Power Play: The Nashville Assassins: Next Generation Page 8

  “Are you still a virgin?” Or maybe she will.

  I swallow hard as I look into her green eyes. I bite the inside of my cheek and slowly shrug my shoulders.

  She drops her head to the side. “How? I mean, you’re so beautiful, and you’ve got a banging—”

  “I don’t need you to talk me up. What you and I think is totally different from what a man thinks. It’s fine. I’m not the least bit worried about it.”

  “Well, that’s a complete lie,” she announces, calling me on my shit. “You are worried about it. It bothers you. It always has. And the thing is, Posey, it’s not you. You chose such shitty dudes.”

  “And I have an incredibly stunning sister,” I say, waving my hand. “So, it’s hard on them.”

  “That’s absolute bullshit, which goes back to my shitty-dude theory. The right guy will want only you.”

  “Please, that person doesn’t exist.”

  “I’d choose you,” she says simply, and my heart warms.

  “That would really stun our parents.”

  Her face lights up as she covers my hand with hers. “You tell everyone else to have confidence and to believe in themselves, when really, you’re the one who needs that advice.”

  I look down at our hands. I know she’s right. “Maybe, but my track record says different. Plus, now my virginity is annoying. Like, I wish I would have just banged Maxim and gotten it over with.”

  She nods. “But again, shitty dude.”

  I shrug. “I guess. I don’t know. Guys just don’t see me like I want them to,” I say, but then I pause. “Except there was a guy earlier. He plays for the Assassins. Boon Hoenes?”

  She shrugs her shoulders. “I hate hockey and hockey players. Keep going.”

  I laugh. “He came at me, saying I don’t like him. And it almost felt like he cared if I liked him as a person. Which makes absolutely no sense because he has a fiancée.”

  “But you felt he cared?”

  “Yeah. It was weird.”

  “You are usually pretty accurate with your gut.”

  “If that’s so, then that would mean he’s a cheating bastard like Sir Taco.”

  She snorts. “This is true. Bring up his profile.” I open it on Instagram, and she analyzes it. “Posey, he’s single.”

  “Huh?”

  She points to his bio. “It has the unlocked padlock. He’s single.”

  Why does that please me? “Oh, wow.”

  “Yeah, you should have flirted with him. Played with his stick,” she says, waggling her brows at me.

  I shrug. “I guess I could have flirted with him. That maybe he would have reciprocated the flirt. But why would I? It would be pointless. I wanted to, even if I was giving him a hard time.”

  I smile to myself, and she squeezes my hand. “Why would it have been pointless?”

  I meet her gaze. “Because his ex was stellar. Perfect, even. Like you.”

  She snorts. “Hardly perfect, but thanks. You know what I think?”

  “What?”

  “I think you’re so used to just assuming guys don’t want you, that now that’s your defense. Why put yourself out there when he wouldn’t want you anyway? It’s actually a good defense. Stupid, but good.”

  I eye her, hating how well she knows me. “Your logic is terrifying.”

  “I’m right.”

  “You’re not wrong.”

  “So, maybe next time, flirt.”

  I dissolve in a fit of giggles.

  Ally’s face lights up as she watches me. “Yes, do that. Just be you. You’re so incredible, Posey. Really.”

  My laughter subsides, and I gaze at my cousin. She’s just like Shelli in that no guy has ever turned either of them down. I believe I’m just as pretty as them, but then, why have I not had any luck? Why am I a twenty-one-year-old virgin? I guess it’s better than a forty-year-old one, but still, a little pathetic. I would have had sex with Maxim. I was ready, I wanted to, but that would involve him wanting to have sex with me.

  Just a minor problem.

  “I don’t know. Maybe.”

  “Do you think Boon is hot?”

  I curve my lips. “So fucking hot.”

  She grins. “Then, what’s the problem?”

  “It just wouldn’t be appropriate for me to flirt with a player when I’m tiptoeing the line as a bitch to him. I mean, I ride him hard on the ice—”

  “And you can ride him hard off the ice.”

  “Allison!” I shriek, and she grins. “I don’t know. I know there is no handbook. But it would be so incredibly embarrassing if I put myself out there, he shoots me down, and I have to face him the next day. It wouldn’t go well.”

  She nods. “Or you put yourself out there, he fucks your brains out, and the next day, his hockey is bomb dot com, and you both win.”

  I snort before shaking my head. She reaches for my phone, looking at his Instagram. “He’s big.”

  “I know,” I say on a sigh. “So big.”

  “And that’s a gnarly scar on his face.”

  “I know,” I say with a small smile. Boon is looking at the camera with Mickey ears on. He went to Disney with some of the guys this summer, and he looks like a total dork. A hot dork, but a dork nonetheless. In the photo, his face isn’t covered in hair the way it is now, so his scar is more noticeable. “I’ve always wondered how he got it.”

  She looks over at me, a spark in her eye. “Ask him.”

  I chuckle lightly, and I hate the nerves coursing through my body. “Why?”

  “It would be a nice opening. When he tells you, you can ask ‘Do you have any other scars that I can’t see?’”

  I just look at her. “That’s such a line from porn.”

  She laughs hard. “It works! Guys love that kind of stuff. Just say what you want. Don’t think.”

  I could never do that. I analyze everything that comes into my head. I laugh along with her.

  “For real, though, ask him about his scar. It shows you’re interested, that you care, and that you wouldn’t mind seeing his cock.”

  I whip my head to her, my eyes widening.

  “Really, it’s a nice opening.”

  “You’re insane.”

  As she dissolves into laughter beside me, as much as I want to do what she says, I know I won’t.

  I couldn’t.

  Too many factors are in play—my insecurities, being his coach, and the total hilarity of the situation. Shit, but Ally makes me want to, in the hope of the porn scenario. I cover my face with my hands.

  Why is being a woman so hard?

  Chapter Eight

  Posey

  I lean on my stick and close my eyes. I try to hold in my groan of annoyance, but it is hard, and soon, I’m unable to stop myself. We’ve been at this for an hour. A whole hour. And for some reason, my boys can’t seem to execute my play. The same play we’ve been working on for the last week and a half. We haven’t scored on the power play since that first night. Yes, we’ve only had two chances—everyone’s been playing a pretty clean game—but I need a goal. I’m starting to think I suck at coaching.

  “I said skate to the middle, guys,” I say as calmly as I can. “Mac, you’re to wait for the pass before you enter. You’re going offside every time. Slow down and wait for the puck.”

  Wesley nods as he sucks in a deep breath. I skate toward Aiden and pull the puck to me with my blade. He watches me, also sucking in air. I skate behind him with the puck on my blade. I move it back and forth as I speak. “When you come in, you carry it just a wee bit over the line before you send it to Hoenes. You’re passing right at the line, but I need Mac and Hoenes to enter first before the pass. Then Hoenes passes it to Bacioretty, and then he sets up the play.” I demonstrate it with my uncle, him standing in for Hoenes, and it goes off without a hitch. Just how I want it. I point my stick at Aiden. “You’re being too aggressive. I don’t want that until you’re in the zone. Then get aggressive. I need finesse and precision for thi
s part.”

  I feel like Hoenes is looking at me, and when I glance at him, sure enough, he’s watching me. I’ve noticed he does that a lot. I fully expected him to be shy with me since the night he asked if I hated him, but I’m realizing that’s not how he works. He wants to learn. He wants to play, but he just isn’t getting it done for me. “As soon as Bacioretty has the puck, you go to the left and wait for the pass while Brooks moves through the crease. When he is right there, pass—with some fucking purpose—to Mac, drop it back, and then, Reeves, one time the hell out of it.”

  With his eyes burning into me, Boon points to the man who is supposed to block him. “And what if he gets in the way?”

  “That’s why we pass with purpose,” I say, sending it to Boon. I line up as if I am going to break the pass. “Have some confidence and pass the puck.”

  He brings his brows together in offense. “I do have confidence.”

  “Then show me. Because right now, you’re the major issue on this power play.”

  He narrows his eyes on me, and electricity flows through my body. He’s massive on his skates, his purple jersey dark against his olive skin. Just the small bit of neck that is showing has me in knots. I wonder how it tastes. I bet he’s all sweaty and musky, but that doesn’t stop me from wanting to bury my nose in his neck. Since talking to Ally, I find myself wondering things about him. Very inappropriate things.

  I’m pretty sure he’s thinking I’m one hell of a bitch.

  “I am not,” he protests.

  “You are. I need more. If you want the recognition you so boldly ask for, then earn it.”

  His eyes are in slits now, and I’m pretty damn sure I’ve pissed him off. Good. When Ally said to flirt with him, she didn’t mean it in this way, but I don’t have time for her nonsense. I don’t have time for this attraction to him. I need this power play to be successful, and in my attempt to do so, I have to push Boon. More than likely, I’m making him hate me, but in the end, it isn’t about me. It’s about the team. It’s about winning.

  He wouldn’t ever like me anyway.

  I blow the whistle, but he doesn’t pass. “You waiting for an invitation? Pass the puck.”

  “Now? Against you?”

  “Yeah. What? You scared?”

  That gets him some razzing from the guys, but it visibly pisses off Boon. When he passes to Wes, I break the pass. “Again.” He does it once more, and I’m there. Again, same thing. Soon, rage is in his hazel depths. “You know I’m passing it, so of course you can break it.”

  “You know I’m gonna break it, so lift the puck over my stick,” I throw back at him. I swear he’s two seconds from calling me out. I can see it in his face. He’s pissed. He goes again, and I block it out of the air. Over and over again, he tries to get it past me, but he can’t. I won’t let him. Frustration is all over his face—hell, it’s burning within me—and soon you could hear a pin drop in the rink. Everyone is watching our battle. And when I block his pass for the tenth time, he skates toward me, his shoulders back. He’s ready for the fight.

  So am I.

  “This is bullshit. The opponent will never be able to block it like you are. You’re anticipating what I’m doing before I can even pass.”

  I skate closer to him. “Exactly! Do the same, Hoenes. Think out of the fucking box. That is your job, just as my job is to push you and make you a better player. You’re too worried about me blocking it that you aren’t trying to get it to Brooks!”

  I can feel his breath, his heat as he glares down at me. “I am trying, but you’re blocking it! You aren’t even giving me the chance. The opponent plays back, protecting the net. Not right in my damn face, blocking everything I do.”

  “Oh, is that why I’m blocking it?” I skate back, my eyes on him as Aiden passes him the puck. Once more, Boon goes to pass, and I stretch out, blocking it. “It doesn’t matter where I am. If I want to stop it, I will. Laser pass it—and want to. Again!”

  Boon is shaking with anger, and I can feel the tension radiating off his body. He shakes his head as he moves the puck back and forth on his blade. When he doesn’t pass, I reach for my whistle, blowing it hard. The look he gives me says he wants to stuff this whistle up my ass, but finally, he passes it. I am only able to deflect it, and I want to scream in victory. Finally, a decent pass. But I can’t let him know that he pleased me. I skate toward him, our eyes meeting, and in a low voice, I say, “That. I want that. Every fucking time. The other team isn’t here to make sure you score. This isn’t peewees. It’s the National fucking Hockey League. Get your head out of your ass and pass the fucking puck, or get the hell off my power play.”

  His eyes widen, but before he can say anything back, another whistle blows, and I tear my gaze from his to my uncle.

  “That’s enough for today. Hit the shower, boys.”

  I go to fight Jakob on that; we are nowhere near done. They didn’t even complete the play, but his look stops me. I glance up at Boon. He’s sucking in air and his gaze is wild. I see the fight in his eyes. He wants this, and it makes me happy. At least I know he won’t give up, even if I think he isn’t made for the power play. I also see a whole lot of naughtiness in his eyes, but I must be imagining it. Surely, after this, he can’t even stand to look at me.

  Though, he doesn’t look away.

  “Adler.”

  I tear my gaze from Boon’s and skate toward my uncle on the other side of the rink. “We weren’t done.”

  He nods. “We are. Frustration is high, and you’re beating a dead horse.”

  “I wouldn’t have to beat a dead horse if they’d execute.”

  “Exactly, but it’s not clicking. It will. We had success—”

  “It’s not clicking because of Hoenes. I want him off the power play.”

  He shakes his head. “He’s a good passer and reads the defense well.”

  I make a face. “I’m sorry, are we talking about Boon Hoenes? Or someone else? I’m confused.”

  Jakob gives me a dry look. “Seriously, he does.”

  “When? I haven’t seen that. Ever.”

  “I do. He isn’t doing it to your standards, but it’s there. He’s a great player.”

  “I agree, 5-on-5, he is crucial and an asset. But for the power play, he doesn’t think. I need a player who will think out of the box to try to make something happen. He’s running on luck, and we are lacking precision and accuracy. We are just playing with the puck, not being aggressive and trying to score. It’s a confidence thing, not a skill. He has the confidence all day for 5-on-5, but on the power play, he’s already defeated.”

  He nods. “So then, why would you single him out and beat him down?”

  I press my lips together as he gazes down at me. Shit, I did do that.

  “This is where age is against you. You expect perfection, and no one is perfect, Posey. These boys are on special teams because not only are they talented and skillful, they’re passionate. They want it. I think you need to scale back on Hoenes. It’s almost as if you have a vendetta against him. He’s a good dude. Do you not like him?”

  “I don’t care about him one way or another. I just want him to perform to my expectations,” I say back. While I’m sort of lying, I’m also not. I want the performance, hands down, but I do feel something. Maybe that’s why I am so hard on him. “I stand by my feelings that he isn’t cut out for it.”

  Jakob just looks at me. “Well, your feelings are wrong. Because if he wasn’t made for it, why is he over there with a puck, passing to Brooks and Mac right now?”

  I glance over my shoulder to see exactly what Jakob described. Each pass is strong and with purpose. Exactly what I wanted. So then, why does he crumble under pressure? It makes absolutely no sense. But 5-on-5, that’s the man I see. Power play, not even kind of a little bit. I lick my lips before looking back at Jakob. “Okay.”

  “Okay. Remember, Posey, this was an optional skate for the guys. But our special teams were the first on the ice. They want
to win. Help them win.”

  I sigh heavily and nod. “Will do.”

  He skates off, and I turn to look back to where Aiden and Boon are, and I notice Wes is still there too. I skate over to them. “Y’all were told to hit the showers.”

  Boon doesn’t even look at me. “I’m not done.”

  “Fine.” I won’t argue with him on this. I am all for putting in the work. I set up to break the pass, and for the next twenty minutes, I work exclusively with Boon on his pass. He’s determined, and if I’m honest, it turns me the hell on. I show him what I want, and we discuss even though our words are sharp and to the point. His eyes, when they meet mine, give me butterflies, but I fight them to get what I want out of him. I’m able to break his pass every time, but I let him have a few. I feel like he knows when I do too; his eyes cut to mine, and he taps his stick to the ice a little harder.

  When I see he is getting tired, I hold the puck. “That’s enough for today. We can work some more tomorrow.”

  They all nod, and Mac is the first to head off the ice. When Aiden starts to gather the pucks, I call to him, “Don’t worry about that. I’ll do it. Head to the showers. Hoenes, I’d like to speak to you.”

  He hasn’t moved; he’s just standing there as his eyes slowly shift to mine. “Yeah?”

  I lean on my stick as Aiden heads off the ice. Once I don’t see him anymore, I say, “I apologize if I was rude and beating you down earlier. That wasn’t my intention. I just want more from you.” I don’t want to apologize. I feel I am coaching with fairness, but maybe Jakob is right. As much as I may act like I don’t care one bit for Boon, I do. I want him to succeed. “It’s in there because I see it in 5-on-5. But you get on the power play, and it’s as if you crack under the pressure, which seems off to me. That’s not your play. Can you tell me why?”

  His eyes meet mine, and Lord, they are so dark. He clears his throat. “I’m unsure what to say to you because I think I’m playing the same.”

  “Then that’s the problem, because you’re not.”

  “Or maybe you’re letting your feelings for me off the ice play a part here.”