Chapter 3
Gillian
How is it he’s in my office, yet it feels like I’m the one in trouble?
“Why are they here, Gilly?” M folds his almond brown skinned arms firmly across his white polo covered chest. “What’s wrong with my boys?”
Ugh.
Must he call them that?
Must he remind me that of all the smiles I’ve seen in the world, the only one I’ve ever pictured myself truly falling for just so happens to also be one that he coaches?
I mean…could he not grind that shit in like sour candy to a sensitive tooth?
“One is here for a procedure-”
“What type?”
“And one is here to drive him home.”
“Which is which?”
“Those are not questions I’m going to answer as it would break doctor patient confidentiality protocols.”
An eye roll precedes his headshake. “It’s not like I’m asking to look at their chart, Gilly. I just wanna know what’s going on with them.” His voice noticeably drops in concern. “I just wanna know everything’s okay before I basically disappear for the end of summer, aye.”
What did I just say about not rubbing this shit in?!
I swear, he never telepathically listens!
“Which I get,” leaves me at the same time I rest my ass against the edge of the desk, “but I kinda wanna keep my license, so the call stands, Coach.” My fingers casually grip the surface at my sides. “You need to discuss that with your players. Not me.”
“You know they don’t tell me everything.”
“And you know when you were lacing up, you didn’t tell your coach everything either.”
The tiny wince that scrunches his nose reminds me of my own.
We both do that.
I blame our dad.
Mom’s all eyebrows when she gets called out about something.
“You know, I initially didn’t think there would be a downside to having my younger sister’s practice be the one that partners with the organization on site and is the one recommended to the players who need work off-site but now, I’m having second thoughts.”
“You’re only having second thoughts because you’re not getting your way.”
“A thousand percent.”
Warm chuckles immediately leave us both lightening up the mood.
I love M.
I do.
I know some people aren’t close to their siblings – especially their brothers – but that’s not me.
That’s never been me.
Partially because we’re so damn close in age – the result of your father barely waiting for that safe to have sex again mark to get back to business so to speak – and partially because not being close wasn’t really a choice.
He grew up playing hockey.
Playing hockey meant a shit ton of time at the rink.
Driving to games.
Tournaments.
Conferences.
Ceremonies.
Tryouts.
Both of my parents wanting to be there to support him, meant I was there too with all the other rink siblings shackled to their ice stars.
The difference?
M came to check on me.
Play with me.
Help me study.
He always came to bully away any players – on his team or others – that mistook me for a puck bunny in training or WAG aspire to be.
For that reason, I’ve always kept my distance from hockey players.
That and of course them not being my type any more than I’m theirs.
I prefer men with most of their teeth who have read a non-sports book since they left college, and they typically prefer women who would slice and dice and starve themselves rather than ever reach my size.
How did I not know tendy was a tendy?
My sweater wearer radar must be on the fritz.
Probably should get that checked.
“What are you doing here?” I smoothly shift subjects. “We didn’t have anything on my calendar, and you’re too early for your pre-season cleaning.”
“Weird that you know that.”
“Would be weirder if I didn’t.”
“I was doing some last-minute paperwork at the barn.” His shoulders slightly bounce. “Figured I’d pop over and see if you were busy or had a few to grab a cup.”
Total pro/con of having my practice in The Locker District of Dalvegan, Texas.
He’s never that far away.
Another reason why hooking up with his tendy can’t happen.
Won’t happen.
Shouldn’t happen.
“Stacked,” I lovingly announce prior to casually pointing, “and Rhonnie got me one earlier.”
“Should’ve known…on both accounts.” An almost boyish grin grows on his face. “Kinda just wanted to check on you, ya know?”
“You remember I’m thirty-eight and not eight, right?
” Teasing doesn’t hesitate to tap dance through my tone.
“You don’t have to make sure I’ve got plenty of things to keep me busy while you’re away in Chicago for drills camp or Boston for skating or Miami for strategy.
” The lighthearted reminder to our youth deepens his coyish smile.
“Remind me again. Where are you headed after vacation?”
“I’m with Mari and the kids in Hawaii for two weeks-”
“Mom and Dad are watching the dogs this time?”
“Yeah, we dropped them off last night. You know how much they love our parents’ backyard.”
That’s because they can run wild and free while Dad casually smokes a piece of his cigar each night.
“They fly home while I fly to Detroit for a sports leadership conference. From there I get to come home for a day before going out to NOLA for a communication and conflict conference. Home again for two days and then I’m off to Vegas for a coaches only summit.”
“Wow.”
“Yeah, I’ll miss some of the end of summer shit – like the team calendar shoot and rookie vetting – but I’ll be back in time for the full organizational outing pre full team training camp.”
There’s no stopping the smirk that slips onto my face. “Gahhhhh, you’re gonna be so busy.”
“I hate it.”
“You love it.”
“I do, but,” a small chortle is attached to his headshake, “I hate spending less time with you.”
“Like your wife,” my head sassily tips to one side, “I’ll survive.”
“She has our kids to keep her busy as well as her new jewelry business.”
“And I’ve got my practice.”
His lips briefly press together, warning me of the words I know he’s about to spew, because he always does.
Because he feels like it’s his job to take care of me.
Because in his head, I’ve never learned to take care of myself.
“I hate that all you do is work, Gilly.”
“And I hate that you feel the need to give me this speech every summer because you’ve got misplaced guilt about having a career and a family and life outside of me.”
Shame slightly stiffens his jaw.
“I like working, M.”
“I like knowing you have a life outside of work even if it’s just getting a cup of coffee with your big brother a couple times a week to talk about the buds you would be more interested in banging had you not seen what they were packing between their gums.”
“Gingival recession is disgusting!”
“I know.” Small snickers slip between statements. “I’ve seen the pictures in your medical guides.”
“Also,” a sassy head bob is presented, “I do have a life outside of work. I just went to Highland with Aly and Kira this past weekend, remember?”
“Yeah. You didn’t text much.” He lets himself fully smile again. “How was that?”
Amazing until I realized the man I was undeniable overbite crazy about was off-limits.
“Fun,” leaves my mouth in a less than convincing tone prompting me to stuff down my nervous tick hiccup that’s building, “mostly.”
“Aly got too drunk again, didn’t she?”
“When doesn’t she?” Another round of light laughs is exchanged; however, at the end of these I declare, “Alright, I need to get to my first patient of the day-”
“Which is…?”
“Something I’m still not telling you.” Post another snarky smirk, I state, “You’re welcome to call and text and encourage me to go out and get laid whenever your schedule allows.” Mirth spreads through each of our respective gazes. “Per usu’.”
“I’m a good brother slash best bud for doing that, aye?”
“Be a good brother slash best bud and let the kids bring me back a coffee mug, aye.”
“Always,” he states as we close the distance for a hug.
Like I said.
I love M.
And my love for him is why I should steer clear of one beautiful, hazel eyed goaltender.
Ushering out my slightly overbearing sibling to the right smoothly becomes an unexpected segue for the very man I should be avoiding to brazenly skate in from the left.
And unfortunately for me, I let my untouched lady parts do the thinking – rather than my big MD having brain – prompting me to less than gracefully push him into my office back out of sight only split seconds before M tosses me one last wave over his shoulder.
Forsoapoperasake, why couldn’t I have met and almost hooked up with a prince instead?!
I feel like what Princess Brie and Prince Kellan of Doctenn went through was way less complicated than whatever this is.
You know.
If that c-class made-for-streaming movie was at all accurate.
The instant M has crossed the point of no return, I step inside, shut the door, and rest my back against it. “Your name isn’t Trough.”
He smoothly removes his cowboy hat revealing thick, light brown locks I hate myself for wanting to run my fingers through. “I never said it was.”
“But that’s what Moose – who I’m now guessing isn’t actually named Moose-”
“Correct.”
“-called you.”
“Hometown nickname.”
“Trough…” slowly slips past my lips as I gradually nod, “as in if you were to combine Thayne Groff…”
“That’s what I tell people when they ask, but it ain’t exactly the whole truth. It’s jus’ a version that eventually became true. It also became the easier one to express.”
Curiosity gets the better of me. “What’s the original truth?”
“I’m a farm boy.” He innocently bounces his shoulders and tosses the object on my desk. “And big city pylons aren’t exactly clever about shit.”
“It was meant to be an insult?”
“Yup.” One hand slides into his shorts pocket.
“Farm boy means I eat like farm animals, which would be out of a trough. Lucky for me, Dubs and Moose both had my back. Convinced other folks who heard it that it was jus’ a shortened version of my combined name ‘cause to them that’s what it was.
What they wanted it to be. Somethin’ I didn’t have to be ashamed of. ”
It’s impossible to stop myself from melting.
But I’m trying.
Fuckme, am I trying.
“Had I properly introduced myself like I wanted…” his deliciously large frame gradually creeps closer to mine, “I would’ve told you to call me Thayne.”
“The boys call you Groff or Groffee.”
“And the most important people in my life have always called me Thayne.”
Sinking my teeth into my bottom lip barely blocks the whimper the statement conjures.
Ohhhhhh, this is bad.
This is so very bad.
This is cancelled my new favorite show in the middle of its first season level of bad.
I shouldn’t be swooning.
I should be ripping the wings off the butterflies swarming around my stomach with dental forceps.
“Thayne…” is thoughtlessly spoken in a faint whisper that has his muscular frame buckling similar to mine.
“You want me on knees, Gillybean?” The breathless question turns me into the same. “”Cause that’s how you get me there.”
Okay, when I put in a plot twist request to my life writers, this wasn’t what I meant!
I was asking for a cute barista to scribble his number on my to-go cup, not for the man of my dreams to be completely off-limits.
And he is!
He absolutely fucking is!
Thayne places his free palm against the door beside my head and coos, “I haven’t stopped thinkin’ about you…”
Instinct has me wanting to echo the sentiment, yet logic drills holes in it.
“How did I not even consider you were a player? How did I not put the word choices together? How did I not just recognize you?!” The pinching of my brow is followed by a heavy, annoyed sigh.
“Why do you all look so damn different out in the wild?! It’s like a fucking bait and switch situation! ”
Loud, carefree laughs I never thought I’d hear again hit my ears with so much force that I’m left with no choice but to reach out.
Touch it.
His chest.
Allow the vibrations to rattle against my palm until every ounce of resistance has faded.
Completely dissolved.
“I want you to go out with me,” he adoringly declares at the same time he removes his other hand from his pocket in order to let his fingers sweetly rest on top of mine. “Tonight. Tomorrow night. Any night.” They sweetly curl. “Every night.”
“I um…” my gaze makes the mistake of stealing a glimpse of the romantic cradling action I’ve never had, “I don’t think…
” Another squeeze of his fingers has my shoulders further sagging during my proclamation.
“I don’t think that’s a good idea.” Scrunching my nose mindlessly occurs. “No. I know that’s not a good idea.”
“Why?”
“You mean aside from the fact you’re like a whole moody teen girl younger than me?”
“Love’s like music, Gillybean. It can transcend decades.”
“Okay, first of all, one decade – and a little change – baby teeth.” My sassiness gets him snickering. “And second, why do you keep calling me Gillybean?”
“’Cause it’s like jellybeans.”
“Your favorite candy?”
“The one I can never get enough of.”
My fingers momentarily latch onto his linen shirt like it’s second nature rather than totally insane. “You can’t say shit like that to me…”
“Why not?”
“Because I’m not used to it.” There’s no fighting the urge to tug him a little closer. “Because I don’t know how to get used to it.”
“Pracky, Gillybean.” His face leans a little closer. “That’s the only way we get better at anything.”
His particular word choice – that I’m somehow gonna blame the country music for me not noticing when we first met – drags me back to my senses. “My brother is your coach-”
“One of my coaches. I’m a tendy. I’ve got at least two.”
“And dating hockey players – especially one of his players – isn’t something he’d want me to do.”
To my surprise, he nods.
Hums.
Demonstrates what I believe is at least, belongs on a toothbrush bristle amount of understanding until he counters with, “What do you want, Gillian?”
My mouth mistakenly cracks open.
“I told you what I want. You told me what Coach wants.” The hand on the door relocates itself to gently cup my cheek. “So, tell me what you want, and that’s what we’ll do.”