Page 7 of The Chemistry Coach
The woman fiddled with the cuff of her sleeve.She examined her shirt and shrugged a shoulder.“My ex is big into hockey.”
Lover stepped closer to her, holding his hand out for her to shake.“I’m Connor Valentine,” he told her.
She hesitated for a few beats before taking the offered handshake.When she released his hand, she said, “You can all take a seat.I’ll get the supplies out.”
They followed her order.Connor watched her inch her way around the perimeter of the room, her back always facing the wall.He frowned, unsure how they had made her uncomfortable already.
Hazy must have been thinking the same because he said, “Are you okay?If you’re uncomfortable, we can go.”
She looked to the ceiling, hid her face with her hands, and groaned.
“No, it’s nothing you did.I’m so unprepared.I don’t do well when I’m unprepared.”
She kept her hands over her face, and Connor watched her chest rise and fall in several slow, deep breaths before she lowered them.Then, like ripping off a band-aid, she turned on her heel.She rummaged through a chest of drawers on the other side of the room, picking out an armload of supplies.
Connor took the opportunity to appreciate his granted wish.Her ass was as spectacular in those leggings as he’d guessed.
Fuck that’s inappropriate.She’s working.Leave the poor woman alone.
He forced his eyes away from her altogether, instead watching the clock above the door.It had been ten minutes.They hadn’t even started their activity, but he’d been trapped in the lackluster building for an eternity.
Hazy backhanding Connor’s arm brought attention to the name written across the woman’s back.His smug grin couldn’t be helped.
“You said you weren’t a hockey fan, huh?”he asked.
“No.”She didn’t elaborate further.
“No what?”Lover inserted himself into the conversation.“You aren’t a fan, or you didn’t say that?”
She dropped her armload on the table in front of them.“No, I didn’t say that.”
“So you are a fan?”Hazy asked.
She met Hazy’s eyes and nodded once, handing him a giant bag of popsicle sticks.To Lover, she slid a large roll of tape.Not once did her attention slip to Connor.
They were asking a lot of questions, but Connor couldn’t help his curiosity.“Sorry, what’s your name again?”
Her attention flickered to him.He didn’t get the chance to bask in it before she moved on.He slumped in his seat, unsure why he cared.
“Oh shit,” she said, directing it toward Lover.“Sorry, I’m Daisy.”
“I’m Connor Greene,” he offered, struggling not to fidget.Fans who wore his name or jersey always expected something from him.A picture, or hug, or autograph.
Hazy offered his name as well.“And I’m Connor Hale.”
Daisy sat across from them and thumbed through a stack of papers.
“I know.And I have a pretty good idea of why the three of you are here.So let’s get started.”
She gave them instructions to build a bridge with the popsicle sticks and tape she had provided.At the end they would test the strength of their bridge.Connor didn’t know how it would help him play better, but nothing else had worked, so he dove right in.
Lover, who had done this before, instructed him to construct a bunch of triangles with the sticks, explaining that triangles were the strongest shape.Hazy and Lover sketched a bridge design while Connor taped together triangles.
Daisy oversaw their progress, and when they had agreed on a design and were at the building stage, she held up a sheet of paper.She seemed to relax when the attention shifted from her.
“Alright,” she said.“I’ve got a list of questions to help you get to know each other.We’ll start easy.What is your favorite color?”
“Blue,” all three Connors said in unison.When an NHL team paid your bills, your favorite color was whatever they told you.
