3. Logan
I’m seething from the moment the wheels lift off the runway in Buffalo to the moment we touch down in New Orleans. This trip was never meant to be this long, and having it delayed again to arrive on the morning of a game is a step too far. Management is lucky my guys are flexible—the Southern attitude of “I’ll get there when I get there” having already infected them—or they’d have a small battalion of union reps banging down the doors.
But instead, the first person I see is going to get a fucking earful from me.
The players, and even most of the staff, avoid me as we deplane and head toward the arena. As long as we don’t get caught in bridge traffic, we should be able to get a decent practice in before our early-afternoon game today. I should be going over my playbook, selecting the drills we’ll be going through today, or looking at tape of our opponent to figure out our strategy. But the only thoughts tumbling in my head are what I’m going to say when I find whoever was responsible for changing our flight from last night to this morning.
I’m so in my head when we pull up to the arena, I don’t realize at first that we’re not going around the back to the usual drop-off point after trips, a loading dock area where the equipment team can get gear unloaded quickly and prepare it for the next time the team hits the ice. Instead, we’re pulling up to the front of the arena, stopping at the main public entrance. The doors to the bus open, and the guys start to disembark, murmuring among themselves. But they stop dead when I fly to my feet, even jumping out of the way to let me off the bus and allow me to storm the lobby with fury in my veins.
I don’t let myself get distracted by the sudden appearance of Christmas decorations, or the open set of doors that leads directly out onto the floor of the arena. Scanning the nearly empty lobby, my teeth clench so hard I swear I’m going to chip a tooth. I need to find someone to explain what the fuck the team is trying to pull. And whoever I find better be prepared to answer for the bullshit they’ve done to my carefully laid schedule.
“Coach McQueen! Glad y’all made it back. And you’re just in time, too.”
At the sound of her voice, I whip around, my spine straightening out of the hostile half-slumped posture I didn’t realize I’d taken. Tori Strauss comes striding from the floor entrance, her golden hair bouncing in sensual waves around her perfect face with each confident step she takes toward me. I manage to keep my mouth closed, but my jaw goes slack as I take in her body. Her mouthwatering curves are wrapped in a tight forest-green dress, the hem and neckline decorated with gold glittery starbursts. She’s got a string of red Mardi Gras beads hanging over the shelf of her deliciously full breasts, and I realize the beads are in the shape of little Santa hats once she’s closed the gap between us.
This isn’t the first time I’ve been struck dumb by Tori’s appearance, and I highly doubt it’ll be the last. But the ache of never being able to act on any of the things I dream of while stroking my dick raw every night is going to be the death of me.
That, or the curve of Tori’s ass. God, she has perfect peachy cheeks. And I bet they’d look incredible covered in my handprints. Or my cum.
“Logan?”
Tori’s voice pulls me out of my head, and I clear my throat. She’s within arm’s reach now, though she still has to stretch her neck to see me despite the four-inch assist she’s getting from her heels. Her mismatched blue eyes stare me down, with no sign of fear or reluctance. I was so lost in thought that I didn’t hear if she asked me a question, but I can’t ask her to repeat herself. My reputation for being laser focused and in control would be ruined.
Though Tori has an uncanny way of always distracting me and tempting me to throw caution to the wind, just for one taste of her.
I clear my throat again and roll my shoulders back, crossing my arms over my chest. I don’t miss the way her eyes flick to my biceps and pecs as they flex, but I’m not sure if someone who isn’t as highly attuned to her every micro expression as I am would have caught the movement or the way her cheeks turn the faintest shade of pink after she takes a deep breath.
“Are you to blame for our travel plans being screwed to all hell?” I ask, trying to make the question light, but there’s an edge to it that I can’t help.
I’m running on maybe four hours of sleep over the last three days. Tori’s eyes narrow slightly, and I wonder if she can see the extra-long stubble I haven’t had a chance to shave yet, or the way it takes a conscious effort for me to open my eyes after every blink. I try to take a deep breath, but all I manage to do is inhale a metric ton of her magnolia and sweet tea scent, which nearly turns my legs to Jell-O. I lock my knees and readjust my expression, and Tori rolls her eyes.
“Technically, it was the logistics team who changed your flights. My department only changed the Christmas fundraiser to take into account the rescheduled games after Terry,” Tori says, her innocent tone and eyelash batting thoroughly undermined by the smirk pulling at her deep-red lips.
Snorting, I roll my eyes right back at her. She’s always so sassy, never shying away from an opportunity to push my buttons. Normally, I might be inclined to banter with her, but I’m exhausted, and my patience is already so thin it could walk on a New York Fashion Week runway.
“There are rules against shit like this. When and where, exactly, does the logistics team expect us to be able to practice? Because it looks like you plonked your charity shit on my ice,” I snap, a little of my fury rising to the surface.
But Tori doesn’t flinch. If anything, she straightens to her full height, clutching her clipboard tight to her side. I don’t like it when she frowns, I decide, watching the way the corners of her lips pull down. She’s someone who shouldn’t have a single burden, nothing so heavy to make her brow crease.
“The event is a silent auction slash meet-and-greet.” Her voice takes on a clipped, business-like tone I’ve noticed she uses when she’s emotionally distancing herself from a given situation. “You and the team are only required to be there for the first hour. After that, you will be free to head across the street to the practice center. Your equipment is already being transported there as we speak, and will be waiting for you, like it always is here.”
I blink, rocking my weight back as I take in her words. As someone with a borderline obsessive need to have every minute detail of a plan laid out before acting on it, I can appreciate the effort she’s put in to make this work.
“And you’ll have the mess cleaned up in there?” I press, jerking my chin toward the ice.
I already know the answer, but I can see the way her chest puffs out a little with pride. “Of course. The ice wasn’t removed, just covered. The attendees are just going to have to deal with the cold,” she replies.
“I’m still not thrilled about all this fuckery. If any of the guys wanted to get the union involved—”
Popping her hip out to one side, she shifts her weight. “They are obligated to attend these events per their contracts. If you want to blame someone for things going screwy, you’re gonna have to talk to Mother Nature.”
Her back talk makes my palms itch. God, I wish I could give her the attitude adjustment she’s so desperately in need of. But everyone I know has told me over and over: Tori doesn’t date hockey players, or anyone really, if some of the gossips are to be believed. I have my suspicions that those rumors might not be entirely true, but I’m not going to be the one to cross a boundary first.
It won’t stop me from toeing right up to the line, though.
Tori starts to turn, but my hand darts out to grab her wrist, whipping her back around to face me. The motion pulls her off balance, and she stumbles forward, dropping her clipboard with a clatter as her hand presses against my chest to stop her from falling directly into me.
Our noses are centimeters apart as I let out a soft growl. There’s no real heat behind it, but I can still notice Tori’s tremor. Her mouth is slightly parted as she looks up at me, those two- toned blue eyes wide with surprise and maybe a little fear. I don’t want her to be afraid of me, so I soften my scowl.
“This shit won’t fly in the future. If there’s going to be a change in the team’s practice schedule, I need to be consulted before it’s made. Do you understand?”
Baby girl. The pet name I’m dying to use sits right there on the tip of my tongue. But I’m glad I hold it back as another alpha growl shakes the air from beside us. I pull back with a glare, ready to curse out whoever is interrupting this rare moment of close proximity, but I catch myself as I realize it’s Spencer.
A glance over his shoulder reveals that the rest of the team is making their way to the event, picking up beads and silly hats. But Spencer has purposefully put his broad-shouldered body between me and Tori and the crowd. Though I do notice that Oliver and Elijah are hanging back, not-so-casually leaning against some of the glass doors within earshot of this exchange. Eli has his head on a swivel, but Oli’s amber glare is leveled directly at me.
“You okay, Tor?” Spencer asks, but his attention doesn’t leave my face.
My grip on Tori’s arm was never tight enough to restrain her, so she’s able to slide her wrist free and take a step back. I study her closely, noting the bright pink flush coloring the bridge of her nose and cheeks. Her pupils are slowly shrinking, bringing back the gemstone blues of her irises.
“Yeah, we’re fine,” she says, and it makes the alpha part of me preen when I hear how breathless the words are. “Just clearing some things up. Right, Coach?”
She gives me that defiant chin lift, and I smirk.
“Yeah, just making sure we’re on the same page. But you owe me one for this,” I throw back, glad I’m able to achieve the light, teasing tone I intended.
She narrows her eyes at me, but nods all the same. Tori knows just as well as I do that the list of favors she owes me isn’t a short one. As she walks away, Spencer is at her side, his hand hovering on her lower back, just above the curve of her ass. Once the two join Ace and Joker, the four of them make their way into the party, moving together as a unit.
As I watch their retreating forms, jigsaw pieces made of memories start to fall into place. But I push the puzzle aside for the moment, forcing myself to think about tonight’s game. Tomorrow, after I get some proper sleep, I’ll set to figuring out this mystery.
Until then, I force a tense grin onto my face and head into the arena, walking toward my contractual obligation with all the enthusiasm as a condemned man marching toward the gallows.