Grabbing all four pairs of skates by the laces, I leave the windowless back office for the rink. I walk down the long, dimly-lit hallway until I reach the end. I pull my coat on with one hand and step into the windy outdoors. I look out over the parking lot and see the rink twenty paces ahead of me. It’s freaking freezing, and I clutch at my coat with my free hand to keep it closed, cursing myself for not zipping up beforehand. Welcome to Minneapolis in winter.
I jog the last five yards and, skates still in my hand, use my shoulder to push open the wide double doors. Coach Craig’s not in here. Shit. That means he’s waiting on me, most likely outside my office, which I luckily locked so he can’t snoop. I run back outside and through the parking lot until I’m inside the heated building, and then I hustle down the hall to my office.
Coach Craig, arms crossed and glaring, is leaning against the wall, and I nod at him as I unlock my door and invite him inside.
He follows me in and shuts the door behind him.
“Do you have the schedule, Savannah? It’s overdue.”
“Actually, it’s three days early,” I snap as I hand the printout to him. “It’s not due till next week.”
Shit. I don’t know what’s come over me today. It’s like I’m speaking up all over the place.
Craig raises his eyebrows at my comeback like he doesn’t know what to say. He takes the schedule out of my hands and grunts. Maybe that line-cutter guy was right. Maybe I do have a stick somewhere that I don’t know about.
Craig gets a phone call and steps into the hall to take it.
Once he’s gone, flashes from this morning’s attack race through my mind despite my best attempts to push them away. I feel like a door’s been opened that I can’t close, and I pull out the shoebox from underneath my desk. I carefully take off the lid and peer inside at the pile of photographs.
These photos are all linked to my father, and once he left us, I didn’t know what to do with the pain. So I stuffed it all into a box and left it here. I haven’t looked inside since.
Like he can hear my mind working, a new message pops up in my email.
It’s the league newsletter, and on the front is the star of the Colorado Caves. Jason Watts, former star of the Climax Cannons, and the man my father betrayed my trust for. He got a second chance with my father while I’m the one Daddy cut out of his life. No amount of emails or letters have gotten my father to speak to me. They all go unanswered.
But Coach McMann gives interview after interview with the press, raving about Watts and how lucky he is to have him. He says he wouldn’t have won three titles in Colorado without him.
I reach inside the box and grab the first two pictures my hand closes around.
I kneel on the floor to look at the first one, but before I can focus on it, Coach Craig walks back into my office without knocking.
I stuff both photographs into the purse sitting at my feet and hurriedly get up off my knees.
Craig wipes the sweat off his brow with a handkerchief and heaves a sigh in my direction. He’s clearly in a mood.
“I’ve got a great idea for sponsors, and I need some research done.”
“Okay.” I grab a pen off my desk. “What is it?”
“Check up on this lead.” Craig tosses a faxed sheet of paper in front of me. “We should have had these guys on our list years ago.”
Even though Craig’s team has yet to have a record over five hundred, he never misses an opportunity to try to make it seem like he’s better than my father was at this job.
Craig puts his knuckles on the desk and leans into my personal space in his usual no-manners way. A piece of gum hangs halfway out of his mouth. He’s trying to lose weight by chewing something that’s supposed to suppress his appetite.
“So we need to start winning. Or your job…” He puts up his hands in a surrender gesture. “I may not have the money to pay your salary.”
My heart goes into my butt, and I can’t do anything but stare at his mouth as he keeps talking. “Let’s face it, Savannah. We’re not winning. We need ticket sales, and Climax residents want to see wins. Or at least goals. We haven’t scored in three games. The more we score, the more people we attract from Minneapolis. Nobody wants to come to Climax to watch ice melt.”
I don’t know what to say to him. My whole life, I’ve been a coach’s daughter. That’s pretty much been my role. Even after my father left, I stayed here as assistant to the coach. The role is comfortable, and I’ve never once tried to change up my routine. I’ve never even considered it.
“I can’t leave here, Craig. This is the only job I’ve ever had. My father built this team from the ground up.”
“I’m sorry,” Craig says, looking anything but as he gets distracted by a text coming through on his phone.
“Coach Craig, when my father was here, we almost won the whole thing. That’s the closest the Cannons have ever come to a title. I’d like to stay on and help get us winning again.”
He looks back down at his phone and sighs. “Fine. I like you, and I like having the help. So I’ll tell you what—we’ve got a new guy starting today. If he can provide some excitement, like goal-scoring excitement, I think ticket sales just might improve. His name’s Cameron Wild. He was a star coming up, and there was talk of him making it to the big-time. Who knows, maybe we’ll even have a shot at the playoffs.”
“Wow.”
Craig nods. “But he’s hit a dry spell. He used to lead his old team, the Stars, in goals and assists. But the last season and a half—he’s hardly scored at all. He’s twenty-four, just a couple years older than you.”
“But the Stars are in a far bigger league than we are,” I say. “So he must be really good. Why is he joining the Cannons?”
“He’s in a slump. A great big-ass one. And his father’s pissed. The Stars demoted him, and his dad thinks it was unfair, but he also thinks his son isn’t working hard enough. His brother’s a star, and he’s got that to live up to.”
“Wild…” I murmur. “Wait. He’s Declan Wild’s brother?”
“One and the same. And he’s got the talent, but not the drive. So here he is.”
I shrug. “Sounds like a big nightmare.”
“Well, he’s our nightmare now. Let’s see what he can do.”
“What do you want me to do?”
“Help him out with anything he needs. If he has questions, is confused, needs guidance—help him acclimate to the Cannons. Nobody knows the lay of the land here better than you do, right?”
You could say that again. The thing is I’m a complete introvert, especially with men. But I’m used to talking to the players, so this should be fine.
“Go introduce yourself to him now. He’s right down the hall. And good luck—he’s a bit of a prima donna.”
Grabbing the ice skates, I walk out of my office and into the players’ lounge. Only one guy is in here, and his back is to me. I clear my throat, feeling how sweaty my palms already are. God, I’m pathetic.
“Mr. Wild? I’m Savannah Virginia McMann, an assistant for Coach Craig. It’s nice to meet you.”
The guy turns around and faces me.
All four pairs of skates slip out of my hands and crash to the ground at my feet.
The line-cutter from the coffee shop—and the man who just saved me from a mugging—is Cameron Wild.
Chapter Three
Cameron and I stare at each other in silence until he cracks a smile.
“I can honestly say I didn’t think I’d see you again.” His voice is low and husky.
I suck in a breath. “Sorry to disappoint you.”
His eyes fix on me. “I didn’t say I was disappointed, Savannah Virginia. I said I was surprised.”
O-kay. My stomach flips over, and I take a step backward.
Is he flirting with me?
“You ran off so fast earlier.” His eyes search mine. “Are you sure you’re all right?”
“Yes. Thank you for helping me.” I clear my throat
and start again. “Coach Craig has instructed me to offer you my services.”
Cam’s eyes fill with amusement and he breaks into a wide smile. His white teeth are straight and predatory, and he’s left his jacket on the chair behind him, revealing a black t-shirt that shows off his muscled arms.
“You want to offer me your services, huh? That’s a tempting offer.”
My cheeks fill with heat. “I meant my services related to helping you score.”
Now Cameron’s full-out laughing, and I’m so flustered I take a step forward and trip over the ice skates I dropped on the ground.
I go down on my hands and knees.
“Crap.” I try to stand up, but one of my feet gets tangled up in the laces of a pair of skates.
I sit down and methodically begin to untangle the laces. Before I can get anywhere, two strong hands reach in and take over the task.
“Let me help you.” Cameron Wild is kneeling beside me, and he takes my foot into his hands. I fight him, and he shushes me with an, “Easy.”
He works to unwind the laces from around my foot, using his big, masculine hands with fingers that are callused and sturdy and…
“Don’t easy me, Mr. Wild. I’m fine.” I try to wrench my foot out of his grasp, but my shoe drags two skates with it.
Cameron takes my foot back onto his lap. “I’m glad to see your stick is back,” he says with a grin.
“What—” I frown as I remember what he said to me at the coffee shop. “I do not carry a damn stick!”
He nods. “Not always, no. A few times, you’ve looked like you’re afraid you’re going to be crushed. I hate seeing you afraid like that.”
I freeze, any retort I might have dying on my tongue.
His grin widens. “But I love it when you bring the stick out. It’s very sexy.”
My mouth drops open. “Sex…” I can’t finish the word. “Stop.”
“Sexy.” He says it again, and I cringe. His teeth look so straight and white as he leans closer to me. “Sexy. Yes. You are. And it’s okay to say it too.”
I close my eyes and let the mortification wash over me. When I re-open my eyes, Cameron is watching me.
“Mr. Wild. Please let’s return this conversation to a professional level.” I attempt to pull my foot off his lap again, and again he holds it firmly in place.
“Savannah,” he says resolutely. “First of all, call me Cam. And secondly, stop being so damn stubborn, and let me help you.”
Our eyes lock again. His are so intense I avert my gaze and stare down at my ensnared foot instead.
“Fine. Untie me, Cam.”
His shoulders shake with laughter, and I duck my head, mortified.
Can I not speak to this guy without using sexual innuendos?
He turns his attention to my shoe, thank God, and I spend the time thoroughly checking him out.
His black hair is nicely styled in a short straight cut, but it’s still messy enough to make me want to run my fingers through it. And he’s built. His shoulders are broad, and his biceps strain through his shirt. He looks every bit a professional athlete. I could tell when he was wearing an overcoat, for God’s sake.
He holds my foot gently while he works at the knot. Every time his fingers brush my shoe, I shiver. These open-toe ballet flats are too thin for this weather, but they’re my one vice during the long hockey winters. I’ll bundle up with a big coat and heavy clothes, but I love to let my feet feel free.
Cam releases my foot to the ground and picks up all four pairs of skates as he stands up.
I hurry to stand up too. “So you’re Declan Wild’s brother. I’ve seen him play on television. He’s been at it for a long time, huh?”
Cam nods, assessing me. “He loves it.”
Something about his statement feels meaningful, but I don’t want to pry further. “Well, that’s great. Good for him.” I reach for the skates in his hand. “I can take those. I have to bring them to the rink for practice.”
“I’m on my way to the locker room. I don’t mind taking them for you.”
He’s easily over six feet tall, and I look up until I meet his gaze. I start to stammer about ice skates and how chilly ice rinks are.
“Savannah!” Craig’s large form appears in the doorway. “I need those skates—did you sharpen them?”
I grab them out of Cam’s hands, and then I pass them to Craig without a word. He takes them with a grunt that I think must be a thank you but surely doesn’t sound very polite. Cam watches my face as I interact with Craig, who then says, “Did you two meet?”
“We’ve met, yes.” Cam’s gaze slides to mine, and his eyes are questioning, wondering if Craig knows about what happened to me this morning.
I give a slight shake of my head, hoping he won’t bring it up. Craig’s not the most understanding man in the world, and I hate drawing any extra attention to myself.
Cam takes the hint and stays quiet.
“Savannah will help you learn the ropes around here,” Craig states loudly.
“I think I’ll be okay,” Cam says quickly as his face flushes. “I’ve been skating since I could walk.”
“I don’t care if you’re a future Wayne Gretzky.” Craig gives him a stern look. “Ms. McMann has been working here since she was a child. She’s a coach’s daughter. She grew up in this arena, and she can help you out with anything you need. ‘Okay, sir’ is the only acceptable answer.”
Cam’s mouth narrows into a frown, and he looks like he’s going to throw a string of curse words at Craig. But he merely nods.
“And I want you to tag along with Savannah when she goes to Milwaukee next month.”
I turn to Craig with my hands on my hips. “Why? That’s a business conference.”
“Cam’s day job is in sales. He can be useful to us at this meeting. You’re a wallflower, Savannah. Let someone come along who actually likes people.”
I know I blush, and I sneak a glance at Cam. I’m certain he’ll be laughing at me.
He’s not, though. He tilts his head and looks at me appraisingly like he’s trying to figure out what makes me tick. Whatever he sees makes him say, “Sir, doesn’t it make more sense for me to learn the playbook? And attend practice?”
“The playbook, yes. You can bring it with you, and Savannah will help answer any questions. She knows our plays, our lineups, and our formations like the back of her hand. She drew up some of the plays herself.”
Cam’s eyebrows rise nearly to his hairline as his gaze flicks back to me. “You’re a coach?”
I shake my head. “No. I’ve just been here a long time, so I have a feel for what’s worked in the past and what hasn’t. Obviously, we change things up based on what type of players we have and who our competition is.”
“Savannah is the team’s go-to,” Craig says, and I’m stunned at the hint of pride in his voice. “You’d do well to listen to her.”
“Duly noted.” Cam raises his hand to his forehead and salutes me. I would be annoyed, but he tempers his teasing with a heartfelt smile as he extends his hand to me. “I look forward to working with you, Savannah.”
I shake his hand quickly, praying he won’t be able to tell how much mine is trembling.
“Her father left us in the lurch years ago.” Craig continues talking to Cam as if I’m not even there. “I was the assistant coach and had to figure out fast how to be a head coach. Didn’t do us any favors, did he, Savannah?”
“No,” I murmur.
Cam’s eyes turn hard as he says to Craig, “I’m sure the opportunity was one you were thrilled to have. Coach.”
Craig’s face reddens. “Well, yes, of course I was. But Savannah’s father…”
“Is no longer here,” I say quickly, not sure where the sharpness in my voice is coming from, but I keep talking. “So let’s move on, shall we?”
“That’s a good idea,” Cam says in a soft tone, his gaze warm as he looks at me.
“Okay,” Craig grumbles. “You two can ta
lk after practice. Start on the ice for a quick run-through and then go to the coffee shop if you’d prefer to stay warm. Savannah, you fill Cam in on the team rules, the guidebook, and anything else you can think of.”
I nod, and without another word or glance in Cam’s direction, I turn and practically run down the hall and into my office. I shut and lock the door, trying to calm my racing pulse. Cameron Wild is just another hockey player in a long line of male athletes who’ve come through here over the years. Working with him should be no different than it was with any of the others. I’m essentially his boss, who knows the rules of this team inside and out, including the “don’t fuck a player” rule. So my whole want-to-jump-him fantasy is out the window. Except…
Why does my entire world feel like it just got tipped upside down?
Chapter Four
I sit on the players’ bench with Eric, the assistant coach, and watch “the new guy”— as Eric calls Cam—practice with the team for the first time.
“He’s spot on with those shots,” he comments as Cam rips another one into the net, angling it perfectly past the goalie’s outstretched hand. “Russo didn’t have a fucking clue how to stop it.”
“He’s ridiculously good,” I murmur as practice comes to a close and Cam takes off his gloves and helmet. Tossing them to the side, his practice shirt is next.
His torso covered in nothing but his pads and a tight-fitting t-shirt, he glances over to find me staring at him. Lusting after him would be more like it.
I grew up in this rink, and seeing half-naked men is part of the job.
Cameron (Wild Men Book 7) Page 2