So Over You (Chicago Rebels #2)(37)

The waitress continued to speak while Vadim’s mind strayed to a more pleasurable place. “But I can bring you a shot of Grey Goose. Mother’s milk for you guys, huh?”

Vadim had never been a fan of vodka, even though he was the face of one of its high-end brands. “I’d better not risk it. Eyes everywhere,” which made Remy laugh.

“You ready?” Bren asked Vadim as the waitress swayed off. Where Remy was easygoing and talkative, Bren was stoic. He spoke little, but when he did it usually carried a lot of weight, as it should with a team leader.

Vadim had been practicing on off days with the crew, but it was no replacement for actual game play. At two months since he had seen time on the ice, he was more than ready.

“It’s been too long.”

They both nodded. Veterans understood that injuries could do more than make a man itchy to get out there. They had a habit of destroying confidence and of making a player second-guess everything.

Like Isobel. Her vulnerability when she talked about her need to stay at the highest level even though she could no longer play professionally was a skate blade to his heart. Some were never the same after an injury.

Vadim had no intention of being the same. He would be better.

The waitress returned with two beers and a soda.

Remy took a slug of his beer. “So how’s working with Isobel going?”

Tread carefully. Just as there were eyes everywhere, the ears were also ubiquitous.

“It is what it is.”

Remy mouthed wow at Bren, who looked amused. “Quite the endorsement, Vad.”

“No one likes the fate of their playing time decided by—”

“A woman?” Bren offered.

“Someone so young,” Vadim countered. That Isobel was an excellent skater was undeniable, but no man enjoyed losing control. He especially did not enjoy how both his mind and his body rioted in her presence. Perhaps the female-in-charge element bothered him more than he cared to admit.

Or perhaps he wanted to fuck his hot coach until he lost all reason.

“I will feel better when I play.”

Remy nodded. “She must have done something right.”

“That’s pretty magnanimous of you,” Bren said to Remy.

Vadim’s hackles were immediately raised. He could criticize, but he refused to tolerate it in others. “You do not like Isobel?”

Remy rubbed his chin. “She doesn’t like me. Well, that’s not exactly right. It’s more that she doesn’t approve of me and Harper.”

“Thought she shoved Harper into fessin’ up about you being the one and all that,” Bren said.

“Yeah, but more for Harper’s mental health. Something had to give and Isobel recognized that Harper’s go-it-alone thing was messing with her mind. I’d say Isobel would prefer Harper was with anyone but a player, but as that’s not happening, she has to live with her sister’s choice. Harper says it’s more because Isobel thinks hockey players are predisposed to cheat.”

“Well, old man Chase wasn’t exactly the best role model,” Bren said. “Fucked his way through every hotel bar in North America. I’m only surprised there aren’t more little Chases popping out of the Clifford gene pool.”

“I think there can be only one Violet.” Remy shot Vadim a sly glance before adding, “Yeah, you’re never going to see Isobel gettin’ involved with the players. As for Violet, I don’t think she has any such scruples.”

For a moment, Vadim thought this mischievous look in his direction was because Remy suspected that Vadim and Isobel had crossed a line, but then he realized that this was aimed at their captain. Had he thought Bren St. James looked dark before? A new storm front descended over his grave features.

“Burnett can’t handle her,” he said, and there was a finality about his statement that caught Vadim’s interest. Bren and Violet? Talk about complete opposites.

On cue, a loud laugh trilled from the other side of the bar. If Vadim didn’t know this belonged to Violet, their captain’s white-knuckling of the edge of the table would have made this clear. Bren muttered something under his breath that sounded like, “Fuck.”

“Why not ask her out?”

Remy held up a hand. “Sorry, Petrov, but the world’s not ready for these kids to bang it out. We’re all gonna need to invest in Kevlar first.”

Bren glared at Remy. “Remind me why I choose to spend time with you, DuPre.”

“Who else is gonna put up with your moods, mon ami?”

The Scot shook his head, a half smile on his lips. As fascinating as this was, Vadim was eager to get back to Isobel, particularly Isobel’s self-imposed embargo on fraternization with the players.

“Apparently Isobel is interested in Kelly,” he said, testing the temperature of the table and the validity of the theory.

Remy considered this. “I heard it’s the other way around, but she’s not opposed. Coach and trainer? Sounds like a match made in heaven.”

Perhaps, on paper. Perhaps, one that would not offend whoever was offended by inappropriate hookups between team owners and players.

It was also what Isobel had said she wanted—once.

But there was a world of difference between saying and doing. And last week in the steamed-up confines of her ridiculous clown car, the doing told Vadim all he needed to know. Her mouth on his was the miracle he’d been missing for eight years.