39. The Zamboni Outlaw
39
THE ZAMBONI OUTLAW
Miles
If I wasn’t a hockey player, I’d be a Zamboni driver. Actually, scratch that. I want to be a Zamboni driver whose dog comes to work with him every day, sitting right next to me like this cool dude Frank here. He’s a Pit Bull-Boxer-Cattle-Dog mix with a brindle coat that looks like it was ordered from the Cool Dog catalogue, and the senior mutt is sporting an excellent frosty face. Fitting for an old guy, since his chill factor is off the charts. He’s just sitting here, hanging with me as I take the Zamboni for a spin around the rink before our game tonight, while the world’s sexiest, most captivating woman takes pictures for the calendar.
My life right now is basically perfect.
“Why did I wait so long to drive a Zamboni again?” I call out to Tyler, who’s lingering near the edge of the ice, holding onto a leash attached to a three-legged German Shepherd. The dog has a wild energy, faster than most four-legged ones I’ve seen.
“Because you’re an idiot,” Tyler shouts back.
“Why have enemies when you can have brothers?” I yell as I steer around the oval, maybe showing off my mad Zamboni-driving skills for the photographer.
“Now hurry up and get off that thing before you get arrested again, like the time you tried to steal a Zamboni,” Tyler says, making a “get on with it” gesture.
“I wasn’t arrested,” I say, scoffing as I make another loop.
Leighton lowers her camera a bit to smirk at me. “Of course you weren’t, Miles. I’m sure you talked your way out of it.” Her playful tone says she knows me so well, and the sound makes my chest tighten. She also seems more relaxed than when I ran into her an hour ago. I hate the thought of her unhappy or stressed.
“Maybe not arrested, but you were banned from the rink for a week.” Tyler will just not let it go. “Basically the same thing for a hockey player.”
“What’d you do, Prof?” Rowan calls from the tunnel. “Try to actually steal a Zamboni?” He’s cradling a fluffball of a dog—some kind of Pomeranian-Chihuahua mix. “You need to get better at being an outlaw, Falcon. I’ve driven a Zamboni countless times and never got in trouble.”
“He can’t misbehave,” Tyler shoots back. “He’s gonna be co-captain.”
“Not if Coach finds out about his checkered past,” Rowan adds.
My grip tightens on the controls as my conscience threatens to ruin what should be a fun shoot, not a therapy session for me to exorcise my guilt about sleeping with, shacking up with, and oh, falling ass over elbow for the coach’s daughter.
“You guys need to be better sports about waiting your turn.” I manage to keep my tone even. “It’s still my shoot.”
Leighton clears her throat, stepping closer on the ice. “I hate to break it to you, Miles, but your ride’s up. Everyone gets their moment with the Zamboni.”
It pains me, but I stop driving. I have to follow some rules at least.
Rowan whistles. “Take that, co-captain. Get your ass off the Zamboni. It’s my turn with Wanda the Wonder Dog.”
I glance at the tiny fluffball in his arms. He already seems halfway attached to it, and I’d bet good money he’ll take that dog home, maybe to his daughter, Mia, or maybe for himself. Either way, it’s happening.
I hop off the Zamboni, giving Leighton a quick nod. “Admit it though. I’m an awesome Zamboni driver, right?”
“The jury’s still out,” she teases as she busies herself with the camera. I step closer, leaning in to peek at the shots on the screen. As I do, the faint scent of her lotion—that warm and sweet brown sugar and vanilla elixir—hits me, and my brain momentarily stalls. It takes everything in me not to press a kiss to the hollow of her throat. The locket she wore on our day together looked perfect against her skin there, a symbol of a future where I’d run into her in the hallway and we wouldn’t have to dart into the stairwell. Where we could talk freely, touch lightly, interact without worry.
But could we ever have that future? What would that take?
A throat clears, sharp and intentional. It yanks me out of my spiraling thoughts. I glance up, half-expecting Tyler or Rowan, but the sound comes from the tunnel. Coach is heading onto the ice, his eyes scanning the setup.
Oh, shit.
I straighten, ripping myself away from Leighton and trying to look casual. “What’s up?” I ask, my voice steady even as my pulse races for entirely different reasons now.
Coach’s face is implacable, unreadable, and it’s terrifying. Did he notice me inhaling the scent of his daughter?
Leighton is much cooler than I am. “Hey, Coach,” she says, easily. “You want to show them you’re the best Zamboni driver ever?”
She masterfully keeps the convo about the Zamboni, and I could kiss her.
Only that thought’s not helpful either.
“Maybe I will. It’d be good for them to see how it’s done,” he says, a dryly sarcastic reminder that he’s in charge. When his gaze shifts to me, my stomach drops with the fear that he knows something—that he can see it in my eyes. “Leighton said the dog-sitting went well?”
It’s not a tricky question, but my gut twists anyway. “Yes, it went great!” I blurt too loudly. “The dogs love your daughter.”
Behind Coach, my brother’s eyes widen, aiming question marks at me. Did you really say that ?
“They think she’s great. They’re obsessed with her.” I can’t stop babbling. What the fuck is wrong with me? Am I talking about the dogs or me? “They can’t wait to see her again,” I add, trying to cover up the reality—that the dogs saw her a couple hours ago when we had breakfast together after I had her.
For fuck’s sake, brain. Give a guy a break.
Coach tilts his head, no doubt piecing together the holes in my story, like how would I know the dogs are obsessed with her since I’m supposedly not at home at the same time as the dogs and Leighton?
My pulse hammers in my chest, and I force a grin that probably looks as shaky as I feel. Leighton, on the other hand, is steady as ever, her voice smooth as she jumps in. “That’s what I told Miles, of course—that they love me. Not as much as they love their heated beds though.”
“Tough competition,” Coach tells her with a smile. His gaze is more serious when it turns toward me. “Now you’ve got a dog-sitter if you need help again.”
He sounds eager to play matchmaker once more and that makes me feel decidedly worse.
“Absolutely,” I say, forcing a grin.
When Coach walks away, Leighton lets out a breath, then meets my gaze for a split second in a silent acknowledgment that we dodged a bullet—thanks to her. I could barely handle the softball questions, which is not good for a guy trying to be co-captain.
I take off, my pulse still racing. I head to the weight room to burn off some adrenaline on the stationary bike. Fifteen minutes later, Tyler looms in the doorway, gesturing to my AirPods.
I pop them out and he strides in, shutting the door. It’s just us.
He’s quiet for a moment. Thoughtful, like he’s just walked in on his kids finger painting the whole kitchen. “What’s going on with you and Leighton?” His tone is curious rather than accusatory. An observation from someone who knows me so well.
“We’re friends,” I say impulsively as I pedal faster, focusing on the burn in my thighs rather than the lie on my lips.
Tyler nods a few times, like he’s taking that in stride .
“You seem friendly,” he says, and that cuts close. “But also, like you really like being friends with her.”
The really is doing a lot of work in that sentence. “She’s cool,” I say, as flatly as I can.
He arches a brow, a sign he’s not buying what I’m selling. “I hear you. I really do. But hear this—be careful.”
I sigh, slow my pace, and nod. An admission of sorts. “I will,” I say.
“There’s a lot at stake,” he adds, like I don’t know that.
“I know,” I say.
Because what else is there to say? So I shift gears, asking how things are going with his nanny situation. Then, we dive into the strategy for tonight’s game.
But the whole interaction is unsettling.
And when I play that evening, I’m determined more than ever to hide all these fucking feelings for Leighton McBride.
Good thing it’s a tough, tight game. There’s no time to linger on things like feelings. Or to look for her in the stands. There’s only time to focus on making plays.
And I do, nabbing a goal on Ford Devon’s assist to help our team beat Vancouver in our barn tonight.
“That’s what I like to see,” Coach says when the game is over and he flips me the game puck in the locker room.
It’s like he knew I needed it for beating my old team. I don’t feel like I deserve it though.