I bite back a groan and flop to my stomach, my arms jelly from holding a plank position for so long. Sweat clings to my skin, making me feel disgusting. I probably don’t smell all that great either.
“That was the last one. How’s the shoulder?”
I glare up at Adam and his stupid perfect smile as he watches me, waiting for an answer. He’s leaning against the wall, his arms crossed and bulging beneath his tight black long-sleeve that looks a solid size too small. His lack of sweat and sore muscles has my scowl deepening.
I need some ice and Tylenol before I wind up punching him in the crotch. He’s been helping me for a good two weeks now, and even if I can tell that my shoulder is improving more and more with each therapy session, it hasn’t changed how aggravating that man can be.
It’s not normal for someone to be so happy. It’s borderline unnatural.
The only time I’ve seen him be even remotely upset was at the hockey game a week ago, and even then, he was quick to return to his normal pippy state before I had a chance to dig for much information. As if allowing himself to wallow in the dumps with the rest of us was completely out of the question.
I roll my eyes. “Do you get off on pain and suffering or something? What’s with the smile?”
He chuckles lowly and scratches at his jaw. “I get off on a number of things, Scarlett. But pain and suffering? Not my style. I’m smiling because I’m proud of you.”
“Oh.” Fucking hell. What does he get off on, then? No. Scratch that. I don’t want to know.
“Oh?”
I huff. “Yes, oh. I wasn’t expecting that, considering I haven’t exactly done anything to be proud of. I won’t consider myself anywhere close to where I want to be until I can last longer than thirty seconds in a damn plank.”
His brows tug together. “You think you haven’t made progress because you can’t hold a plank for the same amount of time you could before?” When I nod, he frowns. “That’s not fair to you or your healing in the slightest.”
“Well, none of this has been fair, so I don’t see why I would start caring about that now.”
He searches my face, studying it like a cheat sheet for a final exam he can’t risk failing. Nerves I didn’t even know I had flare at the intensity behind his eyes.
“Your professional career might be done, Scarlett, but that doesn’t mean hockey is something that’s completely out of reach. Don’t give up on your passions and your goals—hell, your entire future—because you were dealt a shitty card in life. Don’t let this take everything from you.”
Adam pushes off from the wall and stalks toward me. My entire body turns pink and hyperaware of every step he takes. I get up off my stomach and settle on my knees.
“Don’t talk like you know me on some deep level, Adam. We’re barely even friends.”
My dig bounces right off him. He only tilts a brow, looking as if I’m merely entertaining him. “Barely even friends? You wound me, Scary Spice. I thought we were getting to know each other quite well.”
Needing to keep my hands busy so they’re not flopping in my lap, I thread my fingers through my ponytail. When my fingers get caught in a tangle of curls, I pull a little too hard and wince at the stabbing sensation in my scalp. Smooth.
“Are you okay? Does your shoulder hurt?” he asks with a slight tinge of panic in his tone.
I close my eyes for a minute to gain back some semblance of calm before opening them again to find him directly in front of me. He offers me his hand, and I just stare at it like it’s about to jump at me.
His laugh is smooth and deep. “Let me help you up.”
It hits me then that I’m knelt in front of him, his crotch in my direct line of vision. He’s left enough space between us that I don’t immediately ignite into a burning ball of mortification, and I almost thank him for that before remembering my knees are still on the ground and my mouth is gaping open.
“Oh my God.” It comes out in a rush. With wide eyes, I grab his hand and scramble to my feet. I use my own strength to push myself up at the same time he uses his to pull me, and I go flying. Straight. Into. Him.
A sound of surprise escapes him at the same time I collide with his chest. I barely have time to register just how hard and tense his stomach feels pressed against mine before my chin smacks his collarbone, and he grabs my biceps, steadying me.
“Jesus, Scarlett. Seriously, are you okay? Do you need to sit down somewhere? I can get you a water or some juice—”
“I’m fine.” I’m not, but I would be if you backed up.
His fingers tighten on my arms, but he doesn’t push me back like I’m expecting. I think he just . . . pulled me closer.
I pray that he can’t feel how hard my heart is beating in my chest or how it speeds up when our eyes catch and hold despite how badly I try to look away.
Sucking in a shuddered breath, I cautiously press my palms to his chest under the pretense of using the leverage to back away but find them superglued to the firm muscles instead. I furrow my eyebrows when I feel the frantic, unsteady beating behind his rib cage tapping at my fingers.
I swipe my tongue across my lips and shiver when the pad of his thumb strokes the underside of my arm.
His lips part as his gaze falls to my mouth. The room spins before disappearing entirely. Two words flare to life in my head, repeating over and over until it’s impossible to ignore them.
Kiss me.
Adam slides his fingers up my arm and over my shoulder before pausing at the base of my neck. His eyes flick to mine, as if asking for permission to touch me further, and I nod without hesitation. Rational thinking is gone. There’s only Adam and me and the tension building and building between us like a ball of electricity waiting to be unleashed.
His eyes flare as he cups the back of my head and tangles his fingers in my hair. The feeling of his fingers gently pressing into my scalp has my knees threatening to give out.
I hold my breath when he mutters, “Scarlett, can I k—”
Three knocks on the door sever the connection.
“Hey, guys. There’s someone else on the ice right now, and I think there might have been an—oh. Uh . . . I’ll just go . . . wait . . . outside. Yeah. Outside.”
Like I should have minutes ago, I shove at Adam’s chest and stumble back, creating some much-needed distance between us.
“Willow,” I breathe. My stomach falls to the floor.
The teenager is as red as a tomato, and I’m not sure I look much different if the pulse in my cheeks is anything to go by. She waves a hand in the air and tries to hide her shock with a forced smile.
“Hi.”
I can feel Adam’s stare beating into the side of my head, but I can’t look at him. God, what is he thinking right now? I swallow the boulder in my throat. I don’t want to know.
He clears his throat. “Who’s on the ice, Willow? There’s most likely a mix-up. Nobody is scheduled to be out there this morning beside you and Scarlett.”
“I think it’s Rebecca and a girl I didn’t recognize. I couldn’t tell from where I was standing.”
Rebecca is another trainer and someone I haven’t spent a lot of time with. She seems nice enough, though. If I was big on making friends, maybe we could have gotten along.
“Alright. We’ll get it all sorted out, and you’ll be good to go.”
I wipe my palms down my leggings and say in a rush, “Actually, I can take her and get it sorted. That okay with you, Willow?” I shoot her a pleading look.
Her eyes widen briefly before she nods. “Yep. Totally okay.”
“Are you sure? I—” Adam starts.
I cut him off. “Perfect. Let’s go, Willow.” I clap my hands together and rush toward her. Grabbing her wrist, I pull her out of the room and into the hallway with my heart in my throat.
Willow tries to keep up with me as I plow down the hallway, asking if I’m okay and what’s happening. I don’t answer her.
It’s not until I’m shoving the women’s locker room door open and stepping inside that I release her and some of the tension that’s suffocating me.
“Get your skates on,” I say, wincing at the harshness in my voice. “Please.”
I wait for her to acknowledge me, and as soon as she does, I’m moving frantically around the room, collecting my own skates and everything I need for today’s session that I stored in here this morning.
Willow watches me the entire time but doesn’t say anything. I would thank her for that if I could trust myself not to blurt out something incredibly embarrassing. Like how I miss the way Adam felt pressed against me or how badly I wish he had planted one on me when he had the chance.
Fucking fuck.
Flopping down on the bench, I drop my skates on the ground and shove my feet into them, tying the left before the right. By the time I’m done, Willow is waiting at the door for me.
“Ready?” I join her and nod to the hallway.
She smiles, flashing me her teal-bracketed braces. “I am. Are you?”
“Yep.” I frown when she starts shuffling her feet. “What?”
Her green eyes are wary. “You could tell me if you’re not, you know, okay. I mean, obviously you don’t have to since we’re not really friends and you’re way older than me—”
“Hey,” I interrupt. “First of all, I’m not way older than you. I’m only twenty-three. And second, you’re as much of a friend to me as most people. I’m not exactly the easiest person to talk to, so . . .”
She shrugs. “Me either. I don’t have any real friends outside of the girls on my hockey team. But even then, they’re what my mom calls surface-level friends. The kind you shouldn’t let inside to see the real you but are safe to keep at an arm’s distance.”
I nod because I know exactly what she’s referring to. Unfortunately, I’ve had my fair share of those people in my life. They’re the kind of friends you would chat with in an empty room but never in a busy one. The kind that wouldn’t visit or call if you were sick but would rush to hug you and tell you how happy they are that you’re okay and how worried they were after you’ve recovered.
Bitterness settles like bile in my stomach. After my shoulder injury and an intensive surgery that was the final nail in the coffin I buried my hockey career in, I can count on one hand the number of teammates who made an effort to reach out and ask how I was doing. It wasn’t shocking, not when I already knew none of us were all that close, but that didn’t make it hurt any less.
Your teammates are supposed to be the people you can count on to be there for you when you need them, but unfortunately for me, that wasn’t my experience in Calgary.
“Your mom sounds like a smart woman,” I tell Willow.
“Of course she does. Who do you think I got all my smarts from?”
I arch a brow. “Fair enough. Who did you get your lack of humility from?”
She grins proudly, popping a dimple in her cheek. “That was all me.”
My lips curl in a smile. I see a lot of myself in Willow. Maybe that’s why I enjoy our lessons so much. It makes me feel like I’ve accomplished something every time she beats a previous record or crushes a new goal. Like I’ve used my talent for something helpful instead of letting it waste away. It’s only been two weeks, but even in such a short time working with her, I know she’s going to go on to do extraordinary things.
I’m just glad I get to be a small part of her journey.
