McKellen offered a small smile. “Little of both, I’m afraid.”
“It’s more than that, too,” she said. “Despite all that macho, smart-ass swagger, he’s seriously hurting—and not just on the outside.” She looked up at McKellen, who was watching her intently, considering her assessment. “Unless he can get that under control, all the training in the world won’t help him.”
McKellen nodded. She wasn’t telling him anything he didn’t know already.
“Sorry I don’t have better news for you, Mr. McKellen. I’m just not sure what you thought we could fix in a couple of hours.”
“I didn’t bring you in for a quick fix.” McKellen sat down next to her. “How would you feel about committing to a six-week program? A few mornings a week, help get our man back in the game?”
Eva blinked. Six weeks? With Walker Dunn? “I, um… I appreciate the vote of confidence, but I’m not a hockey expert, and—”
“Walker doesn’t need a hockey expert. He needs a skating expert. Someone who can shake things up, break him out of his routine. Challenge him. Boost his confidence.”
“And you think I’m the woman for the job?” she asked.
“Based on what I saw out there today? You bet.” McKellen blew out a breath. “Look. We’ve been working with him for months. Coaches. Trainers. Even his teammates. None of us have been able to get through to him.”
Blades clean and dry, Eva slid the skates back into her bag and looked out at Walker and his coach, their heads still bent together in conversation. Walker’s shoulders slumped. She wondered what they were talking about, where Walker’s head was at after the workout they’d endured. The man had put up so many walls, Eva couldn’t even tell if he wanted to play hockey anymore.
“What makes you think I can get through to him?” she asked.
“You already did.” McKellen nodded toward the rink. “This is the longest he’s stayed out on the ice since the injury. I haven’t been able to get him to do those slalom drills at all. Before you showed up, he was almost ready to call it a day. But he didn’t. You worked his ass off out there, Miss Bradshaw. And he wanted to show you he could handle it. I don’t know what you said to him, but he was listening—that much is clear.”
The words sent a warm flush through her chest, the same feeling she got when any of her students finally nailed a difficult combo or got back up after a nasty fall. But the difference here was that Walker, unlike her students, didn’t want her help. McKellen could say whatever he wanted; Eva had felt Walker’s frustration with her. His disdain.
Not to mention his desire…
Eva tugged at the collar of her fleece, heat creeping up her neck. As if he could sense her thoughts, Walker looked up, catching her eyes from across the ice. Even at a distance, she could see the heat there, feel it as if it were a live wire. His gaze was locked on hers, unwavering and intense, and when he flashed her half a grin, her thighs clenched involuntarily.
There was her answer. No. There was simply no way she could say yes to six weeks on the ice with that man.
“Whatever your standard rate is for private coaching,” McKellen said, “We’ll double it. And if you’re a morning person, you can have the ice for two hours before each session for your own use—rink’s free at that time.”
Despite her best efforts to be cool, Eva’s eyes went wide with shock.
Never mind the ice time. Eighteen sessions, at double her rates? That was a lot of money. Enough to get them through the holidays and into the new year. Enough to start paying off her mother. Enough to get some new clothes for Gracie, whose pants and shirts were all wearing through at the knees and elbows, her ankles peeking out at the hems. Poor kid didn’t even have a decent pair of snow boots—her little toes got soaked every time she stayed outside more than an hour. Eva had taken to lining her boots with plastic bags.
“That… that’s a generous offer,” she said, her earlier reservations already melting away. She needed that money. The timing could not be better. Besides, if she planned it right, she could drop Gracie off at school instead of putting her on the bus, then hit the rink for some time on the ice before Walker showed up. She’d be done in plenty of time to pick Gracie up from school. And Marybeth always watched Gracie during the school’s winter break—Marybeth had the same days off.
Plus, she could still meet with her other clients on the off days.
The whole thing was kind of perfect.
A smile stretched across her face.
“That a yes?” he asked.
Eva nodded. “Yes. Thank you.”
“Can you start tomorrow? I don’t want to wait too long to get Walker into the new routine.”
“Tomorrow works,” she said. “As long as it works for Walker.”
“It will.” McKellen held her gaze for a moment, then reached into his pocket for what looked like a business card. “Look, let me be real honest with you here. This isn’t just about Walker. I run a training facility based in Minnesota. We’re looking to bring in a top-notch figure skater to help us design and run immersive training camps for the NHL and some of the college teams.”
Eva took the card, her head spinning.
“If you can get Walker up to snuff, and you’re interested in something like this, I think we could make it happen.”
“What are you saying, exactly?” she asked. She needed him to be absolutely clear.
“I’m saying I have an opening for a permanent position. Full time. Full benefits. Salary, healthcare, retirement, all of it. We have a state-of-the-art facility, really great people, too.”
“In Minnesota,” she said.
McKellen nodded. “Hey, at least you’re already used to the snow. Right?”
Eva laughed. She’d grown up here in Buffalo. Used to the snow? She couldn’t imagine winter without it.
“Relocation expenses would be covered, of course.” McKellen stood up and lightly touched her shoulder. “Think about it, Miss Bradshaw. At the end of your time with Walker, if you decide the position isn’t for you, well… no hard feelings. You’re still walking away with a nice chunk of change for the holidays.” Then, chuckling, “Hell, I bet Dunn would even sign a jersey for you, you play your cards right.”
Lucky me.
Eva thanked him and promised her consideration, her mind already flipping through the possibilities as McKellen skated back out to Walker and the coach. She’d never had a regular, steady job before—something her mother was constantly throwing in her face. This offer was an amazing opportunity with great perks and an even better paycheck. And Minnesota? That wasn’t too far. An easy flight. Road-trip distance, even.
No, it wasn’t her dream of Olympic level competition, but those days were long over. This was an actual job that would allow her to use her passion for skating to help other people. The kind of job that meant a real shot at stability for her and Gracie—long-term stability. A future. A chance to get out from under her debts and her mother’s crushing thumb.
A fresh start in a place she could make her own. Hers and Gracie’s.
A warm, happy feeling spread through Eva’s chest, a feeling full of hope and possibility where for so long she’d felt only worry and fear. As far as she could tell, the whole arrangement came with only one serious downside.
A 250-pound, impossibly gorgeous, infuriatingly rude downside who was suddenly skating right for her, that cocky, panty-melting grin waking up the parts of her body that were supposed to stay permanently asleep.
Walker slammed into the glass in front of her, still smirking. “Just heard the news. Looks like you and I are about to get real cozy.”
Eva lifted her chin, trying to maintain her composure. “You’d better bring your A-game, forty-six. Today was just a prequel. Here on out, I’m going to work you so hard, you’ll be crying for your mama.”
“Mmm.” Walker tapped his lips, his gaze drinking her in from top to bottom and back again, finally coming to rest on her mouth. The look in his eyes made her in
stantly wet. “You bring your A-game, princess. I like it rough.”
Chapter Six
Walker rolled out of bed the next morning feeling like he’d been shoved into a sack and tossed down a flight of stairs.
Twice.
Fuuuuck.
Trying to ignore the ache in his muscles, he dragged himself out of bed and into the kitchen to start the coffee. After his supreme ass-beating on the rink yesterday, he’d gone to Wellshire Place to visit his mom, then spent the rest of the night icing his knee and pouring shots of whiskey down his throat in a failed attempt to numb himself from head to toe.
All he’d gotten for his efforts was a pounding headache and a mouth full of cotton. And in less than an hour, he was due back at the rink for a fresh day of hell with his new coach. A pain in the ass new coach. A hot as fuck new coach who would look just about perfect in his bed, writhing underneath him, screaming his name in ecstasy, eyes rolled back in her head as Walker fucked her mindless.
But damn, that view was a far cry from the one he’d gotten yesterday, the ice princess kicking his ass up and down the rink, that smug little know-it-all smile plastered on her face.
It’s all a matter of physics… chop-chop, forty-six…
Walker grabbed a bottle of aspirin from the counter and tossed a few back, ignoring the pulse of heat that throbbed in his cock, now straining against his sweatpants. He hated to admit it, but he kind of liked that Eva had called him by his number. Kind of wondered what it might sound like mixed in with a few other choice phrases…
Harder, forty-six. Right there, forty-six. That feels soooo good, forty-six…
“Dude. Seriously?” A harsh laugh yanked him out of the fantasy. “I mean, I know you’re happy to see me, but…”
Roscoe, his left winger and best friend, stood in the back doorway off the kitchen, kicking snow off his boots and staring pointedly at Walker’s crotch.
Walker turned his back on him and reached into the dishwasher for a clean mug. “Remind me why I don’t have an alarm system?”
“You could start by locking your doors,” Roscoe said. “Maybe getting a guard dog.”
“Logan’s allergic.” His brothers were away at college, one in Ohio and one in Colorado, but they still technically lived with him. Logan’s face would puff up like a blowfish at the first whiff of dog.
“That coffee fresh?” Roscoe asked.
“Yep.” Walker grabbed the pot and filled up his mug. If Roscoe wanted some, he could get it his own damn self. “Close the door. I’m not paying to heat the whole outside.”
“You are such a dad this morning. And by dad, I mean dickhead.” Roscoe closed the door and kicked off his wet boots, laughing like a hyena. “So who’s the lucky girl, Mr. McStiffy?”
“Nunya.”
“Nunya?”
“Yeah, I think you’ve met her before. Nunya fuckin’ business? Ring any bells?”
“Oh, so you’re not thinking about fucking your new coach anymore?”
Walker grunted. He was a little fuzzy on the details, but he was pretty sure he’d already given Roscoe and Henny the rundown in a series of drunken texts last night. He was also pretty sure Roscoe had offered to tag along today, video the session to see if he could give Walker any pointers.
In the middle of his half-drunken stupor last night, it’d seemed like a decent idea. Now, he wasn’t so sure.
“She’s off-limits,” Walker said. “Just so we’re clear.”
“Ahh.” Roscoe pointed an accusatory finger at his chest. “So you do want her.”
“I didn’t say that. I just don’t want you interfering with our professional relationship.”
“You are professionally full of shit. Like, professionally.”
“You’re right.” Walker tore open a banana, shoving half of it into his mouth in one bite. The more he thought about it, the more it chapped his ass. “Fuck it. I need to call McKellen, tell him I can’t do it.”
“Yeah, no. Not happening,” Roscoe said. Before Walker could grab his phone from the counter, Roscoe swiped it and slid it into his back pocket. “Let it go, man.”
“Seriously?”
“They’re just looking out for you,” Roscoe said. “For the team. All of us are.”
Walker rolled his eyes. “Do me a favor, sunshine. Dial down the kumbaya until I get a little more caffeine in me.” He jammed the rest of the banana into his mouth, then chucked the peel at Roscoe, hitting him square in the face.
“Dude.” Without missing a beat, Roscoe winged it right back at him, but Walker dodged, and the peel hit the edge of the sink with a wet slap. It reminded him of horsing around with his brothers, and for a second, he relaxed. Almost smiled.
“Look at the bright side,” Roscoe said. “She might actually help your sorry ass.”
Roscoe believed it, too. Real “bright side” kind of guy. Good for mid-game locker room pep talks. Shitty for days when all Walker wanted to do was punch something.
Walker knew the coaches were looking out for him—they wanted him back on the team, and the team needed him—but still. Why couldn’t they man up and talk to him about this new plan ahead of time? About this figure skater? This infuriating, masochistic woman who’d gotten off on torturing him yesterday like it was some kind of sick game?
Walker bristled, his muscles aching at the reminder. Hell, while he’d been tossing and turning in his bed all night, Eva had probably spent her evening picking out a special jar for Walker’s balls—clearly, she was about to take possession of them, and there wasn’t a damn thing he could do about it. Not if he wanted to play again. Not if he wanted his contract renewed.
Coach had made that perfectly clear yesterday.
Last chance, Dunn. I’d hate to lose you, but we have to consider what’s best for the whole team…
Walker sighed, then chugged the rest of his coffee, enjoying the burn all the way down. Roscoe was right. No sense in calling it off. All he could do now was take his medicine like a man and hope to Christ she went a little easier on him today. Despite his macho talk yesterday, Walker didn’t think his body could handle another workout as rigorous as that. Not that he’d ever admit that to anyone—not even to Roscoe or Henny, and especially not to the team docs. If they thought for one minute he was seriously hurting, they’d put him on disability faster than Henny’s slapshot, and before he knew it, Walker would be all washed up, doing product endorsements and has-been celeb appearances at car dealerships and kids’ parties. How long could he make a career out of that shit? How long could he cover his mother’s expenses? His brothers’ tuition bills? The house? All of it?
“Come on,” Roscoe said, digging through the cupboard for a mug and helping himself to the rest of the coffee in the pot. “Get ready. Time for me to meet the woman who’s gonna own you for the next six weeks.”
“Hey Roscoe?” Walker asked, still not ready to be cheered up. “Anyone ever tell you to fuck off?”
“Once or twice.”
“Well, just in case… fuck off. Oh, here’s another one—fuck off—you can save it for later.”
“I can’t wait till your sorry ass is back on the ice. When you’re not playing? You’re kind of a douche.” He punched Walker hard in the arm, and Walker finally cracked a smile, appreciating that simple word: till. It didn’t occur to Roscoe that Walker wouldn’t get better, that he wouldn’t get back on the ice. For Roscoe, it was only a matter of time.
Maybe that bright side of his wasn’t such a bad thing after all.
“Give me half hour,” Walker said. “I need a shower and some more food, then we’ll head out.”
“Better take care of yourself in there,” Roscoe shouted down the hallway. “Don’t want you embarrassing yourself with a raging hard-on in front of my future girlfriend.”
“Hey Roscoe?”
“Yeah?”
Walker stuck his head out of the bathroom, watching Roscoe dig through the cupboards for something to eat. He cracked up. “Fuck off.”
> In an effort to convince Walker that this shitshow was a good idea, McKellen had sent him a bunch of stats about Eva’s qualifications last night. Turns out she really was a two-time Olympic medalist—they hadn’t been yanking his chain about that. Half a bottle of Jim Beam into his pity party last night, Walker had even looked up some of her routines on YouTube—wanted to know what he was dealing with.
Those videos were damn impressive.
But watching it on a laptop and seeing it up close and personal?
World of difference.
He and Roscoe stood just outside the locker room doorway, watching Eva own the ice, both of them completely dumbfounded.
“Holy shit.” Roscoe nailed him in the arm. “You left out the part where she could do…um… that.”
They both tilted their heads as Eva grabbed her ankle, lifting her leg above her head and gliding effortlessly around the rink. She really did look like something out of a music box—a ballerina on ice. They watched in silence as she continued through her routine, twirling and jumping, dancing across the ice so perfectly, Walker wondered whether her feet even touched the ground.
She slid toward the center ice, then turned into one of those spin moves that made Walker dizzy.
“Damn,” Roscoe whispered.
“Just remember you’re here to back me up, not to be a misogynistic asshole.”
“Misogynistic? I’m just appreciating her exceptional—”
“Lock it down, thirty-eight.” Walker clapped Roscoe hard on the shoulder, then turned back toward the ice. Within seconds, he was completely mesmerized again, watching her move through a series of jumps, nailing every one. Anyone could see that she was technically good. Hell, she was incredible. But the way she moved out there was so much more than skill. More than training. More than talent and commitment and broken bones and all the three a.m. practices she’d probably endured as a kid, every single day for decades.
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