intense ache.
“Some poet described a hockey game as a dance between ballet and murder. Graceful skating with brutality. For a lot of hockey players, what we do is a way of life. It’s in our blood.
We live, eat, sweat, sleep, and fuck hockey.
” When her fingers tensed, my physical reaction was the same.
“Don’t worry, Mr. Kendrick. I’ve heard worse.”
“Why don’t you stop calling me Mr. Kendrick? It makes me think my father is looking over my shoulder.”
“What would you prefer I call you? The Wolfman?”
“Hey, our monikers suit us perfectly.”
“Ah, I see,” she mused. “So you’re the big, bad wolf?”
If she had any idea I was a shifter I’d be surprised.
There were still millions of humans who either chose not to believe we existed or didn’t care.
I had a feeling she’d simply not been paying attention to the news.
“Didn’t the coach tell you my bite was worse than my bark?
” My laugh didn’t cause the reaction I was hoping for.
“Well, I might not understand nor am I qualified to even comment, but that’s never stopped me before.
You appear to be good at what you do, but it’s like you’re angry with the world.
Maybe you’re right in that the nickname suits you.
You’re treating that stick thing you carry as a weapon and not a tool.
A lot of baseball players say a bat is an extension of them, becoming a part of their anatomy.
I don’t see that in how you play. It’s like you’re waiting for some asshole to slam you into a wall so you can come alive. ”
Ordinarily when someone criticized me, especially a person who called my twig a stick thing, I’d been livid. But she was being genuine, something not a single sports agent, coach, or even my own father had told me.