Chapter 3 #2
I round a corner and nearly collide with Jamie Proulx.
He's a rookie defenseman, maybe twenty years old. Way too young for me, but already a good-looking go-getter. Like I said, this whole team is handsome.
I, on the other hand, am a new divorcée at twenty six.
I have almost nothing in common with Jamie except that we both live in Seattle and work for this team.
His hair is still damp from the shower. He's got that wide-eyed eager look that all the new guys have before this league chews them up.
He shifts on his feet, scratching the back of his neck like he's gearing up for battle.
"Uh, hey, Scout," he says. His voice cracks a little, which makes me feel ancient. "You want to grab dinner sometime? There's this place by the pier that does really good..."
My feet stop moving. Heat climbs up my throat. Oh god. He's a kid. Sweet, but still a kid. And I'm standing here in my team polo with coffee stains on the sleeve, feeling older than dirt.
"Jamie, that's really kind of you," I start, trying to keep my voice gentle. "But I can't. I'm sorry."
His face falls. His ears turn red. "Oh. Yeah, sure. I just thought… you know, that you’re so… never mind."
My eyebrows knit. “Never mind?”
"Proulx." The voice booms down the hallway like a shotgun blast. A voice I'd know anywhere.
Silas.
He appears suddenly, filling the corridor with his presence. The tallest guy on the team. Broad shoulders. Gorgeous, eerie eyes. That same unreadable expression that makes me feel like I'm being catalogued and filed away in some drawer.
Silas isn’t exempt from the team’s good looks. If anything, he’s hotter than the rest of the team, if hotness and surliness can be the same thing.
His stare locks on Jamie. "Quit harassing her."
Jamie blinks, startled. "I wasn't..."
"She works here," Silas says. His tone is as frosty as a frozen lake in January. "She's not here to entertain you."
My pulse jumps. "Silas, it's fine. He was just..."
"It's not fine." He doesn't look at me or even acknowledge that I spoke. His gaze stays pinned on Jamie like a physical weight.
Jamie stammers. "I didn't mean... I just thought..."
"Really," I try again, desperate to stop whatever this is. "It's okay..."
Jamie's eyes dart between us, panic creeping into his expression. "I didn't realize you two were... you know..." He swallows hard. "I thought..."
"Oh no." My stomach drops. "We're not..."
Before I can finish the sentence, Silas's hand fists in Jamie's jersey and shoves him back a step. Not hard enough to hurt, just hard enough to prove he could if he wanted to. His voice drops to something lethal.
"Apologize. Then leave."
Jamie's face goes crimson. He mutters a rushed apology to me without meeting my eyes, then bolts down the hallway. His sneakers squeak against the tile.
Silas stands rigid in the middle of the corridor. His chest rises and falls like he just finished a shift on the ice. His jaw is tight. He doesn't look at me or say a word. My lips part, but no words come to mind. Silas has that effect on me, turning my brain to mush.
“Sorry about the kid,” he grumbles.
Then he turns and stalks away, shoulders stiff, leaving me pressed against the wall with my heart racing. My cheeks burn.
What the hell was that?
I stand there for a full minute, trying to process what just happened. Silas Huxley, who barely acknowledges my existence most days, just scared off a rookie who asked me to dinner. My pulse is still pounding, my skin too hot.
Why would he do that?
I don't have answers. And standing here trying to figure things out isn’t helping me any. So I do what I always do… I get back to work.
I duck into the staff lounge to catch my breath and reorganize my stack of schedules.
I'm fumbling with papers when Melanie Greene sweeps in like a force of nature.
She's the wife of Jimbo Greene, the owner of the Seattle Havoc.
I haven't seen her around since I started working here.
But she was always nice to me when Enzo played for her husband's team.
Melanie is all pearls and perfume, her smile warm enough to soften the whole room. She spots me immediately.
"Scout Morelli!" she exclaims, arms out, drawing me into a hug before I can dodge. "It's been ages, sweetheart. How's Enzo doing? I heard he's making some serious deals for our boys now."
I freeze. My breath catches in my throat. My old name hits me like a slap across the face and I can't focus on anything else.
"Actually..." I force the words out, giving her a wobbly smile. "My last name is Nash. Enzo and I divorced last year. I have been working here while I figure things out."
Melanie's smile shifts into something softer, almost maternal. She pats my arm like she's confiding secrets. "Oh honey. Well, you're better off, then. And it's obviously his loss. Enzo's always been a bit of an asshole, hasn't he? I hope we'll see more of you now that you're free of him."
I force a smile even though my stomach twists. "Thank you. That's kind."
She nods, satisfied with herself, and glides out of the lounge. Her perfume lingers in her wake, sweet and cloying.
I grip the schedules so hard the edges curl.
Everyone here still remembers me as Enzo's wife. That's all I am to them. Not Scout Nash, kinesiology graduate. Not Scout Nash, a caring friend. Just Enzo's ex, still hanging around, making herself useful until someone tells her to leave.
Except maybe Juliet. Juliet saw me help Connor. She asked for a proposal. Maybe she sees something in me that I'd almost forgotten was there.
The rest of the day blurs together. I track down missing foam rollers for the equipment manager. Getting down to work, I update travel itineraries for the road trip next week. Then I make sure the rookies know where the bus leaves from.
And of course, I keep smiling until my face hurts.
But my mind keeps spinning back to Mobility Mondays. Scope. Key performance indicators. Risk mitigation. Proof that I'm more than just coffee runs and sympathy.
I work late. By the time I get home to the tiny apartment I share with Jessa, my feet ache and my smile feels permanently fixed in place.
Jessa's door is closed, which means she's either asleep or not here.
The smart thing would be to collapse on the couch and watch mindless television until I fall asleep.
Instead, I open my laptop.
Mobility Mondays call my name. I work until almost nine building the proposal. I pull up research studies on mobility work and injury prevention, create templates for tracking range of motion improvements, design sample stretches tied to specific game situations.
Hip openers for wingers. Thoracic rotation for shooters. Shoulder stability for defensemen.
By the time I save the file, my eyes burn and my back aches from hunching over my keyboard. But my chest feels light. Hopeful. It feels better than I did last night, that’s for sure.
I should sleep. We have a big game tomorrow, so I need to be at the arena by six tomorrow morning. But instead of closing my eyes, I open the dating app.
A message waits for me, timestamped from an hour ago.
StatMan12
Still awake?
My pulse jumps. I type back quickly.
Yoga4Lyfe
Just finished working on something. You?
He gets back to me right away. A little chill runs down my spine, thinking how StatMan might have been waiting around to hear from me.
StatMan12
Can't sleep. My mind won't shut off.
Yoga4Lyfe
I know that feeling. What's keeping you up?
StatMan12
Just life. I worked out pretty hard today so I should be dead asleep. But my brain is an asshole sometimes.
Something in my chest twists. I curl up on my bed, laptop balanced on my knees, and type.
Yoga4Lyfe
I get that. My brain likes to whir like an overheated computer sometimes. Especially when I care about something.
StatMan12
Like work? Or something else? Do you like your job?
I stare at the question. Three months ago, I would have said yes automatically. I'd have convinced myself that making coffee runs and fetching equipment mattered because it helped people.
Now I'm not sure what the answer is.
Yoga4Lyfe
Sorry, this isn't a very sexy conversation. I'm in a mood, I guess. We should talk about something else.
StatMan12
Why?
Not every interaction with me has to be sexy.
Yoga4Lyfe
You're very sweet. But you're also just a stranger who is probably online right now because you're horny. You're looking for someone interested in talking about their fantasies, not complaining about their life.
StatMan12
Don't put words in my mouth, sweetheart. Just because I'm horny doesn't mean I'm shallow.
I pause, my cheeks heating.
Yoga4Lyfe
You're right. I shouldn't assume. But I'm done complaining, anyway.
StatMan12
So what do you want to talk about?
Yoga4Lyfe
Something sexy. I want to feel like I'm desired.
StatMan12
I've seen your photos. You're unbelievably hot. I bet you have to pry men off with a crowbar.
Yoga4Lyfe
You’re just saying that to get in my pants.
StatMan12
Nah, I don't think I am. I bet every time you walk down the hall, men turn and stare at you. They think about what it would be like to kiss you, to feel your soft curves pressed against them, to slide a fist in your hair and tug you closer.
My mouth opens in surprise.
Yoga4Lyfe
No one thinks about me. I promise you that.
StatMan12
Yes, they do. Maybe all they can imagine is how sweet you would be the first time they got you naked and tasted you. I bet that men think about you when they're alone in the dark, jerking off, moaning your name. Wishing that they had your hot pussy to sink their cock into.
Never in my life has a man talked dirty to me. Certainly not as explicitly as this man. My cheeks must be glowing right now, they’re so hot.
Yoga4Lyfe
Do you think about that when you're alone in the dark?
StatMan12
I've been thinking about it all night, sweetheart.
Yoga4Lyfe
Do you.. um... touch yourself?
StatMan12
Yes. I look at your photos and picture you sucking my dick.
Or sometimes I picture you riding my cock.
How you would moan. How your cheeks would flush.
You would take every inch of my fat dick.
I'd stretch you out, be more than you could handle.
But you'd do it for me because you're such a sweetheart. Wouldn't you?
Jesus. I’m so turned on by his words that I have to press my thighs together, shift against the couch to try to ease the pressure that is already building there.
StatMan12
Tell me that you would, sweetheart.
Yoga4Lyfe
Yes, I would. I'd take everything you gave me.
StatMan12
That's right, you would. You seem like a good girl to me. And good girls get everything that they want. I'd fuck you until you saw stars. I'd whisper dirty words in your ear. And I'd make sure that you came at least three times before I finished.
He's trying to kill me. I suck in my bottom lip, rolling onto my stomach, texting furiously.
Yoga4Lyfe
I've never... uh... done that.
StatMan12
What? Been given multiple orgasms?
Yoga4Lyfe
I didn't realize that women could have that.
StatMan12
With the right man, they can. And I'd never leave you unsatisfied, sweetheart.
Yoga4Lyfe
I think we should meet.
Not right this second. But soon.
When he doesn't answer, I figure he's gotten carried away with the fantasy, that he's breathing hard and stroking his cock in the dark. I wait a minute, then text again.
Yoga4Lyfe
I have to go to sleep. Goodnight, StatMan.
I put my phone down, the dirty talk swirling in my brain. Could this guy really make me come more than once? My experience with Enzo taught me to feel lucky if I managed to come at all. Maybe I'd just never had this with the right person.
A tingle of excitement runs up my spine. Then my phone lights up.
StatMan12
Goodnight, Yoga Girl.
I stare at the message for a long moment. Sure, he probably has a ton of girls that he talks dirty to. But right this second, I don't care. I want to feel special.
Desired.
I set my phone on the nightstand and pull the covers up. I fall asleep with a smile on my face.