As it stands now, I’m totally going to get the evil eye from Coach Pretore. Fortunately I can usually get that look to die down before the end of practice, because I work my ass off for this team. Every time I put on my practice jersey, I play as if it I were in a Stanley Cup final game.
Not bragging. It’s just that I don’t know how to do anything half-assed.
Except, well…being on time.
It’s a fault for sure, but one I think they should forgive me, since I have so many more things in the plus column as a Cold Fury member. And Coach will forgive me for sure. Gray Brannon…probably not, since I’m already on her shit list. Luckily, general managers do not attend practices, and as long as Pretore doesn’t tell her I’m late again, she’ll never know. I’ll just make sure to superiorly impress him at this practice so he has a smile on his face when I skate off the ice.
Because I’m late, I don’t waste time going to my locker so I can get suited up. Sitting on the bench, I bend over to take off my shoes when the voice of Brian Brannon catches my attention. I tilt my head to the right toward the athletic training room as my fingers work the laces and spot the CEO and owner of the Cold Fury looking sharp in a dark charcoal gray designer suit. The training room has glass walls that separate it from the general locker area and is where the athletic trainers work on our injuries. It should be empty now, as the athletic trainers will be up on the ice with the team during practice. My fingers freeze on my laces and my attention is immediately taken by the woman with whom Mr. Brannon is talking.
The gorgeously sexy black-haired woman I spoke to briefly two days ago in the Cold Fury executive lobby. She’s leaning a curvy hip against one of the training tables, pressing one hand down into the vinyl-covered top for balance. The other hand is at her hip, with her thumb hooked through a belt loop of faded jeans with holes in the knees and rolled at the cuffs. Her top is nothing but cream-colored lace with long flowing sleeves with a cream camisole underneath, and she’s wearing Dr. Martens again. Very funky and totally out of place with Brian Brannon’s posh attire. I note, though, that the woman’s posture is relaxed and she’s listening with interest to Mr. Brannon as he explains the training room.
Now that I’m paying attention, their voices become clearer to me.
As I work one shoe off, I watch as Brian gestures with his hand around the room. “The athletic trainers work mostly in here, either attending injuries sustained during a game or practice, or doing preventative work like taping or mobility. Each AT is a certified strength coach as well, so they’ll often work with the players in the workout rooms.” He stops and points to the adjacent room, which is also walled with glass but has a pass-through door, before adding, “I’ll have you shadow Vale Campbell one day so you can watch.”
“That would be awesome,” the woman says gratefully and with an eager smile on her face. “I really appreciate you taking the time to show me all this behind-the-scenes stuff.”
“Well, it’s important,” Mr. Brannon says back to her with a smile. “You should have the opportunity—”
But he’s cut off as his phone starts ringing. His hand reaches inside his coat’s chest pocket, pulling it out, and he answers, “Brian Brannon.”
My other shoe comes off as he says into the phone, “Hang on just a moment.”
Turning to the woman, he glances at his watch and says, “I have to take this. It shouldn’t be long and I’ll finish well before we have to meet Gray. Just hang tight.”
The woman nods with a gracious smile and Brannon walks out of the training room. He doesn’t spare me a glance and heads out of the locker room, leaving me and the woman the only two people in here.
She hasn’t seen me yet but I’m about to rectify that. I push up off the bench and in five strides I’m standing in the open doorway to the training room. She has her back to me, looking at some of the rehab posters on the wall, so I’m not surprised she startles when I say from behind her, “Imagine that…running into you twice in one week.”
The woman spins around, and it’s clear she recognizes my voice, as her eyes are already bright with welcome as they make contact with my own.
“Well, if it isn’t the team troublemaker, Roman Sýkora,” she says with a grin.
I grin back at her, since she obviously knows who I am. “I will not deny that moniker. But don’t you think it’s about time I got your name? We didn’t have a chance the other day.”
Fuck, she’s totally cute when she tilts her head to the side, raises her eyes up to the ceiling, and taps a forefinger against her lips as if she’s pondering my request with great care. Then she looks back to me with a smile and takes three steps my way with her hand outstretched. “Lexi Robertson.”
Her hand is small in mine, bones slight and delicate, but her shake is surprisingly strong. Her silvery eyes with tinges of blue around the pupil sparkle at me in amusement as I refuse to let her hand go after the introduction is long dead.
“So why’s a gorgeous girl named Lexi Robertson getting a personal tour of the athletic trainer’s room from the great and powerful Brannon?”
For a second, I think I see something akin to panic flicker across her face, but then I’m completely redirected when she grips my hand tighter, showing no desire for us to break apart, then goes as far as to run a finger from her other hand across the back of mine. “I’m curious why a known troublemaker would dare be sauntering into the locker room long after the rest of the team started practice. Surely you’re not looking for more trouble?”
Fuck…she’s a flirt, and I like that too. I like it because I am as well.
At this point, I’m not sure if the “trouble” she’s referencing is the fact that I’m late or the fact that I’m bantering with a woman who potentially could be considered trouble. I’m guessing by the mischievous look in her eyes it’s the latter, and damn if that doesn’t hook me harder.
I’ve never run from trouble before and actually find myself quite at home around it.
“Well, I am indeed late for practice, but it would be totally worth it if I spent this time talking you into going out with me,” I tell her bluntly, but with a boyish grin to enhance my charm.
Her eyes sparkle even more brilliantly, and I swear the blue ringing her pupils expands outward to overtake the silver-gray. She narrows her eyes at me contemplatively. “Hmmmm. I’m what most would consider an adventurer, but I’m not quite sure I could handle the likes of you.”
Not bragging. It’s just that I don’t know how to do anything half-assed.
Except, well…being on time.
It’s a fault for sure, but one I think they should forgive me, since I have so many more things in the plus column as a Cold Fury member. And Coach will forgive me for sure. Gray Brannon…probably not, since I’m already on her shit list. Luckily, general managers do not attend practices, and as long as Pretore doesn’t tell her I’m late again, she’ll never know. I’ll just make sure to superiorly impress him at this practice so he has a smile on his face when I skate off the ice.
Because I’m late, I don’t waste time going to my locker so I can get suited up. Sitting on the bench, I bend over to take off my shoes when the voice of Brian Brannon catches my attention. I tilt my head to the right toward the athletic training room as my fingers work the laces and spot the CEO and owner of the Cold Fury looking sharp in a dark charcoal gray designer suit. The training room has glass walls that separate it from the general locker area and is where the athletic trainers work on our injuries. It should be empty now, as the athletic trainers will be up on the ice with the team during practice. My fingers freeze on my laces and my attention is immediately taken by the woman with whom Mr. Brannon is talking.
The gorgeously sexy black-haired woman I spoke to briefly two days ago in the Cold Fury executive lobby. She’s leaning a curvy hip against one of the training tables, pressing one hand down into the vinyl-covered top for balance. The other hand is at her hip, with her thumb hooked through a belt loop of faded jeans with holes in the knees and rolled at the cuffs. Her top is nothing but cream-colored lace with long flowing sleeves with a cream camisole underneath, and she’s wearing Dr. Martens again. Very funky and totally out of place with Brian Brannon’s posh attire. I note, though, that the woman’s posture is relaxed and she’s listening with interest to Mr. Brannon as he explains the training room.
Now that I’m paying attention, their voices become clearer to me.
As I work one shoe off, I watch as Brian gestures with his hand around the room. “The athletic trainers work mostly in here, either attending injuries sustained during a game or practice, or doing preventative work like taping or mobility. Each AT is a certified strength coach as well, so they’ll often work with the players in the workout rooms.” He stops and points to the adjacent room, which is also walled with glass but has a pass-through door, before adding, “I’ll have you shadow Vale Campbell one day so you can watch.”
“That would be awesome,” the woman says gratefully and with an eager smile on her face. “I really appreciate you taking the time to show me all this behind-the-scenes stuff.”
“Well, it’s important,” Mr. Brannon says back to her with a smile. “You should have the opportunity—”
But he’s cut off as his phone starts ringing. His hand reaches inside his coat’s chest pocket, pulling it out, and he answers, “Brian Brannon.”
My other shoe comes off as he says into the phone, “Hang on just a moment.”
Turning to the woman, he glances at his watch and says, “I have to take this. It shouldn’t be long and I’ll finish well before we have to meet Gray. Just hang tight.”
The woman nods with a gracious smile and Brannon walks out of the training room. He doesn’t spare me a glance and heads out of the locker room, leaving me and the woman the only two people in here.
She hasn’t seen me yet but I’m about to rectify that. I push up off the bench and in five strides I’m standing in the open doorway to the training room. She has her back to me, looking at some of the rehab posters on the wall, so I’m not surprised she startles when I say from behind her, “Imagine that…running into you twice in one week.”
The woman spins around, and it’s clear she recognizes my voice, as her eyes are already bright with welcome as they make contact with my own.
“Well, if it isn’t the team troublemaker, Roman Sýkora,” she says with a grin.
I grin back at her, since she obviously knows who I am. “I will not deny that moniker. But don’t you think it’s about time I got your name? We didn’t have a chance the other day.”
Fuck, she’s totally cute when she tilts her head to the side, raises her eyes up to the ceiling, and taps a forefinger against her lips as if she’s pondering my request with great care. Then she looks back to me with a smile and takes three steps my way with her hand outstretched. “Lexi Robertson.”
Her hand is small in mine, bones slight and delicate, but her shake is surprisingly strong. Her silvery eyes with tinges of blue around the pupil sparkle at me in amusement as I refuse to let her hand go after the introduction is long dead.
“So why’s a gorgeous girl named Lexi Robertson getting a personal tour of the athletic trainer’s room from the great and powerful Brannon?”
For a second, I think I see something akin to panic flicker across her face, but then I’m completely redirected when she grips my hand tighter, showing no desire for us to break apart, then goes as far as to run a finger from her other hand across the back of mine. “I’m curious why a known troublemaker would dare be sauntering into the locker room long after the rest of the team started practice. Surely you’re not looking for more trouble?”
Fuck…she’s a flirt, and I like that too. I like it because I am as well.
At this point, I’m not sure if the “trouble” she’s referencing is the fact that I’m late or the fact that I’m bantering with a woman who potentially could be considered trouble. I’m guessing by the mischievous look in her eyes it’s the latter, and damn if that doesn’t hook me harder.
I’ve never run from trouble before and actually find myself quite at home around it.
“Well, I am indeed late for practice, but it would be totally worth it if I spent this time talking you into going out with me,” I tell her bluntly, but with a boyish grin to enhance my charm.
Her eyes sparkle even more brilliantly, and I swear the blue ringing her pupils expands outward to overtake the silver-gray. She narrows her eyes at me contemplatively. “Hmmmm. I’m what most would consider an adventurer, but I’m not quite sure I could handle the likes of you.”
