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When it buzzes again, I take it out and hand it to my assistant, Willy. He gives me a weird look. “What’s up?”
“Keep that for me.” He doesn’t question me and puts it in his suit jacket. “But don’t look at it.”
“I won’t, Coach,” he vows.
I nod a thanks and try to focus on what is going on before me. The Griffins are in our zone, and it pisses me off that they’re still there. We should be in their zone by now, and thankfully, Markson gets possession and halls ass up the ice before passing it off to Jennings, who shoots quickly, going top shelf. His shot is blocked away, but the sweetest fucking rebound pops back and lands on Markson’s blade. He doesn’t even have to try hard; he taps the puck in, and the light goes off.
I fist-pump my hand at my side as the bench explodes with excitement and cheers.
“About bloody time,” I mutter, and Willy smirks at me.
“Gotta believe, Coach,” he throws at me, and then he makes a face. “So, no wonder you gave me your phone. It won’t stop going off.”
I whip my gaze to him. Is she getting off again?It doesn’t matter, you eejit! You’ve got work to do!
This girl is a problem.
One I shouldn’t be enjoying, but I am.
“A wee little lass, wanting all your attention?”
I glare at my friend, who came with me to the team. “Shut it.”
He snorts but doesn’t push me. He’s not a dick like Cruz. Probably because he was around when my marriage ended. Great. Now, I’m thinking of the past.
I hate thinking.
I force myself to look out at center ice. I’m jittery and not feeling like myself. I don’t like this feeling at all. I reach into my pocket and bring out my Bubble Yum gum. I open two pieces and stuff them into my mouth. The flavor is disgusting and sweet, but it distracts me from wanting to tackle Willy for my phone. I gotta turn that camera off. I can’t allow myself to be tempted like this. While I feel guilty about what I saw, I can’t help but think she did it on purpose. Not that she knew the camera was in there, but to leave her scent in my room. I have absolutely no clue what the hell to do with that, but fuck, if I don’t want to do something.
Something that starts with me between her legs and my name being screamed from her gorgeous lips.
This is bad. So fucking bad.
When one of the Griffins passes up to a fucking cherry-picking motherfucker at the line, I yell out. “He’s offsides!”
But before I can even get the whole sentence out, he scores.
Fuck.
I jump over the bench, using two players’ shoulders for balance before I almost launch myself over the fucking boards. I throw my hands up. “Ref! Are you fucking kidding me? Are you blind? He was offsides a fucking mile!”
The ref ignores me as my assistant coach Willy looks at the tape. “Aye! Aye! Ref!”
The ref still ignores me because he knows good and well, he’s a fucking eejit!
“Yup, offsides,” Willy calls to me, but I already knew that.
“Challenge! Aye! Aye! Challenge, Ref!”
Finally, the bastard stops ignoring me and skates over, annoyed. “I hear you.”
“Then fucking acknowledge me, huh?”
Once more, he ignores me as he calls for a coach’s challenge, and play stops. Cruz comes skating to the bench, leaning on it beside me. I tap his helmet. “Good job, Cruz.”
“Thanks, Coach.” He eyes me, that goofy smile on his face, and I glare back at him.
“What, Cruz?”
