Since I was a kid, making it into the World Hockey League was the ultimate goal. No relationship could match my first love, and after my rough childhood, I wasn't putting my heart on the line.
When Bellerive makes a successful bid to move the Califo...
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The next morning when the doorbell to the apartment rings, I hoist myself out of the hot tub and secure a towel around my waist. My wet feet slap against the expensive wooden floor as I walk through the open plan living room and kitchen to the door near the rear of the apartment.
Chayton picked this place from the photos I was sent, and I was a little surprised by the high ceilings, huge windows, and oversized rooms when I arrived yesterday. This place feels rich, which is a new sensation for me. The last three years, I've hoarded my money, only spending what was absolutely necessary. Except for one large purchase, but I'd argue it was a necessity too. I didn't want to be one of those cautionary tales—a sports star who gets a big contract and blows it all on stupid shit. So, I haven't really blown it on anything.
I check the peephole. While I was assured that this building had tight security and I doubt we have many fans yet, it's worth being cautious.
When I see who it is, I rock back on my heel.
Sawyer.
Last night, her dark brown hair fell in loose waves just above her shoulders, and her blue eyes were a surprisingly dark shade that had contrasted with her bright electric blue dress. I'd been thrown off to realize that Sawyer was a woman and the fact she was hot as fuck had only caused more confusion in my brain.
Hockey was becoming less of a male dominated sport, but the majority of people I'd worked with in my career were men. I wasn't sure how I felt about Bellerive getting me a physiotherapist—not a trainer—and for that role to be fulfilled by a woman.
A woman whose mere presence had hit me in the gut like a sucker punch. That reaction had never happened before, and it definitely added to my irritation while I was talking to her.
The doorbell rings again, and I wonder if she knows I've been standing here contemplating opening the door. Could I just demand a new trainer? Probably. Her qualification isn't the one in my contract, even if King Alexander and Jonathan Tucker are trying to make a square peg fit in a round hole.
I throw open the door, and the force startles Sawyer, causing her to step back. Immediately, I regret my abruptness. She'd been so calm and collected last night that part of me wanted to throw her off. I'm not normally one to purposefully provoke a reaction, but I've been called an asshole often enough to know how I can come across.
We stare at each other for a beat, and I can't help scanning her hot pink leggings and lime green T-shirt. Even in that combination—one that should not stir up any sort of reaction—a little tug of desire is sharp in my gut. I can't help narrowing my gaze because this reaction to her makes zero sense. A caveman instinct of see-want-take is trying to slither into my consciousness. But I'm not that kind of guy, and she'd be the wrong type of woman, even if I was.
"Sorry," she says with a breathless laugh. "You startled me."
I don't say anything, I just keep examining her, trying to figure out why something inside me really likes something about her. Lots of women have been hot or sexy or a thousand other things, but no one has stirred whatever this is before.
