Page 17

Chapter Thirteen

Cole

T he gym smells like rubber mats and sweat, and the overhead lights hum faintly above us. I’ve been here since before sunrise, doing cardio and keeping my mind off the woman who now walks in like she owns the place.

Michele .

Fuck, just speaking her name in my mind does things to my body neither of us is ready for. My eyes lock with hers as she flashes me a shy smile, wiggling her fingers at me in greeting.

“I just need to drop off my stuff, and we can get started.”

“I’ll be here waiting,” I respond, wincing slightly at the cheesiness of the phrase.

Thankfully, Michele doesn’t notice, giving me time to scan her body, committing today’s torture device—I mean, outfit to memory. Tight black leggings, Timberwolves staff hoodie, tablet in hand. Hair pulled back in a tight ponytail, no makeup, all business. And yet somehow, she still knocks the breath out of me just by existing in my peripheral vision.

“You never came back to the weight room yesterday. I thought you didn’t want to waste any time getting started.” She doesn’t look at me, her eyes focused on the tablet in front of her.

“I got an unexpected visitor in the locker room and needed to get out of here. No one wanted to be subjected to my foul mood.”

“What could have pissed you off so much you’d bail on training?”

Instead of answering, I drop to the floor, spreading my legs a little over shoulder-width apart and dropping my ass down as low as possible before thrusting my hips forward slightly. I can feel the pull in my groin almost immediately, repeating the motion a few times before chancing a glance over my shoulder.

I chuckle softly as Michele’s eyes are focused on my ass. I repeat the motion a few more times. I watch her face as her tongue peeks out of her mouth, and she runs it across her upper lip. Fuck. I lean back on heels, discreetly adjusting my cock in my sweatpants before snapping to get her attention.

“Wipe the drool off your chin.”

Her hand goes right to her chin before she catches herself and pretends to brush something off her face.

“I wasn’t…” she begins, shaking her head slightly before coming around to face me. “Anyway, you didn’t answer my question.”

“I know,” I respond, her eyes scanning my face as if she’s searching for the answer to her question, but she won’t find it.

The shit between me and my brothers is our business, not the coach’s, training staff’s, or any of our teammates’. When I’m in this arena, we aren’t brothers. Cooper and Beau are my team captains, nothing more. I definitely let Cooper get to me yesterday in front of the team, but it can’t happen again. Not if I want to stay on the team. If I do anything to upset their golden boy, I don’t believe for one minute management won’t send me packing.

“You’re going to have to trust me eventually.”

“I don’t trust just anyone, Trouble. I don’t give my trust out freely. If you want me to trust you, you’re going to have to earn it.”

Pain flashes across her face as she spins away from me. I reach toward her, wanting to know why my words hurt her so badly, but I don’t. Maybe this is for the best. I need to find some way to put some space between us. If she hates me, she won’t want to be around me more than necessary. My heart aches at the idea, but it’s what’s best for both of us.

“Fair.” She doesn’t look at me when she responds, which is fine. I’m not sure how I’ll react if I see the same look in her eyes a second time. “Have you warmed up?”

“Yeah, I ran a few miles before you arrived.”

“How many is a few?”

“Five.”

“That’s a lot more than a few in my book, but that will do.” She tsks, glancing down at her tablet. “Start with the band pulls. Do three sets of fifteen. Focus on slow and controlled movement so we don’t aggravate anything.”

I nod my head, heading over to the resistance bands. There are different colors: yellow, red, green, and blue, each one threaded through large metal loops attached to the wall. I grab the blue band, place one end in each hand, and start pulling.

Michele places her hand on my wrists, shaking her head. “Not on your life, Hendrix. Grab the yellow band.”

I bite back a groan as I drop the band, my skin tingling from where she touched me. “Yellow? Are you sure? I’ve been using the blue one for my at-home training plan from the therapy center.”

Michele reaches for the yellow band, holding it out to me. “Then you must have a problem following directions because I know for a fact the exercise you were sent home with from the therapy center says to use the yellow and then red, nothing about blue.”

I’ve been increasing the pounds of resistance on the band I’m using since I was discharged from the therapy center a few weeks ago. When I was there, we used the smallest amount of resistance, yellow, and Stacey said I could move up to the red if I wanted, but I don’t have time for that. Instead, I went right for the black band, second to the strongest, at eighteen pounds, when working out at home. I couldn’t do as many reps as I could with the lower resistance, but that doesn’t matter. I’d have gone right for black today, but blue was the strongest they had.

“And how do you know that?”

Michele rolls her eyes, dropping the band and stepping closer to me. The smell of her floral perfume and something that is entirely her reaches my nose, and I inhale her delicious scent.

“Your old therapist is my best friend and roommate.” Michele jabs her finger into my chest. The end of her ponytail swings back and forth, taunting me. “She’s also Parker, the head athletic trainer’s girlfriend. You won’t get anything over on us. So get with the program and stop wasting our time.”

“Someone is a little touchy this morning.” I reach forward, grabbing her hair. She pulls back, and I let her hair run through my palm. The feeling of it sliding across my skin is unlike anything I’ve ever felt before.

Our eyes remain locked on each other as the air crackles between us. It’s been like this ever since the first moment I laid eyes on Michele at the therapy center. It’s like something is forcing us together, laying a path that we have to follow whether we like it or not. Either way, this connection between us is insane. How can someone be so infuriating, but I can’t keep my hands off her? The need to touch her, to be near her, is like breathing. It’s as if there’s a part of me that knows her. That finally became complete the moment I laid eyes on her.

“I’m not touchy. Someone has to stop you from impeding your own recovery.” Michele’s cheeks are a delicious shade of pink as I reach for her, my hand cupping her cheek. Her eyes drift shut, and her lips part as I brush my thumb over her cheek.

All I have to do is lean forward and press my lips against hers, but I drop a kiss on her forehead. Her eyes flutter open, a soft smile spreading across her face as if she is waking up from her favorite dream. But that glassy and blissed-out look on her face is quickly replaced with something else. She immediately takes a step back, putting some much-needed space between us.

“Can we maybe find a compromise?”

“How about we make a wager instead? Add some stakes to it.”

“I’m listening.”

“I told you when we went over your treatment plan that I could get you on the ice by the end of rookie camp, but only if you do everything I say.” I nod my head, now completely interested in what she has to say. “If I don’t make it happen, I’ll quit.”

“You’ll do what?” I bellow, wondering how things have taken such a drastic turn.

“I’ll quit,” she repeats as if she’s talking about the weather and not completely changing the course of her life because of me.

“You’d quit your job just to make me do what you want?” I question, my mind racing to find another solution. I’m all for a wager, because I thrive on the competition, but I don’t want her to lose her job and the chance to see her regularly just because I’m a stubborn asshole.

“No, I'll quit my job because if I can’t keep my promises to my patients, then I shouldn’t be allowed to have them.” She grips the edge of her ponytail, twirling the tip around her finger. “Look, hockey is in my blood. I grew up in and around the rink. All I’ve ever wanted to do is work with a top-notch NHL franchise, and now I have my chance.”

“So why in the fuck would you quit because of my stubborn ass?”

“Because if I can get the great Cole Hendrix to listen to my instructions and sing my praises, everyone else will fall in line easily.”

“You’re going to use me?” I smirk down at her. The urge to wrap my arms around her, pressing her body into mine, is almost unbearable. Almost.

“Like you’re not using me. It's a win-win for both of us.” She smiles, throwing in a playful wink for good measure. “Do we have a deal?”

“We have a deal.” I hold out the hand attached to my good arm. I learned my lesson the first time.

Michele giggles softly before giving it a firm shake. “Good.”

Michele grabs the yellow band and holds it out toward me, but I shake my head. “I thought I was going to be back on the ice in a week.”

“You will, but how about we try to make an actual compromise this time?” She drops the band, reaching out to grab the red one. “You do the reps I ask for using the red band. If you can get through them without any major pain, you can do one with the green before we move on to something else.”

I take the ends of the band into each hand and start pulling. She watches—closely. Too closely, if you ask me. Goose bumps pebble across my skin as she watches. I can practically feel her eyes tracking every movement, like she’s waiting for any sign of pain, but she won’t find one. I could do these in my sleep.

She grabs my wrist, guiding my movements at a slower pace. “You’re going too fast.”

I grunt and reset, moving much slower this time. Instead of a slightly annoying ache, it slowly intensifies to something a little more persistent around rep ten. By twelve, my shoulder burns.

“Good,” she says quietly, releasing my wrist to grab her tablet. I watch as she pulls the pencil from its holder and starts jotting something down.

“You keep paying such close attention to everything I’m doing, people are gonna think I’m your favorite patient.”

That earns me a dry look. “Don’t flatter yourself, Hendrix. You’re just the most stubborn one.”

“Stubborn gets results.”

“Stubborn gets people hurt.” She narrows her eyes as I reach for the green band. “Not happening today, mister. You barely finished the reps I asked for using the red one.”

There it is—that spark between us. Irritation. Concern. Maybe something else neither of us is ready to put a name to. I roll out my shoulder, testing the range, feeling the burn a little more than I’d like to admit, but no pain. Now that is a step in the right direction, especially compared to the last time I did these at home. I didn’t even make it through my reps before I had to stop and take my pain medication. Maybe Michele will fulfill her promise after all.

“All right,” she says, setting the tablet back down on the table beside us. “Let’s do overhead presses next. Start with a lighter weight. If you can do a few reps with no pain, we can increase your weight.”

I don’t waste any time arguing and take a seat on the bench, reaching for the one dumbbell perfectly positioned on the floor. My body stiffens as she kneels beside me. Her hand brushes my forearm—just a light, clinical touch—but it sends heat up my spine like she lit a fuse. She must feel it, too, because her breath hitches. Barely. But I hear it.

“Just checking the alignment,” she whispers, trying to keep a casual tone. She looks up, eyes meeting mine for a second, before flicking back down to the ground.

“You’re afraid I’m going to cheat. Not that I’ve ever been accused of that before.”

Her voice is firm and low as she runs her thumb across my whitened knuckles. “Cole.”

“Trouble,” I respond, every muscle in my body attuned to her movements, waiting for her to make the next move, but it never comes.

“Do your reps, Hendrix. We need to stay on schedule if I want to win our bet.” She pushes to her feet and strides toward the end of the room to talk to another trainer.

“I want to win, but something a lot more than our stupid bet,” I mumble, my eyes focused on her as she laughs at something they say.

Jealousy bubbles in my stomach, wanting nothing more than to be the one to make her laugh, to make her smile without worry. I want to be someone she can confide in, not the person who causes her nothing but trouble.

I don’t know what to make of what is happening between Michele and me, but the lines between us are blurring. Maybe more than either of us is prepared for.

“Get back to lifting, Hendrix. That weight won’t lift itself,” she shouts, winking at me with a shy smile.

“Anything you want, Trouble.”

I continue my set, lifting the weight slowly before starting the process all over again. Michele watches me from her position in the corner of the room, but she doesn’t come any closer. For now, I need to remain professional and stay focused on getting enough movement back to be back on the ice after rookie camp.

But then, all bets are off. It might be a dream, but I don’t think Michele wants to keep things between us strictly professional either. The two of us have some unfinished business.

* * *

The hum of the water cooler is the only sound in the otherwise quiet training room. Most of the other players have cleared out, finally ready to get some ice time. I’ve been itching to sneak away and lace up my skates, but Michele has been watching me like a hawk.

We worked our way through the entire treatment plan she laid out for me, and it was a lot tougher than I originally thought. All my muscles ache, but in a good way, proving to me that Michele knows what she is doing. Not that I didn’t push her for more every chance I got. She never lost patience or told me to fuck off, much to my surprise.

“How’d I do today, Trouble?” I drop onto the edge of the padded table, pulling my shirt over my head and tossing it to the floor.

“Passable,” Michele responds, wrapping my injured shoulder in a heat pack before running the tip of her fingers across my collarbone, sending a shiver down my body. "You need to stop clenching."

My lip twitches into the hint of a smirk. “Hard not to when your hands are on me like that.”

Michele rolls her eyes, but the corner of her mouth curves into a smile of her own. “I’m serious, Cole.”

“So am I.”

The minute her eyes lock with mine, the mood changes. All traces of our teasing banter disappear. The heat that simmered between us all day flares to life, and this time, there’s no one to stop us. The training and locker rooms are completely empty. I can feel my pulse thudding in my ears, the warmth radiating off her body as she leans toward me, the scent of jasmine, saffron, and something deep, slightly sweet, fills my nostrils.

“I should—” she begins, her voice husky and filled with want.

“You should, what?” I ask, leaning forward. This time, our noses brush each other, and her breath hitches.

My hand reaches up, hesitating for a moment before grabbing her waist and pulling her body toward me. She doesn't resist, falling into my chest as my eyes flick from her mouth.

“Tell me to stop.”

Our faces are mere inches apart now as my nose brushes against hers, the contact featherlight. Her eyes drift shut, her tongue peaking out to wet her lower lips as our lips brush against each other softly. A deep, guttural groan rips from my throat as I grip the back of her neck, pulling her towards me when— BANG!

“Yo, Hendrix! Are you in here being difficult?” Sammy’s voice booms through the gym, cutting through the haze. “Oh. Shit. Sorry!”

Sammy, I could kill you right now . I inhale deeply through my nose before blowing it out of my mouth. I need to remember that killing my new potential teammates is never a good idea. Besides, Sammy seems like a decent guy.

Michele's eyes widen in horror as she scrambles out of my grasp, moving as if she were just burned. All the softness in her expression snaps back into professional mode.

“Sammy,” I say through clenched teeth, dragging a hand through his hair as he turned to glare at the doorway.

Sammy is frozen in the doorway, clearly trying not to laugh. “I’ll just… come back later.”

“No need.” Michele smiles, her cheeks on fire as she runs her hands down her body. “Cole was just finishing up. Did you need something?”

“I just need some ice,” he mutters, looking anywhere but at the two of us.

“I can grab that for you,” she says quickly, reaching for her tablet on the bench.

“Michele—” I reach for her, but she steps out of my reach.

“I’ll check your shoulder again tomorrow.” She doesn’t wait for my reply as she heads toward the locker room door, almost colliding with another one of the rookies, Jensen, with two of the younger guys in tow—all loud energy and protein powder bravado.

“Sorry,” Michele whispers as she steps out of the room, leaving me with the heat of her touch still lingering on my skin.

Jensen clocks Michele, doing a double-take as the door swings shut behind her. “If I’d known that was hiding in here, I’d have faked an injury.”

“Damn, if I wasn’t already married,” one of his friends says to Jensen. “She is hot.”

My eyebrows arch slowly, pushing to my feet as I stride toward them. “Excuse me?”

“You can’t keep her all to yourself here, Hendrix. Learn how to share with your teammates,” one of the other asshole’s comments, the three of them laughing and congratulating each other on whatever happened out on the ice, but I don’t give a fuck.

“Shut your fucking mouth, rookie,” I growl, my hands balling into fists, all the muscles in my arm clenching as I raise them, ready to knock him into next week.

But before I can even raise my arm, Sammy places a hand on my forearm, shaking his head slightly. “Not the best idea, Cole. I know you have some backup on the bench, but I don’t think it's a good idea to start a fight at the start of training camp.”

“Yeah, Hendrix. You aren’t too big and bad when your brother isn’t here to protect you,” Jensen taunts me with a smirk.

I want to lunge for him and smash my fist into his face repeatedly until his own mother wouldn’t recognize him. But as I move to get around Sammy, Michele steps back into the training room, her cheeks pink, and a box of plastic bags in her hands. “I needed to grab more bags before I could get your ice.”

She smiles at Sammy before she looks at me in concern, finally noticing the other people in the room. “Can I help you guys with anything?”

Jensen opens his mouth to respond, but his friend smacks him in the back of the head, silencing him and probably saving his life, given how I’m feeling. “We are good, just trying to get the lay of the land.”

Michele doesn’t say a word. She just levels them all with a look that could wither steel. “Sure thing. The locker room can be such a maze, with the training room, weight room, and showers being in the corners, and all the lockers in the middle.”

Sammy stifles a laugh as she pats his shoulder, motioning with her head for him to follow her. “Follow me, Sammy. I’ll get you squared away.”

“Thanks.” He eyes me warily before turning to follow behind her.

Once they are out of earshot, I step closer to Jensen and his lackeys. “Try using your brain next time, rookie,” I say coldly, looking him dead in the eyes. “She's off limits. Got it?”

“Whatever you say, man.” Jensen holds his hands up in surrender before slamming his shoulder into mine, causing me to wince slightly. “You might wanna get that taken care of before you get on the ice, Hendrix. I wouldn’t want anyone to get hurt.”

I turn, following him with my eyes as they all exit the training room. Once the door swings shut, I release a breath and groan loudly, reaching up to grab my shoulder. “How bad does it hurt?” Michele asks from beside me. “Have a seat so I can take a look.”

“I’m good, Trouble. Nothing to worry about.” I hiss when she presses on a tender part of my shoulder.

“I’m tempted to suggest you take tomorrow off, but I know you won’t listen.”

“You’re right, I won’t. We have a bet, after all.”

“That we do.” She smiles, her thumb rubbing across my incision before she takes a step away from me. “I’ll grab you some ice. You ice that shoulder for a minimum of twenty minutes, got it?”

I nod, watching as she walks toward the ice dispenser in the opposite corner.

“You good?” Sammy whispers, leaning toward me so I can hear him.

“No, I’m not. But thanks for stopping me from doing something stupid.”

And I mean it. I was a breath away from beating the living crap out of Jensen and both of his friends. Those three are going to be the first to go down when I get back on the ice full-time. Their ass-kicking can be disguised as a well-meaning check to the boards.

“Don’t mention it.” Sammy gives me a thumbs-up, his eyes flicking to where Michele is bent over, trying to fill a bag with ice. A growl bubbles from my throat, and his head jerks in my direction. “Don’t get the wrong idea, Cole. I’m the one who walked in on you two. I know she’s off limits. But a word of advice. Wait to rip your clothes off until you are someplace with a door that locks.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” I mutter, but even as I say it, I know things are a lot more complicated than that.