Page 6 of Racing Heat (The Forbidden Heat #2)

Chapter Six

~JASE~

Iglance in as the girls cluster around Nate in the locker room. They’re missing Hendrix. She wears bright pink on the field, so she stands out from the other players and doesn’t have a chance of looking like the opposing team. I don’t see her anywhere.

I make my way out of the locker room and head over to the trainer’s office, and that’s where I find her, sitting on a table getting the tape cut from her ankles.

“Hey, Coach,” she greets me, her smile growing as I approach. “How’s tricks?”

I laugh. It’s a question she’s asked me since we met.

It threw me for a minute the first time she said it.

I wasn’t used to the American slang. It isn’t something we say over in Manchester.

It led to a funny conversation where she explained, while super red in the face, that she was not calling me a prostitute.

She was merely asking how I’m doing, in a fun and playful way.

That’s when I knew I liked her and was going to enjoy working with her.

She’s very lighthearted and friendly, always willing to get serious when the time comes, but she’s not so uptight that training can be a chore.

She makes me like my job and coaching, something I didn’t think was possible when I got injured.

But I’m glad that shortsighted thinking didn’t stay around for long, because working with her has been the best blessing.

“Tricks are going well. Looks like you pulled out your bag of tricks and kicked some ass on the pitch.” I hold my hand up to dab her up, as she told me that’s what it means.

I thought we were fist-bumping, but no, the language she wanted to use was ‘dabbing her up.’ Because that’s what her brothers had taught her.

“I sure as shit tried,” she admits with a shrug. “One went in.”

Her eyes are downcast, and I shake my head. I put my index finger under her chin and lift it so that she’s looking at me. “No, don’t hang your head. One goal went in, yes, but”—I emphasis the word— “how many stayed out? Do you know?”

She shakes her, so I fill her in.

“You stopped fifteen goals tonight, Hendrix. Fifteen fucking times they fired at you. Fifteen potential goals. That doesn’t count the five that were long and went off to the sides or the four corners that were served straight across the goal.

For a ninety-minute game, that is amazing.

I am so proud of how hard you’ve worked.

So don’t you think for a second that you should be hanging your head. ”

Hendrix beams at me. It’s not often that I get the full megawatt smile that she’s got focused on me now. She’s a pretty reserved girl. “Thanks, Coach. That means a lot.”

I nod. “I meant every word. You were awesome out there tonight. You’ve earned a stiff drink and a good cheat-day meal tomorrow. So, make sure you get it.”

She laughs. “All I really want is a cheesesteak, but you know you can’t get a good one in Tampa.”

I shrug, not really sure what she means by that.

She hails from Philadelphia, which is apparently the cheesesteak capital of the US, according to her.

“Well, you might have to wait until it’s time for you to head back home to Philly for a cheesesteak that meets your expectations.

But I can take you to a place that has good fish and chips. ”

She laughs. “We really should have that lunch date at that place you keep telling me about. I mean, if the king of Manchester is recommending it, then it must be good.”

I laugh and shake my head, ignoring the fake title she gave me when we were first getting to know each other. Apparently, because I was big deal over there—or so she says—I get the title of king here in the US. Kind of like some people call Lebron James “King James.”

“We really should. It would be nice celebrate your great game.”

“Thanks. I would like that. It might do you some good to get out a bit. And not just with Danny and August.”

They really are the only people I hang out with.

Them and the girls that come hang out with us when Mac wants to spend time with Danny.

Which seems to go just fine for the most part.

Hendrix isn’t a fan of the man who’s going to be owning the team that she plays for.

And I’m not sure how that’s going to work down the road.

She never misses a chance to send a snide remark in his direction.

I tell myself it’s mostly in good fun. August never seems too bothered by it, so there’s no need to intervene at this point.

“Yeah, well, I’m not sure that hanging out with you is much of a step up,” I fire back.

She laughs and moves her feet out in front of her for Lucas, the Blaze’s trainer, to have better access to her feet.

“How’s the pain?” I ask her. It’s been a while since she had some pain in her ankles, but both of them have to be taped before games and practices. College injuries, she’s said.

Lucas’s eyebrows shoot up. “If she’s in pain, she hasn’t said anything to me about it.”

I nod. “Have you?”

Hendrix shakes her head. “Nope, I’m fine.” We both must stare at her a moment too long for her comfort, because she adds, “Seriously, guys, I’m fine!”

I laugh. “No need to yell. Just checking up on you. Making sure you’re in top shape.”

“Didn’t I look like I was in top shape out there?”

“Yes, you certainly did.”

“Okay, then,” she tells me with a shake of her head.

Lucas expertly pulls a section of tape away from her ankle and begins to cut.

Hendrix rolls her newly freed ankle and sighs. “That feels good.”

“How bad is the pain?” Lucas asks her, waiting intently for the answer. “I need a number, Hen. You should know the drill by now.”

“I guess I would say a three,” she says with a noncommittal shrug.

“Are you sure?” Lucas asks, grinning like he knows she’s about to give him either a smart-ass quip or her wrath. I’ve been the recipient of both, so I understand his amusement.

“Yes, I am sure,” she replies a little too quickly.

“Thank you,” Lucas replies.

Hendrix sighs.

“He’s just doing his job,” I remind her.

“I know.” She nods. “I just worry one false move and I’m out for a couple of games.”

I remember those days. Going into the trainer wasn’t something I was fond of, because—like I’m sure Hendrix realizes—the trainer could spell doom for you if you report that you have too much pain.

And by doom, I mean sitting out and missing a game or practice.

Following a seven-day protocol to get yourself cleared and ready to play again.

It can be exhausting.

“You ready to head into the locker room and talk with the rest of the team?” I ask her as she hops off the table and heads toward the door.

“Shouldn’t he be done talking to them by now? I would think his talk shouldn’t be a bad one or a long one?”

I shrug. “Sometimes the man has a lot to say. And this was a really good game, so he’s probably psyched.”

“We tied. What does that mean for the playoffs?” Hendrix asks me.

“Let’s not worry about that right now.”

“You don’t know, do you?”

I can always count on Hendrix to call me on my bullshit, and here she is doing it again.

I laugh and pull her into a side hug. “I don’t, actually.

There’s too much at play. We need to see how the other teams with similar records have fared.

A loss—I could tell you right now. A win—we’d know too.

But a tie causes us to have to wait for other games’ results to come in. ”

“Which games?” she asks me.

“Let’s not worry about that right now. Let’s celebrate your amazing saves and that great goal Cassie scored.”

“Cassie was amazing out there today,” Hendrix says.

“Yeah, she really was.” My chest swells with pride as I say the words. I must be grinning like an idiot too. I catch Hendrix watching me. “What?” I ask.

She laughs at me—of course. “You just seem to be really proud of her. You know, for someone who coaches the goalies.” She bumps my shoulder.

I laugh nervously. “Yeah, well, I’m still part of the team. I can be proud of her too.”

It’s a lame excuse, and someone who is as sharp as Hendrix is going to see right through it.

She does.

“Uh-huh. Is that all it is?”

My cheeks heat. It’s weird that I would blush over something so simple, but it’s almost like an involuntary reflex.

“Does someone have a bit of a crush?” she teases me.

That causes my blood pressure to spike, and I snap, “No, I do not have a crush on her. That would be inappropriate. You know, considering we’re bound by a pretty tight fraternization policy.”

“Calm down there, bloke. I was only teasing you,” she says with a shake of her head. “Someone is freaking touchy tonight.”

“It’s not something to be joking about, and we won’t speak of it again,” I tell her curtly.

“Okay” is all she says. Hendrix picks up her pace so that we’re no longer walking side by side. Instead, she makes it into the locker room before I do.

I can hear the cheers as she enters. The team is celebrating what a great game she had.

Hendrix deserves to be celebrated for all the work she put in out there on the pitch.

I enter the room and see a pair of blue eyes watching me.

I look at her and give her a curt nod. I want to tell her it was a great game or walk over to her and give her a fist bump—some form of contact that wouldn’t look suspicious to anyone.

But I don’t.

Instead, I stay rooted to my spot by the door, listening to Nate sing Hendrix’s praises.

He calls Cassie out for her amazing goal, which is met by more cheering.

The efforts of Amelia, Mac, and Kelsey do not go unsung.

I just clap along with the rest of the team, keeping my face stoic so that no one notices any change in my behavior or what Hendrix thinks she may have uncovered.

“We’re going to go out tonight and celebrate!” Nate is telling them. “We have a later flight, so I think there’s time for celebration. After we eat something, of course.”

He’s met with cheers, and the girls seem ready to celebrate. I wish I felt like they did. I’ll go out with them, but I’ll hold up a wall away from everyone else so that no one suspects. Or so that Hendrix doesn’t connect any more dots.