So Over You (Chicago Rebels #2)(25)

“The fact you might be using him to gain favor with the coaching staff was remarked upon.” He shrugged as if this was nonsense, but he felt it his solemn duty to keep her informed.

Now she was the one growling. She thought back to who else was sitting with Vadim last night. Callaghan, Burnett, Jorgenson, and . . . Shay.

“Did Shay remark upon it?”

“He did, and while no one agreed with him explicitly, the seed was sown.”

Her cheeks burned. To have her motives categorized so malevolently was both embarrassing and disheartening.

“So how’s the seed, Vadim? Has it sprouted yet? Has it grown into a tree in here?” She poked at his chest, angry with herself, with him, and with the high school gossips who wanted to rip down something before it had even started.

He grasped her hand and placed it flat against his chest. Oh my. His heart pounded, violent, vehement kicks under her fingertips. Those drills must have taken more out of him than he’d let on.

“I make up my own mind. If you think that a relationship with Kelly is more important than this gossip, then ignore it. They are only words. But . . .” He trailed off.

She felt her body angle closer. “But?”

He was still holding her hand, burning his heat and know-it-all assholery into every receptive little cell. “Will he satisfy you, Isobel?” His darkening gaze wavered between her lips and her eyes. “Will he understand what makes your pulse race, your blood surge, your body crave more?”

Pulse. Blood. Body. Crave. More.

His lips hovered an inch from her mouth, and beneath her hand still wrapped in his warm, sandpaper-rough one, she felt all that Russian passion. Th-thunk. Th-thunk. She felt it downloading into her blood, rewiring her neurons, rebooting her dormant libido. Her body didn’t just crave—it demanded. Gratification. Satisfaction. To be filled and used. Her breasts swelled. Hot, slippery dampness pooled between her thighs. She squeezed her core to get some much-needed relief.

It only made the craving worse.

Or maybe it made the craving better.

His eyes were dark discs of night, the blue impossible to discern, and she knew two things.

He’s going to kiss me

and

I’m going to let him.

Wait, he was not kissing. He was speaking. She thought she might have said “What?” but it came out as “Whuu-aaa?”

“So, is it more important?”

“Is—is what more important?”

He hoisted an eyebrow. “A relationship with Kelly. Is it more important than gossip?”

Screech. Kelly. That’s who they were talking about while she imagined this big, broody Russian fulfilling the fantasies her vibrator couldn’t. She drew back, blinking away the lust fog she’d become lost in.

Did she want people thinking she’d earned a coaching spot because she was dating the head trainer? Begging him over pillow talk to put a good word in for her? It wasn’t as if Kelly had any true power here; the decision would be down to Coach Calhoun and GM Moretti. The test was how she worked with Petrov. There were no shortcuts.

She peered at Vadim, who waited patiently. Or she would have thought that if he hadn’t squeezed her hand a smidge. Was that her imagination?

“I don’t know.”

“There is your answer.” He released her and picked up the stick he had leaned against the bench. Then he stood and headed toward the exit to the tunnel, leaving her a growly, confused, horny mess.





SEVEN




Isobel looked out over the crowd of eager faces in her U-12s group, each masked behind a visor. The Hockey for Everyone foundation was a charity that focused on inspiring interest in the sport in disadvantaged youth. Hockey wasn’t cheap, between the club dues, the gear, and the money to fund trips to play other teams. Getting kids involved at a young age without shifting a considerable burden to their parents was what this was all about. Isobel gave her time to the foundation as a consultant and came in and coached once a week at the hockey club in Bridgeport on Chicago’s South Side.

It sure was nice to hang with pupils who cared for her opinion.

Once baseball season started, she’d likely lose them to warmer weather, but giving them a chance to do something that fostered physical exercise, teamwork, and competitive spirit was worth any amount of her time.

“Today we’re going to work on penalty shots. Miguel, you good with starting in goal?”

The bright-eyed twelve-year-old skated a couple of feet forward. With the extra padding of goalie gear, he was practically swimming in it, but he’d stood out when she first started with the group. Small for his age, he’d picked up skating like a natural and knew all about net coverage from every angle.

“Yes, Coach Chase.”

She liked the sound of that. “Now head on over to the goal. Marcus?” She sought one of her other goalies, a kid who had hated the idea of being a goaltender when he started. When she’d explained that the goalie was the most important player, he came around. “Marcus, after ten shots on goal, you’ll switch out with Miguel. The rest of you will line up and hit the puck after I drop it on the line.”

“Even the defenders?” This question came from Jessica, one of three girls in the club. Isobel was hopeful they could recruit more, but for now Jess, Natasha, and Gabriella were representing the girls.