Chapter 31
THIRTY-ONE
DAISY
Me
I did something stupid…
Willa
It better include the hot hockey player
Me
Willa
I knew it!!
I need *all* the details
“Do you ever worry the ice might melt?” I stare at Lauren like she’s just proclaimed the earth is flat.
“We’re sat in a literal freezer.”
“I’m just saying, look at him,” she exclaims, pointing a whole gloved hand toward the other side of the rink. “It’s not fair for anyone that hot to be so good with kids as well.”
We’re settled in a half empty row, ten steps up in the old Southbay arena, huddled together like penguins while twenty pee-wee players warm up before their game. It’s like watching Bambi on Ice in 3D. Except it’s the six-foot coach on the other side of the barrier who’s stolen our attention.
He’s dressed head to toe in black; jeans and a turtleneck poking out over the top of his unzipped puffer jacket, like it’s not freezing in here.
His arms are resting against the top of the railing separating the players section from the ice, hands clutched, and head bowed low as he listens to the kid in front of him prattling on.
Lauren is right, it’s really not fair. As if I needed another reason to fantasize about that man—he’s given me enough over the last week already.
“I still can’t believe he spends his free time coaching kids. Most guys his age wouldn’t,” she says, before adding, “Do you think he does it because he knows it amps up his hot factor?”
I shake my head, taking a sip of coffee from the Southbay thermos I stole from Connor this morning.
“It’s because of his dad,” I tell her. “He used to Coach here when Connor was a kid. Before they moved out of the city.”
“I thought he passed away when Connor was in high school?” Vanessa adds from my other side.
I nod, still watching Connor as he helps tighten the helmet on the kid’s head before sending him off with an encouraging pat on the shoulder. “He did. Sophomore year.”
“That’s so sad.” It is. I can’t imagine the crushing pain of losing a parent.
I don’t want to imagine it. I may not always see eye to eye with my parents, but the thought of not having them sets me a little off-kilter.
I take another sip of lukewarm coffee to chase down the emotion that’s lodged itself at the back of my throat.
The girls must be thinking the same thing, because Vanessa quickly changes the subject. “How’s the book coming along?”
“Good.” I nod. Really good, actually.
But I’m not about to share that multiple orgasms at the hands of the guy they’re currently salivating over seems to have done the trick on my creative block.
I’ve been writing a lot more lately. Quick, jutted-down notes on my phone after bedtime, or full-on writing sessions whenever Connor is at practice. It’s like every time he touches me a live wire shoots straight to the part of my brain that’s trying to make sense of the world.
And if that wasn’t enough, seeing him so patient and supportive with these kids would single-handedly destroy the picture of the panty-dropping player I’ve spent the last two months painting in my head.
“Yeah? Did Tarah finally see reason?” Lauren asks, popping her feet up on one of the empty seats in the row in front of us.
The arena is practically empty compared to the last time I was at a hockey game.
I’m pretty sure we’re the only ones in here who aren’t family to one of the players or part of the five guys huddled at the top of the players box, calling plays down at the kids at such a rapid pace that even the referee tells them to shut up and leave it to the actual coach.
“No, she was right.” I grimace, eliciting a laugh from Vanessa.
“She usually is. I really hate it.”
“Me too.”
On the other side of the ice, Connor turns his eyes to the players slowly starting to filter back into the box, while the rest of the team lines up down the middle of the ice. Green jerseys on one side, purple on the other.
I like that he spends his free time doing something he loves, something that connects him to his family. More so, I like that he cares; he’s not doing it out of some misplaced sense of duty or guilt. He’s doing it because he knows he can give these kids a safe space to grow.
Watching the kids play is messier than the fast-paced, calculated game of the college team, but I find myself more invested in this one. I think it’s the way the kids wobble slightly on the ice that makes me want them to win that much more.
Connor leans on the railing, his eyes tracking the players as he calls out game plays and what I think might be encouraging words, but they get swallowed up in the sound of skates slicing across the ice and the occasional pang of sticks colliding.
He lights up when one of his players sinks the puck into the opposing team’s net, securing the first goal of the game.
The puck drops again and both teams take off, chasing it. A bad pass has one of the kids go down, his helmet bouncing against the ice. My heart lurches into my throat, gloved fingers curling around the edge of the plastic seat in front of me.
Connor doesn’t even hesitate before he flings himself over the boards, and I realize he’s been wearing skates all along, like he knew he’d be needed at some point.
He takes off instantly, meeting the little guy where he’s struggling to pull himself off the ice.
Connor stops on a turn, his skates spraying shavings of ice in the opposite direction of where the kid has managed to pull himself up to a seated position.
Connor drops one knee, his hands coming out to stabilize the kid and help him to his feet, not letting go before he’s sure the kid’s skates won’t go out from under him again. His lips move, a tense look of concern on his face as he checks his player over for injuries.
The kid shakes his head, his helmet jostling a little with the movement. Connor tightens the strap on his helmet and double-checks the laces on his skates before giving him a gentle nudge in the direction of the rest of his team.
Then he’s up and gliding effortlessly back toward the players’ box, and I feel like I can breathe again.
“Totally. Fucking. Hot,” Vanessa mutters beside me as the game starts back up. I press my lips together and glance her way, brows raised. “Don’t tell Finn I said that,” she quickly adds when she spots both Lauren and I looking at her.
The three of us burst out laughing, sinking further into our seats.
We spend the rest of the game cheering our hearts out for the tiny players while I try my hardest not to glance at the coach.
When the final whistle sounds, and Southbay is declared the winners, I’m proud to say I’ve mostly succeeded.