Chapter One

Two months before...

Beep beep beep. Slowly, I pry my eyes open to peek at the alarm clock. Ugh, 2:23 a.m.

This is going to be a long ass day. I drag myself up to a sitting position and try to gaze through my window. The illumination of the streetlight is shining in just a bit.

“Momma, is it time for school?” my beautiful five-year-old blond-headed baby girl asks me.

“No, baby, time for Momma to go to work. Matthew will be putting you on the bus today. Don’t forget.” I look down at my girl and think how much things have changed for her. She was our surprise baby, the result of that one time I had too much wine in my system.

We had been trying to get pregnant since Matthew turned five. Five years later, she showed up. The saying better late than never is fitting.

We were so happy, so fulfilled. Our family was complete. Sure, it was tough since James was usually on the road, and I was the one constantly there. A stay-at-home mom. Don’t get me wrong. I loved having the chance to raise my kids. James took a job with travel. At the time it was the best decision for us. The money was great. I just wasn’t counting on it being such a struggle, almost like I was a single mom. It was tough, I’m not going to lie. Getting used to the night feedings again, the teething, the diapers...it was a big adjustment, but I was so happy doing it. She was my angel.

James and I were high school sweethearts, the big cliché you read about. We started with hanging around in the same circle. Always flirting, always making sure the other knew where we would be. It was easy to fall in love. We were the annoying couple always looking for each other. The one that did everything together. We were attached at the hip, so much that we chose the same college. The next logical step was for us to get married. I couldn’t wait to be his wife.

He was my best friend, my go-to. Sure, we had problems. I mean, who doesn’t? Everyone fights. If they tell you they don’t, they are flat out lying to your face. We were in a slump, but that happens when a new baby is added into the mix, and your other kid is growing up, and you’re constantly running them to one activity or another.

It also didn’t help that he hired himself a female assistant. God, just thinking about it makes me cringe. So fucking cliché. You think it will never happen to you, that those stories happen to other people. They happen in books, they don’t actually happen to you, right? Oh, was I wrong.

Imagine my shock and actual horror when I decided to surprise James on his “business trip.” I was in for quite a few surprises. Actually, three.

One. I walked in quietly and found my husband pounding away at his fat ass assistant. I’m not even saying that because I’m bitter, it’s actually true. Where I have big knockers, she has a big. Fat. Ass.

Who knew I should have eaten more Big Macs to make him happy?

Anyhow, I was standing there shocked at first. Right. Then I realized I’d been standing there at least two minutes, and he was still going strong. Seems my minute man is only a minute when it comes to me.

The second surprise was that he was actually touching her clit! Dude, what the fuck! He’s always had trouble finding mine. In fact, it was so bad I almost went out to have my clit pierced to make sure he didn’t miss it. I made excuses for him at first, being as we were both virgins when we got together. Hell, at nineteen I remember getting a mirror out and going to town on myself to make sure it was really there. In case you’re wondering, it was. I can’t make this shit up. Once when he was going to town on me, it was as if he were a toddler licking away at the ice cream that was melting around the cone instead of focusing on the ice cream on top.

Third, is the dirty talk. “You like that, baby? You want it harder, baby?” Usually with me it was more grunting and of course the “I’m coming.” That was the last straw. I yelled, or at least I thought I yelled. It may have been more of an evil laugh or maybe I just went crazy. When he turned and saw me with my jacket almost falling off me and my bags dropped by my feet, he looked pained.

I think I cried. I really can’t remember. I do, however, remember him pulling his dick out of her vagina, with no fucking condom on. What a fucking asshole, what a fucking douche. I hope he is catching some kind of penis eating disease.

Rolling off her while she tried to cover her fat vagina—okay, maybe I’m still a little bitter—leaving her mosquito bite size tits in the air, he rushed to me. He tried to make me look at him.

I mean, yeah, we were in a dry spell. Well, obviously I was, but it happens, right? People get busy, schedules overlap, him traveling, the baby with night feedings, being exhausted, not making time for each other, the kids’ schedules. Just plain life.

Fuck, am I that stupid, am I that naïve? Why the hell didn’t I suspect it? Why didn’t I see it?

I heard him say things like “this isn’t what it looks like.” Umm, excuse me a second, but is your dick not still wet? Are you actually touching me with the fingers that were just on her vagina?

I don’t remember much, but I do remember rushing to the bathroom and throwing up.

I want to say that I got over it fast, but I’d be lying. He was supposed to be my forever. He was my forever until he fucked around, and I couldn’t forgive him. The night I caught him I hightailed it out of there like my ass was on fire. I also drowned my sorrows in a bottle of vodka, thanks to my best friend who was there to collect me when I stepped off the plane.

Now, two years later, douche is with douchette, and they are happily traveling, working, and banging together. The only rough side to this is that I have to face them every second week when they pick up Allison and a reluctant Matthew.

Matthew spent a whole year not talking to his father, his betrayal hitting him hard. He didn’t understand how you fall out of love with someone.

_______________

I shake my head to clear my memories and the fact I agreed to have someone come in at three a.m. to train. I must have been out of my mind, or drunk. I’m not sure, and I’m pleading the fifth. I splash warm water on my face and grab my go-to Lululemon yoga pants and tank top.

The rink is my home away from home. My playground. Started by my great-grandfather who loved skating and hockey. He decided if he had to go to work every day he might as well enjoy it, so he opened Moore’s Arena. It was passed on to my dad, who started skating before he walked. It was his dream to pass it down to his son. Except his son was born with a vagina and not a penis.

I know he loves me to death, but I always felt I didn’t quite add up.

When I went to see Dad after James cheated with the fat ass, I had to hold him back and threaten to mess with the Zamboni for him to not go and crush him. While I was raging on about the dickhead, I told him I needed something to take my mind off the son of a bitch. His answer was to give me the rink. It was the best thing that ever happened to me. From the moment he laced up my skates as a child and brought me out on the ice it was my second home. Every day early morning practices before school would come in handy. I was the unstoppable girl. I could out skate some of the best boys, and those that I didn’t, I just pushed myself harder.

I came in with fresh new ideas, brought in specialists to help them with their skating, their stick handling, their muscle movements, and put in a top-of-the-line gym. I also brought in different programs, from power skating for young kids, to NHL stars rehabbing with us. Since I’ve started the program two years ago, we’ve just gotten bigger and busier. I’ve had many NHL players comes in on their hiatus to get stronger, making them ready for their upcoming season. Which is why I was going to the rink at the ass crack of night.

Cooper Stone was the best of the best. He was drafted into the pros when he was seventeen. Captain of his NHL team. Top leading scorer in the league. Winner of the Hart Memorial Art Ross trophy, Ted Lindsay Award, Mark Messier Leadership Award, and let’s not forget five Stanley Cups and two Olympic gold medals. Cooper Stone was the NHL. And he was going to be training at my rink.

He was almost thirty, and nothing was slowing him down. Well, nothing until he busted his knee and had to have surgery. I heard he was bitter and angry about it. When his agent reached out to us and asked for help, we had no choice but to say yes. This is what would get us on the map. Even if I had to put up with his diva demands, such as skating at three fucking a.m. Who the fuck can skate at that time, let alone practice and do drills? Apparently, Mr. Stone can.

I run out of the house and start up my Jeep. This was my divorce gift to myself. Well, that and a failed trip to Vegas. Meghan didn’t understand when I said I wasn’t in the mood. She thought it would be good to go out and get laid. I wanted to, even my vagina wanted to take part in it. My head, on the other hand, didn’t get the memo. Instead of going to have a weekend of sex and debauchery, I ended up sitting by the pool and having a relationship with my Kindle.

It takes me four minutes to get to the rink. When I arrive, I notice a black Range Rover already parked. Great, my first day and I’m late. I look at the clock and see it’s 2:57. I’m not late. He’s early.

I turn off my Jeep, fall out—yes, I fall. I’m five foot two, everything is taller than me—and turn around just in time to see him step out of his truck. And I’m taken aback by how hot he is.

His baby blue jeans are well-worn, fitting every part of him like a glove, and when I mean every part of him I’m talking about his package. His white T-shirt is pulled tight across his chest, and his shoulders are square. Then my eyes make their way up to his face. His hair is dark and long in the back, just enough for me to grab ahold of while his face is planted in my vagina. Ummm, WTF ? Did I just picture his face between my legs? That is new.

His face has a day’s worth of stubble, which I know would give my thighs some razor burn. Whoa, don’t go there. Clearly I need to get laid. All thoughts of getting laid run screaming from my head when my gaze meets his and I’m met with ice cold blue eyes.

“You’re late,” he says with attitude.

Is he fucking kidding me? I’m three minutes early.

“I think your watch is wrong.” I pull out my iPhone and show him the time. It shows 2:59. In your face. “See, I have a minute to spare,” I say proudly.

He turns around to go to the trunk to get his equipment bag. “Your boss said I start at three, which means I’m on the ice at three, not walking in the door at three. I’ve been here since two-fifteen.”

“It does not take forty-five minutes to get you suited up. I know people who can do it in ten.” Ha, take that Mr. super-fucking-star attitude!

“I don’t know how your boss gave you this responsibility, but I plan to inform him of what happened this morning,” he says, swinging the bag over his shoulder, making his shirt even more taut across his chest.

Did he condescendingly tell me that he would tell my boss about my behavior?

I spin around before saying something I would regret. Like go fuck yourself.

Heading to the door, I unlock it and switch on a few lights.

“Locker rooms are that way.” I point. “You can use whatever room you want. We have no one else in the rink till seven, so it gives you four hours. From the email I received you are to do ice for three hours and the gym for three. I have you scheduled in the gym starting at seven, so I guess you can get off the ice at six. You can eat and then work out in the gym,” I say to his retreating back. Would it be too much to ask to have a conversation with his face instead of his tight ass? Damn, I can’t believe I missed how nice his ass is. That is perfection all wrapped up.

“You think the gym trainer will be late like you?” he snarls. Just like that, the bubble I’m in is snapped. It’s fucking three a.m., and I have to skate for the next three hours with this guy.

“Listen, I think we got off on the wrong foot. It was a little misunderstanding about the time. Can we confirm the time for tomorrow to make sure it doesn’t happen again?” I want to kill him with fucking kindness.

He turns around, and his cold gaze meets mine. “You won’t be here tomorrow, so that won’t be a problem. When I’m done talking with your boss, let’s hope you still have a job.” He turns on his heels and walks out.

Motherfucker.

Ten minutes later, I’m on the ice in my gear. It isn’t much. I just need skates, a helmet, and a stick. He comes out in full gear, making him even bigger than I thought he was before.

“You really don’t need to be here. I’m sure I can do this myself.”

Why does he feel the need to shit out of his mouth? I smile sweetly at him. “It’s okay. You paid for the service.”

I work him hard. I have him skating up and down that rink, going in circles, zigzagging through cones, puck handling...it’s his first day, I should be going easy, but he brought this onto himself. When I think he is going to cave, he fucking smirks. I want to take his stick and knock his fucking helmet off. I blow the whistle at five fifty-nine.

“Okay, Stone, time’s up. Get your gear off and meet Adam in the gym at seven.”

“Will he be on time? And who takes care of the health section?” he asks with the cockiness of a bull. Right then in that moment, I think he has a big chip on his shoulder because he has a small penis. I mean, why else would you be a dick to people? You are making up for something.

“I have your menu, and it’s already prepared. The only thing I have to do is make your pre workout shake. It’ll be ready when you come out of the shower.”

“So let me get this straight. You train and do my shakes? Maybe you can keep the concession stand job.” He skates off, and I’m left staring at his back again. It makes me think how much laxative one person can ingest without making him go to the hospital. I’m going to Google that shit.

One hour later he swaggers out, and I say swagger because that is what he does. It’s the girl’s version of swinging our hips. He is walking trying to swing his dick, if he’s found it.

His protein shake is on the counter, minus the laxative, only because I didn’t have any on hand.

“Okay, Mr. Stone, Adam is in there waiting for you. I have a class on the ice from seven to eight, and then it slows down till ten.” I don’t even know why I’m telling him this. I’m rambling. What the fuck am I rambling about?

“What time does Parker get here?” he asks while downing his drink. Oh my God, this is going to be so good. Since he has no idea that I’m Parker!

“At ten. The office is upstairs to the right, first door.”

He puts the glass back and smiles, a full white grin. How does he still have all of his teeth? They must be fake. “It’s been fun, take care,” he says, jogging to the gym.