THE INCESSANT BANGING on my bedroom door rips me from my exhaustion-induced sleep.
“Cap! You’re late, man.”
Pulling the comforter over my head isn’t enough to keep Kian’s voice out. I shouldn’t have gone up against him for this room. I’d be better off downstairs.
“Aiden!”
Fuck. I throw off my comforter, my muscles screaming in agony. I’m accustomed to dealing with body aches after practice. Today though, I feel the pain in my fucking jaw, that’s how deep it is.
I open the door and lean against it for support. “What?” Kian gives me a once-over. “You look like shit.”
“Thanks,” I grumble, going back to bed. Kian follows. “What the hell happened?” “Went for a run last night.”
“No, you didn’t. We had practice last night.” “After,” I say, wincing as I lay down.
“Why would—” He watches me curl back into bed and bursts into laughter. “You went to Summer’s last night. You ran with her, didn’t you?”
“It was late and she was alone.” My voice is muffled by my pillow.
“Oh, man. This is too good.” He barks out a laugh that somehow hurts my bones. When he pulls out his phone, mine dings from the nightstand and I know he’s texting the group chat. He’s still typing when he glances up. “By the way, you’re going to be late to the rink.”
My head snaps to the clock, and I curse, springing out of bed. Kilner would have my head if I missed today’s practice.
Running a hand through my hair on my way inside the arena doesn’t help how disheveled I look. As for the pain that shoots through me with every stride, I can’t focus on it too much because I’m going to have sixteen kids slamming into me for the next hour.
“Every minute adds a lap around the rink.” Kilner has the superpower of materializing where you don’t want him.
My eyes squeeze shut. “I overslept.”
The crease on his forehead deepens. “Don’t give me an excuse. You know the consequences.”
Glancing at the time, I groan. “That’s five laps.” “Six now.”
I should know better than to complain. My smile is plastic when I look at him. “Have I told you lately that you’re my favorite coach?”
“Get on the damn ice before we make it to seven.”
Holding in my groans as I tie up my skates proves to be a challenge. I slip on my instructor jacket and beckon the kids into a line on the ice. Today, I appreciate how long it takes them to form a straight line because I’m still trying to stretch out the soreness in my body.
“Okay, who’s ready to show off what they’ve been practicing?” Tiny cheers erupt. “We’ll skate and learn some stick handling before we finish off with a game.”
By the time I get a few trainers on the ice we’re in full swing.
***
Summer
WHEN I WILLINGLY drove to the rink today, I didn’t think I’d be sweating while seated so close to the ice. But I guess that’s what happens when you’re watching a burly hockey player teach six-year-olds how to play defense. The zip-up he wears hugs every dip of his muscles. I try to stop the bubbling reaction that climbs to the surface. Aiden’s so secure in himself, in school and in hockey. It’s insanely attractive, and I’m not too proud to admit that.
When a kid slips and starfishes on the ice until Aiden sets her back on her skates, I can’t hold back my laugh.
My cheeks heat when green eyes find me. Get it together, Summer.
The buzzer sounds, and the kids high-five the instructors before clattering off the rink. By the exit, Aiden talks to the parents, his gaze cutting to me every few seconds.
Finally stalking over to me, he pulls off his helmet. “What alternate universe did I fall into that you’re willingly at the rink?”
“Apparently, the one where you’re still impossibly annoying.” “And lovable?” he asks with a boyish grin.
I laugh despite myself. “Maybe I just wanted to see if you’re actually helping these poor kids.”
“Ah, so you’re assessing how good I look as a DILF.” “That was you as a dad? I saw you push them to the ice.”
“I was checking their stance. It’s all a part of being a good teacher.
Though, I don’t expect you to know anything about that.”
“Keep talking, Crawford, and I might just tank your evaluation.” His gaze narrows. “Evaluation?”
“Coach asked me to write you one,” I tell him. “It could get you out of community service.”
“And you said yes? Are you sure you’re feeling okay?” His face etches with fake concern.
“This is another thing I can hold over your head to make you do what I want.” I flutter my lashes.
“You don’t need blackmail to get me to do what you want, Summer.”
The words slip off his tongue in a smooth concoction that drips into my stomach. I have no comeback, and he seems to realize he got me to shut up because a slanted smile fixes on his lips. It’s gone just as quickly when he nods toward the hallway. “So, let me guess, you’re going to say I’ve been a difficult asshole.”
Recovering rather quickly, I follow him. “Far from it.” “Is it because you’ve seen me shirtless?”
“You are so full of yourself.”
“Someone has to be,” he mutters before clearing his throat. “So, what did it?”
“You care,” I say, sitting on a bench. “About hockey, about your team and your friends. You would do anything for them. You’re a great captain, and probation is the last place you belong.”
His eyes flicker with surprise. “With an evaluation like that, Coach might think I’m bribing you.”
“Now that you mention it, I wouldn’t mind a tip.” “Come here and pull it out yourself.”
I scrunch my face in disgust. “You know what? I take back what I said.”
Aiden stands in front of me attacking my eyes with his bare chest. “We can’t have that. What can I do to make it up to you?”
I incinerate the first thought that pops into my head and look up at him. “Nothing. I already made up my mind.”
“Dinner?”
I shake my head, and the smile on his face falls before I supply, “Take out. My place.”
“Deal, but no data set. This isn’t a session.” “But—”
“Just dinner,” he says firmly.
 |
“DON’T STOP.” AIDEN’S deep voice vibrates against my skin, sending goosebumps to riddle the surface. With his body between my legs and my fingers digging into his muscular shoulders, he groans softly.
“If you just listened to me, you wouldn’t be having this problem.”
“Hmm,” he murmurs in pleasure. “If this is the outcome, I’d do it again.”
Upon receiving a text from Kian asking if I enjoyed torturing hockey players in my spare time, I found out that Aiden’s been a walking zombie after our run. The team did conditioning and strength training yesterday, but his soreness is somehow my fault.
Now, I sit on the couch with him on the floor between my legs as I massage his tense muscles. Every so often his bicep brushes against my leg, and a weird sensation crawls up my spine. Trying to ignore it has become my own silent game of the night.
“Wait, so the mother-in-law likes her now?” he asks, pointing at the TV with his fork.
We stopped at an Indian place by Dalton that Aiden swore had the best butter chicken. I laughed for a good two minutes after I said I didn’t trust his palate, and he looked wounded. He proved me very wrong when I tasted the food. It was almost as good as my mom’s cooking, though I’d never voice that thought. Then Aiden put on his favorite Turkish show since he won’t give me credit for putting him onto the series.
Sitting in my dorm and eating takeout feels oddly comfortable. “Yeah, cause she sees that she’s good for her son,” I explain.
The end credits roll and my hands are tired from running over his back. “That’s all you get. Any more and I’ll need payment.”
“What about my glutes?” he asks with a buoyant look. “I’m not going anywhere near those,” I spurn.
He chuckles “You’re so much better than Hank. His hands are like two boulders. You should become my physical therapist.”
“Great idea. I’ll switch majors to become your personal PT.” I grab my laptop. “So, I know you said no data sets, but this—”
“Summer, can you relax for once? We can look at your work next time, it’s not going anywhere.” He takes my laptop and stashes it beside him. “You know how to relax, right?”
I deflate. “Donny just freaked me out about the whole application. It needs to be perfect.”
“You know this stuff better than anyone. Don’t let his opinion affect your work.”
“I know,” I say unconvincingly.
He looks like he wants to say more but instead heads to the kitchen, taking our trash with him. “Got any drinks?”
“We have some seltzer in the back and Slink if you wanna drink your weight in sugar.”
He chuckles, grabbing two water bottles instead, and handing me one before falling onto the couch. “Those things are horrible. I had a few boxes after I worked with them.”
“You worked with Slink?”
He nods. “It was an endorsement.” “You do…endorsements?”
He gives me a sideways glance. “You seriously don’t follow hockey at all?”
“I don’t follow athletes,” I correct.
“Right,” he says. “When I came to Dalton, I was offered deals I never took. But I needed the money a few semesters ago, so I promoted Slink.”
“When you paid for Kian’s tuition?” I blurt. Biting my tongue, I peek over at him with a sheepish look. “Kian told me about that when he was convincing me you were a good guy.”
“Of course he did.” He shakes his head. “Did it work?” “Jury’s still out.”
He smiles. That straight-teeth smile that would melt any girl’s panties.
Not mine, though. Definitely not mine. “So you’re like an influencer,” I say.
He shoots me an annoyed look and gathers his things.
“You are! Do you post shirtless pics? Nude photoshoots? Puck covering the goods?”
“I’m out.”
He’s already heading to the door. “Was it something I said?” He doesn’t answer. “I just want to know if you skated nude promoting a cereal box!”
The door slams shut, and I laugh so hard I have to clutch my stomach.
