Page 4 of Ice Cold Chemistry
I take a breath, square my shoulders, and get back to work.
Chapter Two
Not My Problem
Banks
I’m in the weight room, working through my second set of deadlifts, when the doors to the training room swing open and half the team spills out like puppies who just discovered a new toy. They’re loud, animated, and way too energized for guys who just spent an hour stretching.
“Bro, did you see her?”
“I’m signing up for every session. Every single one.”
“Those leggings should be illegal.”
I rack the barbell and grab my water bottle, watching the chaos unfold through the glass partition. Logan is bouncing around like the golden retriever he is, talking with his hands, practically vibrating. A few of the younger guys huddle together, phones out, probably already stalking her Instagram.
We have a playoff push this spring. These idiots are acting like they’ve never seen a woman before.
“You see the new girl? Yoga just became myfavorite part of the week.”
I turn to find Grayson Reed leaning against the squat rack, that smug smile plastered across his face. I don’t like Reed; never have. He’s got the talent to be good and the attitude to make sure he never will be.
“Didn’t notice,” I say.
“Bullshit.” He grins wider. “You can’t put a woman who looks likethatin a room full of hockey players and expect us to concentrate. Dana’s either clueless or she’s running some kind of social experiment.”
I stare at him until his smile falters.
“What?”
“Nothing.” I turn back to the weights. “Don’t you have somewhere to be?”
He mutters something under his breath—probably an insult, definitely not worth my time—and wanders off. Good. I have three more sets to finish, and I’m not in the mood to babysit.
Except now I’m thinking about her.
The yoga instructor. Winnie. Tori’s friend.
I met her once, about a month ago. She’d stopped by our table at lunch, said hi to Zayden, then turned that smile on me.
I’d opened my mouth to say something.Hello, nice to meet you…whatever normal people say. But nothing came out. It was like I’d forgotten how to speak.
Just sat there like an idiot, managed half a nod, and shoved food in my mouth so I wouldn’t have to explain why my brain had suddenly stopped working.
She’d looked at me like I was either rude orbroken. Probably both.
Whatever. I’m not here to make friends. I’m here to play hockey, collect my paycheck, and go home. In that order.
I grab a protein bar from my bag—my third of the morning—and tear it open. The weight room is emptying out now, guys heading to the showers or the locker room or wherever else they go when they’re not making fools of themselves over a pretty face.
This is exactly why you don’t hire someone who looks like she walked out of a Victoria’s Secret catalog to work with a bunch of—
I stop myself.
It’s not her fault she’s beautiful. It’s not her fault that half the roster has the self-control of a fourteen-year-old boy. She’s here to do a job, same as the rest of us.
Doesn’t mean I have to like the distraction.
