If You Love Me: Chapter 6

The players head out to grab a table, and Hemi, Hammer, and Shilpa wait while I stop in my office to pick up my purse and shut my computer down. We pass Coach Thomas and Richards on the way out. They say hello, but seem deep in conversation. Gray clouds blanket the sky, the air is heavy with the promise of thunderstorms, as we walk down the street.

“You said the other coaches don’t usually come out, right?” Vander Zee gave me approval, but maybe it was more about getting to the bottom of the Grace-Madden situation. It would be nice to make some friends in the office, though.

“Arnold has three kids under five. He and Donnie are tight since their four-year-olds play hockey on the same team. Boxer has a forty-five-minute commute because he lives outside the city,” Hemi explains. “So we usually just see them at games and in the office.”

“That makes sense.” And also makes me feel a little better. I’m younger than the other coaches by a good decade. And obviously Donnie and Arnold are friends outside of the office.

“Dallas said you schooled Grace and Madden at practice.”

“Just setting expectations for behavior,” I reply, trying to be diplomatic.

I don’t know these women well, and all three of them are in relationships with players. I’ve done my research. Shilpa was married to Ash before she became the team lawyer, Hammer was also involved with Hollis prior to being hired, and Hemi’s on-ice proposal was pretty damn public. I don’t know where their allegiances lie, and I’m the outsider here.

“I’m not surprised Madden and Grace got into it already,” Hemi muses.

Shilpa hums. “Those two are always a problem when they’re on the ice together. It would be good if they could settle whatever it is between them.”

“I wonder if Rix will have any insight,” Hammer says.

“Who’s Rix again?” The name is familiar, but I’ve learned so many recently.

“Tristan Stiles’s fiancée,” Hemi says. “She’s also Flip Madden’s sister. Tristan calls her Bea because her name is Beatrix, but the rest of us call her Rix. There are a lot of nicknames in this group, so don’t feel bad if you need us to create a spreadsheet.”

I can’t tell if she’s kidding. I might need one.

“The team calls me Hammer, my dad calls me Peggy, and Hollis calls me Aurora,” Hammer adds.

“Or Princess,” Hemi adds.

“That’s sweet,” I say.

“You’d think, wouldn’t you?” Hammer’s grin turns sly.

I’m trying to keep track of the dynamics of this group, but I feel weird about cozying up to Roman’s daughter. I’m keeping this secret from her, and everyone else.

We arrive at the Watering Hole as the first drops of rain fall. The second I step inside I fall in love. One wall consists of massive TV screens, all playing sports. The floors are wide hardwood planks. Booths with plush cushions line the walls, and in the center are long, wide tables with bar chairs. The bar is dotted with businesspeople and casually dressed locals.

Four women wave at us. Three look to be in their mid-twenties, and the other looks closer to Ophelia’s age. One I recognize from Tristan’s social media.

“Come on.” Hemi touches my arm. “Let me introduce you.”

“Sure. Yeah. That would be great.”

“Ladies, this is Alexandria Forrester, the Terror’s new assistant coach and a hundred percent badass,” Hemi announces.

“Outside of work, I usually go by Lexi.” I lift my hand in a wave. I’m so out of practice with socializing off the ice.

“Tristan told me about the Connor-Flip debacle. Impressive metaphorical balls you’ve got.” She extends her hand. “I’m Rix, Tristan’s fiancée and Flip’s sister.”

“You’re in school for nutrition, right?” I overheard Tristan talking about it to Dallas during warm-up before all hell broke loose.

“That’s right. I just went back.” She touches the shoulder of the girl beside her. “And this is Essie, my childhood best friend and our resident makeup artist.”

Essie smiles and waves. She looks runway ready with her long black hair and perfect makeup.

“And next to Essie is Tally,” Rix says.

“Hi.” Tally gives me a wry smile. “Vander Zee is my dad.”

Is it weird to be hanging out with my boss’s daughter? Why is navigating a new workplace so treacherous? “It’s nice to meet you, Tally.”

“And I’m Dred,” the woman to my left says. “Short for Mildred. I’m related to none of these wonderful women by blood or boyfriend, but Flip is my neighbor, and these ladies took it upon themselves to fold me into their crew.”

“We have no regrets about that, and we hope you don’t either.” Hemi smiles fondly at her.

“Having a hockey player as a friend has turned out to be the best thing that’s ever happened to me,” Dred replies. “Have a seat and join the party.” She pats the spot beside her.

I slide onto the chair, envious of their tight bonds and easy conversation. For the last year I’ve been trying to keep my head above water as I managed two grieving kids, my own grief, learned how to parent my siblings, and oh yeah, did my job. At the end of the day, I was too exhausted to entertain going out with friends.

Dallas sets a pitcher of margaritas on the table and another of water, Flip following with glasses. The rest of the guys from the team line one side of the bar. Roman’s gaze shifts toward me for a second, so I quickly look away. Pulling him aside to talk won’t be easy in this intimate environment.

“Sorry about today, Coach,” Flip says. He doesn’t look like the fuck boy without a care in the world. This is the man who cares about his team.

“Lesson learned, I think.” Part of me want to pull him aside and see what I can learn so we can fix the issue with Connor. But I need to earn his trust first, and being social is one way to show him and everyone else this is more than just a job for me.

“My legs will remind me to keep my fists to myself in the future,” he says wryly. “Talls, you need a refill on your soda?”

She shakes her half-full glass. “I’m good, thanks.”

Flip and Dallas join the other players at the bar, leaving me with the girls. They pour margaritas and pass them out, but I opt for water.

“How’s your university experience so far?” Dred directs the question at Tally.

She glances over her shoulder, then drops her voice. “Classes are fine. But I went to an off-campus party with a couple of girls in my program, and it was just a lot of stupid drunkenness and boys peeing wherever they felt like.”

“That sounds accurate, and like parts of my job,” Dred says dryly.

“Where do you work?” I ask.

“The public library. Sometimes people suffering with addiction issues use the space to stay dry and warm. Especially in the winter,” she explains.

“Oh wow. That must be hard.” My library experiences were limited to the local one in my smallish town growing up. I imagine it’s different in a big city.

“Everyone needs a safe place to go. We also get a lot of teens from the local group homes because we have a few special programs,” Dred continues, her smile soft. “Those kids are my favorite. I grew up in the foster system, so I commiserate. Big chips on their shoulders until you offer them cookies and a juice box.”

“I still love a juice box and a cookie,” I reply.

“Same.”

My phone pings with a message from Ophelia. “I need a second. This is my sister.”

“What’s your favorite thing on the menu?” I ask Dred. “I want to bring my sisters dinner.”

“Everything is good here. You can never go wrong with their loaded potato skins though.”

“Perfect. Thanks.” I relay that message and send a link to the menu.

“That’s cool that you and your sisters live together.” Dred sips her drink. “You must be so close.”

“I’m actually their legal guardian.”

Her eyes flare. “Oh. Wow. That’s…Can I ask how old they are?”

“Yeah. Sure.” This is always such a hard conversation. “Ophelia is seventeen, and Calliope is eight. They’re my half-sisters. We have different dads, and the same mom. Had.” I shake my head. “My mom and stepdad passed away last year in a boating accident.”

“I’m so sorry.” Dred touches my shoulder. “That must be so hard for all of you.”

I nod, not wanting to talk about my own feelings. I’ve learned how to compartmentalize them. It’s the only way I’ve made it this far. “But they’re great girls, and I love them. We’re all learning as we go.”

“You’re the real deal, aren’t you? You really have your shit together,” Dred says.

I laugh. “Is that how it looks? Sometimes I feel like I have no idea what I’m doing.” Should I have said that out loud? Usually I have a decent handle on things. I live for hockey. Getting what I want out of a player, what the team needs out of a player, feels damn good. But right now…everything seems unsteady.

“I think we all feel like that at some point.” She props her cheek on her fist. “This might sound super woo-woo, but we’re drawn to places and people for a reason, right?”

“That doesn’t sound woo-woo.”

She motions to the table and drops her voice. “I think you belong here, Lexi. These women, this team? They’re the most amazing family, and I get to be part of it. If you want it, you can be, too.”

I’m suddenly overwhelmed with emotion. Family feels like a pretty bedtime story. What she’s describing is nothing I’ve had before. For the past year it’s been me and my sisters, and before then, I still didn’t truly feel like I quite fit anywhere. I loved my mom, but she and I had our struggles. And my dad loves me, but he’s married to his job. I know what it is to feel alone. To belong? I crave it, but it seems impossible.

“Shit. I’m making you emotional.” Dred gives me a side hug. “Subject change. What’s your favorite board game?”

I laugh. “What?”

“Favorite board game. Everyone needs to have one. What’s yours?”

“Mastermind.”

“Hell yes.” She cups her hands and shouts. “Flip, I have a new board-game bestie. Lexi and I are Mastermind soul mates.”

“Finally, you can beat someone else at that fucking game!” he calls back.

The server delivers platters of nachos and appetizers. We eat and laugh and talk, and I find myself yearning for more of this easy friendship.

When Ophelia messages with dinner requests, I excuse myself to place a to-go order.

“You’re a new face.” A businessman nursing a lowball glass of amber liquid flashes a dimpled smile my way. “You with the team?” He inclines his head across the bar to where Roman and the guys are chatting and watching sports highlights.

“I am, yeah.”

Roman’s shrewd gaze meets mine for a moment before it shifts to the guy beside me. As soon as I avert my eyes, I feel Roman looking at me. I’m suddenly hot, and anxious, as if I’m doing something wrong. Which is ridiculous. I’m just making polite conversation with another man. Roman and I can’t be anything to each other. I can’t ever be his perfect, naughty angel again. I’m his coach, and he’s a player. That’s where it starts and ends.

Thankfully, the server comes over. I place my order and return to the table. I swear I still feel Roman’s eyes on me, the weight of them pinning me in place. And sure enough, when I glance in his direction, he’s looking. Unease slithers down my spine. These tentative friendships are on shaky ground until Roman and I discuss our past. I’m the outsider, he’s not.

He and I have unfinished business and ignoring it won’t help. I didn’t get where I am in life by avoiding conflict.

It’s closing in on six by the time my takeout is ready. And it’s pouring rain now. Me and my to-go order will be soaked in seconds.

Roman approaches our table as I’m being hugged goodbye by the girls. He waits until they’re done before he inclines his head toward the door. “I can drive you home.” It’s not a question.

The desire to do whatever he wants is immediate and inconvenient. So of course I do the opposite. “The subway is only two blocks.”

His eyes are as stormy as the sky outside. “My car is parked around the corner. The closest station is at least a five-minute walk, unless you want to catch your death.”

My snarky response shocks even me. “What are you? A hundred-year-old woman?”

His eye twitches. “Channeling my inner grandma. But seriously, it’s cold and rainy.”

Arguing with him is pointless. Especially since he’s not wrong about the weather. And this way I can address the elephant in the room. I message Fee that I’ll be home soon. Roman kisses Hammer on the cheek. I ignore the way my heart squeezes at the affection. He passes me his jacket.

“I’ll be fine.”

“It’s pouring.”

“You’ll get soaked.”

“I’ve survived worse.” He nods to the bag. “Better soggy me than soggy dinner, don’t you think, Coach Forrester?”

I stop arguing because his tone and his expression remind me of our weekend together. Even now, he could give me a look, or utter the simplest phrase, and turn me into his unapologetically willing cock slut.

I slide my arms into his sleeves, which are six inches too long, and pull the hood up, submerging me in his warmth. Roman holds the door open, and I step out into the rainy evening. The temperature has dropped several degrees, and the rain picks up the second we’re on the sidewalk. Roman’s hand settles on my low back as he stays close and guides me around the corner. The simple contact makes my body heat.

He doesn’t utter a word and I’m suddenly too nervous to speak.

He’s soaked to the bone when we reach his car, but he still opens the passenger door and waits until I’m settled before he rounds the hood.

He’s wearing a pale blue shirt, and every single defined muscle is now highlighted by the translucent clinging fabric. And—oh God. I’d forgotten how good Roman smells. It’s a combination of a very specific body wash, shampoo, and his aftershave. It made my knees weak back then, and now…sitting in the passenger seat of his car, I’m surrounded by his woodsy scent.

“Oh, fuck me.” I swallow past the lump in my throat as I remember, vividly, what happened the last time I was in a car alone with him.

Roman slides into the driver’s seat. Every part of him is soaked through. Every part. He slides the key into the ignition, turns the engine over, and adjusts the temperature so we’re not blasted by the air conditioning. He turns to face me. I try to form a sentence, to say…something. Anything. But I’m frozen, heart hammering in my chest while my body remembers all the ways he made it sing.

“I have to grab my bag from the back.” He leans in, his face only inches from mine. His chiseled jaw is so close I could brush my lips along the edge.

It’s a challenge not to.

He retrieves a knapsack, unzips it, and produces a towel and an extra shirt. The towel he runs over his hair and face. And then he shucks off the soaked shirt.

“What are you doing?” Desire makes my voice waver.

He tosses it into the back seat—the interior is leather—where it lands with a wet thud. “What does it look like I’m doing?”

“Taking your clothes off.” My whisper sounds horrifyingly needy.

I should get out and walk, fuck the soggy dinner. I should look away. I should not be staring shamelessly at his gloriously naked chest. That I’ve raked my nails over. That my lips have been on when I kissed my way down his body and he fed me his cock and his cum.

“I’m wet.” He rubs the towel over his cut chest and arms. “Are you?”

I barely manage to keep from squirming under the intensity of his gaze. “What?”

He pulls the dry shirt over his head. “Wet, Lexi.” Eyes on me as he slides his thick arms through the sleeves and covers his exceptional abs. “Are you?”

“I-I—” I tug at my collar and stammer, “I’m your coach. You can’t—we can’t.”

His lip twitches. “I meant from the rain, but it’s good to know where your head is.”

I swallow my mortification and force my eyes to the windshield. It’s officially a torrential downpour.

Roman sits on the towel, fastens his seat belt, and taps the GPS. “I need your address, Alexandria.”

My pussy sobs at the rough sound of my name leaving his lips. With shaking hands, I type my address into the navigation system. I’ll be home in nine minutes, according to the digital voice.

Roman pulls into traffic. I wish I had a bottle of water. My mouth is so dry. Seven painfully long minutes into the ride, I crumble under the weight of my regret.

“Roman, I⁠—”

“Do not tell me you’re sorry.” The steering wheel groans under his grip.

“You don’t understand.”

“You’re right. I don’t.”

He’s a brick wall of…something. But I can’t get a bead on his emotions. I sense his anger, but there’s more. Is he upset? Hurt? Frustrated? All of the above? “Are you going to tell management?”

His jaw tics. “I won’t ruin your career over a moment of weakness that happened three fucking years ago.”

I wish I felt relief, but the sharp bite of his words is a fresh wound. It’s dismissive. It cheapens the memories I’ve coveted the past three years. Taints them with bitterness.

“That’s what you’re worried about, right? Me ruining your career?”

“I didn’t think you’d remember me,” I whisper.

He scoffs and pulls up in front of my building. “You knew who I was the entire time.”

“Not at first. Not right away.” He’d looked so familiar. I couldn’t figure out why—until he said his name was Roman. Then I’d realized who I was sitting beside, watching a baseball game with. I’d wanted to play it cool.

“But you knew by the time I asked you out to dinner.” One hand stays on the wheel, gripping tightly. “And when I invited you up to my suite.” His gaze shifts my way. “When you got on your knees for me. You knew.”

This is why he’s angry? Or at least part of the reason. I knew who he was and didn’t tell him. And then I left without saying goodbye. “I’m sorry I didn’t⁠—”

He cuts me off before I can get the rest of the sentence out. “Have a good night, Coach Forrester. I’ll see you on the ice tomorrow.”

I want to tell him I didn’t say anything because we’d already agreed not to talk about our jobs. I wanted to be me, and I wanted him to be a man I’d connected with. Genuinely. Authentically. But what will I accomplish by being honest?

“Thank you for the ride. See you tomorrow, Goalie.” I grab the takeout and exit his car. It isn’t until I’m inside the building and on the way up to my place that I realize I’m still wearing his jacket.