Something So Right(3)

I came in with fresh new ideas, brought in specialists to help them with their skating, their stick handling, their muscle movements, and put in a top-of-the-line gym. I also brought in different programs, from power skating for young kids, to NHL stars rehabbing with us. Since I’ve started the program two years ago, we’ve just gotten bigger and busier. I’ve had many NHL players comes in on their hiatus to get stronger, making them ready for their upcoming season. Which is why I was going to the rink at the ass crack of night.

Cooper Stone was the best of the best. He was drafted into the pros when he was seventeen. Captain of his NHL team. Top leading scorer in the league. Winner of the Hart Memorial Art Ross trophy, Ted Lindsay Award, Mark Messier Leadership Award, and let’s not forget five Stanley Cups and two Olympic gold medals. Cooper Stone was the NHL. And he was going to be training at my rink.

He was almost thirty, and nothing was slowing him down. Well, nothing until he busted his knee and had to have surgery. I heard he was bitter and angry about it. When his agent reached out to us and asked for help, we had no choice but to say yes. This is what would get us on the map. Even if I had to put up with his diva demands, such as skating at three fucking a.m. Who the fuck can skate at that time, let alone practice and do drills? Apparently, Mr. Stone can.

I run out of the house and start up my Jeep. This was my divorce gift to myself. Well, that and a failed trip to Vegas. Meghan didn’t understand when I said I wasn’t in the mood. She thought it would be good to go out and get laid. I wanted to, even my vagina wanted to take part in it. My head, on the other hand, didn’t get the memo. Instead of going to have a weekend of sex and debauchery, I ended up sitting by the pool and having a relationship with my Kindle.

It takes me four minutes to get to the rink. When I arrive, I notice a black Range Rover already parked. Great, my first day and I’m late. I look at the clock and see it’s 2:57. I’m not late. He’s early.

I turn off my Jeep, fall out—yes, I fall. I’m five foot two, everything is taller than me—and turn around just in time to see him step out of his truck. And I’m taken aback by how hot he is.

His baby blue jeans are well-worn, fitting every part of him like a glove, and when I mean every part of him I’m talking about his package. His white T-shirt is pulled tight across his chest, and his shoulders are square. Then my eyes make their way up to his face. His hair is dark and long in the back, just enough for me to grab ahold of while his face is planted in my vagina. Ummm, WTF ? Did I just picture his face between my legs? That is new.

His face has a day’s worth of stubble, which I know would give my thighs some razor burn. Whoa, don’t go there. Clearly I need to get laid. All thoughts of getting laid run screaming from my head when my gaze meets his and I’m met with ice cold blue eyes.

“You’re late,” he says with attitude.

Is he fucking kidding me? I’m three minutes early.

“I think your watch is wrong.” I pull out my iPhone and show him the time. It shows 2:59. In your face. “See, I have a minute to spare,” I say proudly.

He turns around to go to the trunk to get his equipment bag. “Your boss said I start at three, which means I’m on the ice at three, not walking in the door at three. I’ve been here since two-fifteen.”

“It does not take forty-five minutes to get you suited up. I know people who can do it in ten.” Ha, take that Mr. super-fucking-star attitude!

“I don’t know how your boss gave you this responsibility, but I plan to inform him of what happened this morning,” he says, swinging the bag over his shoulder, making his shirt even more taut across his chest.

Did he condescendingly tell me that he would tell my boss about my behavior?

I spin around before saying something I would regret. Like go fuck yourself.

Heading to the door, I unlock it and switch on a few lights.

“Locker rooms are that way.” I point. “You can use whatever room you want. We have no one else in the rink till seven, so it gives you four hours. From the email I received you are to do ice for three hours and the gym for three. I have you scheduled in the gym starting at seven, so I guess you can get off the ice at six. You can eat and then work out in the gym,” I say to his retreating back. Would it be too much to ask to have a conversation with his face instead of his tight ass? Damn, I can’t believe I missed how nice his ass is. That is perfection all wrapped up.

“You think the gym trainer will be late like you?” he snarls. Just like that, the bubble I’m in is snapped. It’s fucking three a.m., and I have to skate for the next three hours with this guy.