If You Love Me: Chapter 2

I did not accurately account for the level of anxiety that would come with seeing Roman again in person. The best goalie the league has ever seen.

I’ve never met Roman The Player before—only Roman The Man. There’s no way he would remember me the way I remember him. And I remember every last detail of my time with Roman Hammerstein.

Owner of my fucking body. Provider of magical orgasms. Biggest dick I’ve ever had the pleasure of trying (and failing) to deep throat. But my effort was applauded, appreciated, and rewarded with more multiple orgasms than I’ve ever received in a weekend.

Roman was an incredible, intelligent, filthy sex machine. But maybe all the ladies he spends time with feel that way. Maybe he’s just that good. And where does that leave me?

Except now, I’m left standing in front of my new team, staring at the man who rocked my entire world and made everyone I’ve tried to date after him seem like elevator music.

My stomach is a roiling mess. Starting a new job is never easy, but being a woman under thirty on the coaching staff of a pro hockey team? If they smell my fear, I’m finished before my skates even touch the ice.

“Let me introduce you to some of our key players,” Coach Vander Zee says after the guys have been given the go-ahead to grab a plate and get in line for the buffet.

The other two assistant coaches, Ralph Boxer and Arnold Thomas, and the equipment manager, Donnie Richards, have joined the line and are chatting with the players. Ralph seems nice, a little quirky, but he’s the goalie coach, so that tracks. Arnold and Donnie have been a touch remote, but maybe they were tight with the previous assistant coach. Both of them are quite a bit older than me, so that could be a factor as well.

Vander Zee scans the room, and of course the closest person happens to be Roman. I can barely breathe as Coach calls him over. This could go one of two ways. Neither is awesome.

Roman’s expression remains impassive. He’s grown even more attractive in the years since I last saw him. Gray flirts at his temples. He’s broad and thick and stupidly gorgeous, and while I convinced myself there’s no way he’d remember me, I’m suddenly worried I could be wrong. But I can’t rewind time and fix it.

“Alexandria, I’m sure you recognize Roman, the most outstanding goalie in the league,” Vander Zee says with genuine pride. “Roman, this is Alexandria. She coached the men’s team in Windsor and the women’s team in Niagara before coming to us.” Vander Zee claps Roman on the shoulder. “Roman will be a great resource for you as you learn the ropes here.”

Roman smiles and extends his hand. “It’s nice to meet you, Alexandria.”

My knees nearly buckle at the sound of my full name in his exquisite, rich voice. Several other things I’ve heard that voice say crowd my mind.

You’re going to be my good girl and let me feed you my cock, Lexi.

Such a pretty pussy. I’m going to make it weep for me.

Show me what you like, Lexi. I’m going to make this gorgeous body sing.

And then reality hits. His face is entirely neutral as we shake hands. He really doesn’t remember me.

No doubt I’m one of many faceless women who’ve been on the receiving end of his exceptional off-ice skill set. The things we did. The way he took control and brought out a side of myself I hadn’t experienced before him. And haven’t experienced since.

I didn’t want him to find out I was hockey obsessed and think I’d slept with him so I could use him for his contacts. So instead of letting him take me out for one last coffee like I’d promised, I’d snuck out of the hotel room on Sunday morning and flown back to Niagara without saying goodbye.

I meet his eyes and slip my hand into his waiting palm. Goose bumps rise along my arm, and the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end.

“It’s such an honor.” It sounds like I swallowed a frog.

I drop his hand after a moment and clasp mine in front of me so I don’t hand talk. I can’t read his expression.

“It’s a big move from the Ontario to the National League,” he notes.

“Alexandria has a great resume.” Vander Zee seems like he’s reassuring his star goalie.

“I’m sure you do. How long did you coach in Windsor and Niagara?” Roman acts like this is the first time we’ve ever spoken. Like he didn’t wrap my braid around his fist and whisper dirty things in my ear while he fucked me from behind.

Get your head out of the gutter, Lexi.

“I was in Windsor for two years and Niagara for a year.” I took the position with the women’s team because my mom and stepdad were killed in a boating accident and my half-sisters were suddenly parentless. They lived in Niagara. Moving them to Windsor with me would have taken them away from their friends and everything familiar.

Not that me taking this job didn’t do the same exact thing. But it’s been a year since the accident took their mom and dad, and this is my dream job. I hope the move won’t be too hard for them to overcome.

“The women’s team in Niagara dominated in the finals last year, didn’t they?” Roman asks.

“They did.” I poured my heart and soul into that job. I needed the distraction from all the loss and grief. “Our team went from being in the bottom third of the league to second overall.”

“They must have been sad to see you go,” Roman says.

“It was a difficult decision, but I couldn’t pass up this opportunity.”

“No, I imagine you couldn’t.”

“Roman, buddy, they have the salted-caramel dip and green apple slices you like.” Phillip “Flip” Madden, one of the players, slaps him on the back. “You should grab some before they’re gone.”

My eyes flare. We had salted-caramel-dipped fruit the first night we spent together. A lot more than fruit was dipped in the sauce.

“I don’t want to miss out on those,” Roman agrees. “Welcome to the Terror, Coach Forrester.” He gives me a curt nod.

“Thank you.”

He heads for the buffet, and I can finally breathe.

Flip Madden wipes his hand on his pants and extends it. “I’m Phillip. Most people call me Flip. It’s great to have you on board. Very excited to have a shot of estrogen on the ice with us.” He cringes. “That did not come out right. I just mean it’s great to have a fresh, new perspective on the team.”

I smile and shake his hand. “I’m looking forward to working with you.” I’m not naive enough to believe there won’t be growing pains as the first female assistant coach in the league, but the Terror has a good balance in management, so I’m hopeful.

Vander Zee introduces me to a few more of the guys, but my mouth feels like it’s full of cotton. I grossly underestimated how challenging working with Roman would be. But he doesn’t remember me. And it’s better if it stays that way. Besides, he’s in the last year of his contract. I can handle anything for a year.

There’s a lull in the introductions, leaving Vander Zee and me alone for a moment. He tucks his thumbs into his pockets, expression serious, which I’m learning is typical. “I know this is all pretty new for you, and I get that you might be a little starstruck with some of the players who have had long, legendary careers, but never let them see that, Alexandria.”

“I understand, sir.” It’s better that he thinks I’m starstruck than find out the truth.

“Professionalism is imperative. If you can’t handle them, you’re no longer an asset to the organization. Do you understand?”

“Absolutely, sir.” I worry about how transparent I seem to be. I can’t afford to show weakness, not with Vander Zee, the other coaching staff, and especially not with any of the players.

“You should grab something to eat. I know you still have unpacking and settling in to do.”

“Okay. Thanks.” I’m grateful for the dismissal as I move toward the beverage station. Food sounds like more poor decisions and I’ve already made enough of those.

“Don’t let Vander Zee scare you,” Ralph says, somewhat reassuringly, as I reach for a glass. “His bark is mostly worse than his bite.”

“Thanks.” I smile.

Arnold Thomas, the assistant coach who works primarily with the offensive players, is talking to Donnie over at one of the tables. His eyes slide my way for a moment.

“And don’t worry about Donnie,” Ralph adds quietly as he loads up a plate with fresh fruit. “He’s just sore he didn’t qualify for the position.”

“My position?” I ask.

He nods.

That explains the lack of warmth coming from him and Arnold.

Another player calls Ralph’s name. “Join us after you’ve grabbed something.” He leaves me alone with the beverages.

My nerves were shot after the introduction to Roman, and now I find out I was given the job over an internal hire? It’s as much an ego boost as it is another thing to worry about. The pressure of this job is a weight in my stomach.

I scan the juices, finally trying to focus on the reason I’ve been standing here. Choosing a drink should not be overwhelming. As I reach for the freshly pressed carrot-apple-ginger, a shiver runs down my spine.

“I suggest watermelon lemonade over that one,” Roman says quietly. “It’s a little sweeter, more to your taste.”

Panic shoots down my spine, and for a moment I forget how to breathe. Everything I’ve just finished convincing myself is true has reset.

He remembers me.

But any potential warm and fuzzy feeling dies as I turn toward his intense, displeased expression. His gaze roves over my face, and I feel it everywhere. “I’d say it’s nice to see you again, but…” The next words out of his mouth destroy me. “I don’t lie.”