Chapter 7 Scott
SCOTT
The next day, I sit across from Coach Duke Daniels in his office, trying not to scowl while he chews on the end of a pen and sizes me up like I’m a rookie straight out of juniors. The Montana Frostbite logo glares down at me from the wall behind him, reminding me I’m a long way from Vancouver.
New team, new dynamics. A coach and an assistant coach who were hired away from the Puckers team in L.A. Anyone who follows hockey knows me and the Puckers never got along. That aspect was the only negative about getting this deal to play here.
“I know coming to a new team is a challenge,” Duke says, his voice deep and steady, yet commanding, like a man who’s been breaking wild horses his whole life. And he has, growing up on a Montana ranch. He even runs off-season hockey conditioning camps there every summer.
He goes on. “Especially given the history between your old team and mine. But I need you to take the intensity down a notch, Sanderson. Out on the ice, you’re running your mouth a hundred miles an hour and burning through your new teammates like they’re opponents.”
The guy they call Saint, the assistant coach, a recent promotion from Puckers right winger, leans against the wall with his arms crossed, a crooked grin tugging at his mouth.
“I know you and I had some good brawls on the ice last year, but we’re on the same team now.
That’s how the hockey world works. Time to put aside our past rivalry.
If you can’t, you might force us to bench you. ”
“I’m sure you’d love that.” I scoff.
Saint bristles and is about to retort, but Duke interrupts, his hand in the air.
“Come on, guys. Enough. What I really want to know is what the hell you’ve been doing out there on the ice, Sanderson. Skating intensely and spouting off at your teammates. Care to explain?” Duke’s hard eyes sear into my skull.
The thing is, I respect the dude. I followed his pro career early, and the fact that he’s one of the best coaches in the league now means something to me. To be here playing for him is an honor. But yeah, since I arrived here, my head hasn’t been in the game.
Thanks to Holly, her bikinis made for sin, and her damn cat.
I blow out a long breath, raking a hand through my hair. “It’s not the team. Not really.”
Saint quirks a brow. “Then what’s got your jockstrap twisted in a wad? A woman?”
I give a sheepish grin.
“Jesus. You just got here,” Duke groans and tosses the pen on his desk. “Do I need to call Melody in from the PR department to repeat her speech on using condoms?”
“It’s not like that. It’s my roommate. She’s gorgeous, she’s smart, she’s different. There’s something about her. But she comes with baggage.”
Saint chuckles and rolls his eyes. “Don’t they all?”
“This baggage has four legs and a grudge against me. Her cat. Winston. The damn thing growls, hisses, and stares like he’s plotting my death every time I get near her.
I can’t even hold her hand without feeling his laser-beam eyes on me.
Look at these scratches.” I pull up my jersey sleeve, revealing the fresh ones I got this morning while trying to give Holly a hug.
Duke’s lips twitch. “Never thought I’d be sitting in my office talking about a player losing ice time because of a cat.”
Saint smirks. “You ever think of just, I don’t know, leaving a door open? Cat takes a walk. Problem solved.”
Duke shoots him a look. “We live in Montana now, Saint. There are wild animals everywhere who would love a cat for dinner. Don’t listen to this guy.
If you ‘lose’ the cat, you’ll lose the girl too because she’ll blame you.
Trust me, Sanderson. If you want her, you’ll find a way to coexist with the fur ball. ”
“Maybe give him some space. Let him explore the garage. Contained and safe, but not outside,” Saint continues. “He’d be in the garage long enough for you to do whatever it is you want to with the woman and be none the wiser.”
“Jesus, Saint. Knock it off. Sanderson, you need to play nice with the cat. Bring it treats, for example.”
I groan, dragging my palms down my face. “I did.” And I share with them how lousy that went. “He shit everywhere like he knew that’d ruin our dinner plans.” Although the night ended with some passionate kisses. But I’m ready to graduate to more.
“Well. I have no words.” Saint shakes his head.
“I do. If you really care for this woman, you have to romance her. But not until you romance the cat,” Duke says.
I snort. “So what you’re telling me is, my future sex life—and playing time—depends on befriending a celebrity cat?”
Saint laughs. “Sounds like a hell of a challenge. Better get your game face on.”
“Now, about tomorrow’s practice. I’m giving you one last chance to prove yourself or you’ll be benched for the first pregame. Got it?” Duke has the last word.
Fuck. I came to Montana with one mission, to win on the ice. But now, seeing Holly every day, and dealing with Winston, I’m messing things up.
The talk with Duke and Saint helped a little. At least the romancing part. Tonight, I decide to take a different approach. No more glaring at Winston, no more muttered insults under my breath when he hisses.
If Holly loves pink, then I’m going all in. Pink roses in a vase. Pink candles flickering on the table. Even a box of pink chocolates I tracked down in town, set out like I’d been planning this all week.
Holly’s eyes light up when she walks in. “Scott, for me? This is beautiful. And pink.” She sets down Winston’s carrier and lets him out of it.
“You’re beautiful. I thought you’d like it.
” I grin and kiss her. Like the first time, this kiss sends a rush of lust through my veins, because Holly doesn’t just kiss back, she leans in.
She grasps my shoulders as if I’m keeping her afloat.
She glides her thigh very sultry-like up my leg.
And her moans vibrate my chest like she’s a purring cat herself.
I try to ignore the low growl rumbling from Winston, perched on the counter like a judgmental king on his throne. His eyes razor sharp, I’m amazed they don’t cut the roses in half.
“Wow. What did I do to deserve that kiss? And can I have more?” I tease, refusing to let her body go.
“Just a thank you for helping me clean up Winston’s mess last night. That’s more than my ex would ever do.” Breathless in my arms, she smells so good. Like expensive perfume. Some designer in France has no idea that she wears it and owns it, that one whiff of her and I’m hard like a rock.
“I’m here for you. For fun. For clean up. Whatever.” I continue to pursue her neck, to her earlobe. “Maybe we could give Winston a little space tonight. Just you and me. Privacy.” My cock wholeheartedly agrees to this plan, twitching in my sweatpants.
She tilts her head, considering. “It’s probably time for Winston’s exercise, anyway. I’ll put him on the treadmill.”
I blink. “The cat has a treadmill?”
“Of course. Exercise is very important for a healthy body.”
“You sure do a lot for that ol’ boy.”
“He does a lot for me. He deserves the pampering .” She scoops him up and kisses him on the head, ignoring his squirming protests. Pampering or not, I’m not sure he likes the treadmill. “Will twenty minutes be enough time for our… privacy?”
“Plenty. For now,” I grin at him. Yep, you go get your sweat on, cat. I’m getting it on with Holly.
She carries him to another room. Moments later, I hear the faint whir of machinery and a very undignified yowl. Twenty minutes alone with Holly? Let’s see how far I get.