Page 22
ARIELLA
HOE, YOU KNOW WHERE THIS IS HEADED. AND YOU KNOW YOU CAN’T WAIT TO SEE IT ALL GO DOWN…
I should have brought a bag suitable for throwing up into.
Or maybe I should’ve kept my ass in San Jose and been fine living with my parents until a man came around to save me.
That thought only made my nausea worse, but it was exactly the push I needed to move through the front doors of my new place of work.
Langley Ice Rink, home of the Dallas Desperados.
The crisp air cooled my flushed skin. The temperature inside was a stark contrast to the weather outside and another not-so-subtle reminder of what I’d managed to get myself into. My lids fluttered close, blocking out the white wall with the team logo plastered across.
I needed a minute to shove down the nerves.
It wasn’t like I was some clueless hockey newbie. I’d spent years working with hockey players, starting as an intern with San Jose State’s hockey team in college.
After graduation, they offered me a job as their strength and conditioning coach, and I stuck with them until I got the call from Dallas. I was damn proud of the work I did there. Several of the guys had hired me outside of the season to prepare them for pursuing their NHL dreams.
I could have applied for the San Jose Stars, but part of me knew I needed an excuse to leave home, to start fresh somewhere that didn’t hold all my family’s expectations.
But that meant I only had one option—Texas.
My older brother Ricky would have lost his mind if I told him I was moving to a new city with no family around. I loved him, but god, was he nosy.
The thing was, in our culture, being the older brother basically made you a second father to your siblings. Asking him to stay out of my shit was practically a foreign concept and two weeks into my move I was expectantly waiting for him to randomly show up.
“Hello, ma’am. Can I help you?”
The receptionist’s sweet voice reminded me I was standing in the middle of a lobby on my first day of work—not the time or place to space out and mull over my life choices.
“Yes, sorry. I’m supposed to be meeting with…Josh Monroe,” I said, checking the email on my phone. “I’m the new hire on the coaching staff.”
Her eyes widened.
I wanted to chuckle, her face giving away exactly what she was thinking.
“This five-foot-three woman in spandex shorts, scrunchy white socks, and Converse is on the coaching staff?”
Sure, my outfit wasn’t traditionally the picture of professionalism, but squatting in a three-piece suit wasn’t practical. I had worn the Dallas Desperados tee shirt they’d sent me. She recovered quickly, flipping through her papers with a polite smile.
“Welcome! I’m Jasmine. You’re the new strength and conditioning coach?”
“That’s correct. Ariella Contreras.”
“You’re early,” a gruff voice said from behind me, and I turned.
A large man in athletic shorts and a sweatshirt with the team logo walked toward me from a hallway I’d missed. Walked wasn’t quite the right description—it was more intense than that. Everything about him seemed serious, from the subtle scowl to the neatly styled hair and sharp jawline covered in a five o’clock shadow.
“Is the company culture here to be late? If that’s the case, these guys are in for a rude awakening when they walk into my weight room,” I said, keeping my attitude in check. Professional Ariella was in the house, but that didn’t mean I’d let people walk all over me.
Professionalism and respect were a balancing act.
I’d learned early on that respect needed to be demanded from day one. Otherwise, you’d be fighting an uphill battle. I’d spent enough time around players to know that some people—men and women alike—assumed that boobs somehow meant “unqualified.”
I was here to show them I knew exactly what I was doing.
The man stopped in front of me, and I swore there was a ghost of a smile on his lips. “Not a problem at all. I’m pleasantly surprised at the initiative. Last guy who had the job sucked.” He held out his hand out for a shake. “Josh Monroe, head coach. I’m the one who hired you, so you’ll report directly to me. Understood?”
