So Over You (Chicago Rebels #2)(19)

Insidious Isobel, yet again sneaking into his marrow. He refused to admit she might have a point about how his injury had affected his motion. Even if she did have a point—which she did not—how was he supposed to focus on skating drills when she was gliding around in those pants, stretched taut over her delicious curves? Coaches should not have heart-shaped asses! She had grown into her body, for sure. Now she was the complete package: grace, strength, sexiness, and a smart mouth he found infuriatingly attractive.

And she expected him not to be distracted by these things.

“Why don’t you give them the look?” Erik blew his fair hair out of his eyes and nudged Vadim, gesturing at the women huddled like a she-wolf pack at the bar.

“The look?”

“Yeah, the one from your underwear commercial,” Cade said. He lifted his chin and squinted while doing something odd with his lips.

“What’s that?”

“The look, dude. Like Zoolander but infused with Siberian charm.”

“Dúrak,” Vadim muttered. Idiot.

Ford Callaghan, the Rebels’ right-winger, who looked like a Viking, laughed. “Alamo, I think you just got insulted in Ruski.”

The amiable Texan held up his fingers and started a count, then stopped in the middle of his left hand. “That’s eight languages now. Gotta love the internationalism of the National Hockey League.”

Everyone laughed, even Vadim, who admired a man who didn’t easily take offense.

Leon Shay approached the table, a bottle of beer in his hand. “Ladies,” he said as he took a seat. His eyes met Vadim’s, and something like a challenge passed between them. Interesting.

“Well, would you look at that.” Cade shifted his gaze to the bar, inviting them all to follow. “Looks like Little Miss Coach has got herself a boyfriend.”

Little Miss what? Isobel sat at the far end of the bar in the shadows. Vadim had not seen her walk in, but now he realized there was another entrance on the other side. How long had she been here? And what was this nonsense about a new boyfriend? It was only Kelly, the trainer.

A laugh fluttered from her direction, soft, cock teasing, and instantly recognizable. Isobel laughed like that when she was flirting.

Vadim’s chest contracted, catching up with the conclusion his balls had already made.

“They are just work colleagues.”

“No, something’s going on there,” Cade said. “She’s doing the lean.”

“The lean?”

Cade inclined his head until he was mere inches from Vadim’s nose. “The lean, my friend.”

Vadim returned to looking at Isobel doing the lean. And laughing. Then Kelly leaned in—everyone was leaning—to kiss her. Only on the cheek, but that was surely unnecessary between work colleagues.

“Perhaps they are just friends.” They are not just friends.

“Nah, Kelly wants her,” Ford confirmed. All eyes turned to assess the bearer of this new piece of information. “He does. He asked me if she was dating anyone.”

Shay took a slug of his beer. “Well, if she wants on the coaching staff, fucking her way in is as good a strategy as any.”

The tightness in Vadim’s chest increased, and his hand white-knuckled the beer bottle. The others remained quiet, undoubtedly used to Shay’s grousing. Vadim was not yet used to it, so he asked, “What does that mean?”

Shay rocked the neck of his bottle between his thumb and forefinger. “It’s no secret she wants a coaching position. She’s a team owner, so I suppose she could just appoint herself, but that looks shady. Having an in with the backroom boys is a better play. The long game.”

“Or maybe she just likes him,” Ford said, grit in his tone. Vadim decided he liked Ford very much. “You’ve been sniping about the ownership since old man Chase died, Shay. You have to admit things have turned around since his daughters took over.”

Shay made a noise of disgust. “Are you kidding me? What did they do? Made a few decent trades.” He tipped his bottle in deference to Ford, who’d been acquired five months ago, the start of the Rebels’ turnaround. But Remy DuPre’s trade was the true catalyst. Since his arrival, the team had steadily risen to fourth place in the division. A play-off spot was within reach.

“So they spent money in the right place,” Shay grunted. “Christ, if there’s anything a woman’s good at, it’s spending money. But if they think landing us with a female coach is going to get us to the play-offs, then they must be overdosing on fuckin’ estrogen.”

No one was inclined to disagree.

Vadim’s chest felt like a band of hot steel was cinching it. He could not allow this commentary to go unchecked. “Isobel Chase is an excellent skating coach. I am honored to be working with her.”

All eyes flew to him. Perhaps he had overstated it, but when English is not your first language, the results were often more dramatic than intended.

A few taut moments passed while everyone at the table chose a position.

“They have a female gold-medalist ice skater working with the players in Boston,” Cade muttered. “Said it’s really improved their reaction times.”

Ford shrugged. “Yeah, it’s pretty common these days.”

“As consultants,” Shay spat out. “For people who need the extra attention.”