Leo

I paused the monitor on the video of our latest game. “See. Right here. Dom makes this outlet pass and gets the puck up to Rams who moves into the attacking zone along with Burner. It’s a great play and an example of what we want. Controlled zone entries.”

I looked around the dressing room. It was like I was speaking Swahili. Everyone’s face was completely puzzled. Dom looked the most concerned.

“Is something wrong, Dom?” I asked.

“Is that it?” Dom asked. I didn’t know him that well yet, but he was a pretty quiet guy.

“Uh yeah. What else would there be? You done good.”

His eyes widened. “Um, thanks.”

I pointed out a few other plays I’d noticed that worked out well. To be honest, there wasn’t a ton of good stuff happening on the ice yet. Zero response. I moved into an overview on our opponents for tomorrow night.

Afterwards, I motioned for Ian Lee to come in my office.

“What the hell was that?” I asked. “It’s like the guys have never done a game review before.”

Lee nodded. “Well, nobody’s ever told them they were doing anything right before. Usually we go over all the mistakes that got made and whose fault it was. Especially during a loss. Even after wins, the focus was on tightening up our game.”

“That’s not the way to get better. We need to build up everyone’s confidence.”

He blinked at me. “Wow. This is the way it goes, right? Management alternates a negative coach with a positive coach.”

I laughed. “I’m no fucking Pollyanna, and it’s not going to take the team long to find that out. But nobody ever played his best game looking over his shoulder the whole time.”

It was a matter of psychology. Right now the whole team acted like a beaten dog. It wasn’t about winning at this point, but in order to genuinely evaluate the players, we needed to boost their faith in themselves. We talked more about what we needed for tomorrow’s game. I was a big believer in preparation or even over-preparation. Lee left, and I was getting hungry. I decided to pack up and head home. I could have dinner and finish my work there. Now that I was out of the hotel, I could really get things done with all my stuff at hand.

There was a knock on the half-open door, and Amanda Richardson leaned in. “Hi, Leo. I noticed you were still working. I thought I’d check and see how you’re settling in.”

“Everything’s good, thank you.”

So far, I liked Amanda. She was smart and dedicated to improving the Vice. But her motivations puzzled me. With her designer suits and tied-back hair, she looked like a stereotype—rich, sophisticated, and cool. She came from a wealthy Vancouver family who still owned sixty percent of the team. But if she was as rich as reported, why did she work so hard? Her car was often the only one in the staff parking lot when I left.

She wasn’t exactly the type of woman I would have pictured with Lucky, but he was completely head over heart. But as promised, they were absolute professionals at work. If it wasn’t for the heated way they looked at each other occasionally, I wouldn’t have even known they were dating.

Amanda perched on the corner of my desk. “You’ve lived in a lot of different places, but I don’t think you’ve lived on the West Coast before.”

“Yeah, I’ve spent most of my career back east—both coaching and playing. Mostly in Quebec. I played in the Q, then at McGill, then Europe. I went back to McGill to start my coaching career. I’ve moved around a lot since then.”

“Yes, you’ve changed jobs every couple of years.” She smiled, but I sensed uneasiness in her tone.

“I go where the problems are. Like a fixer.”

She laughed at that. “Then you’ve come to the right place. And how is the apartment working out for you?”

It must have been Amanda who arranged for my new place. I’d only been there a week and it already felt like home. “I can honestly say that it’s the best equipped place I’ve ever lived in. And I’ve had a number of furnished suites.” I was surprised at all the little details, from the welcoming fruit bowl to the toothpaste in the bathroom. It was like someone actually thought about what I needed for my everyday routine. Charlotte’s room wasn’t complete yet, but the designer people were coming in when I went on the road trip.

“Did they do a good job on the interior design part?” Amanda asked. “It’s the first time I’ve worked with this company.”

I shrugged. “It looks fine to me, but I’m no judge. Feel free to drop by anytime and check it out.”

“I’ve got houses on the brain because I’m closing on a new condo myself.” Her steady gaze reminded me of my grand-maman, a woman who always saw through to whatever bad things I might be up to. “I’m sure it must be lonely for you to move in the middle of the season. Do you know anyone in Vancouver?”

“Hockey’s a small world, so you always know people. Besides, I’m used to it.” Used to being self-contained and self-sufficient. Used to moving and starting over.

Her eyes were still boring into me. “I have a vision for the Vice to be more of a family organization—we’ll appeal to families and the organization will feel like a family. I know we have a long way to go, but you’re going to be a key player in making that happen.”

“My opinion is that winning will go a long way to making the guys feel good about themselves and each other. And that’s why I’m here.”

Amanda nodded. “Chris said something similar. But there’s more to life than just winning.”

That was bullshit. The Vice were a hockey team, not a life philosophy. If you took the focus off winning, you wasted energy. Winning was the key. Winning sold tickets and made a team profitable. It helped good players make it to the next level. Being a winning coach was why I got hired, and how I was going to get promoted.

I hadn’t said a word, but Amanda read my mind. “I can see you don’t agree. I’m interested to hear your point of view, Leo.”

She sounded genuine, so I gave her the truth. “Hockey is about winning. The life span of coach depends on how much he wins. And sometimes even winning games isn’t enough. Winning breeds expectations, and that means championships.”

“But that’s ridiculous. There’s only one Calder Cup winner each year.”

I smiled. “One of the best things about hockey is how much passion there is. Fans, players, owners, managers, everyone cares. Passion can overcome reason. And it’s easier to fire a coach than an entire team.”

“I understand what you’re saying, but believe me when I say it’s different here. We value loyalty here, and the Millionaires do too. After all, they hired Chris after his playing career was over.”

Chris Luczak was a hockey superstar and beloved in this market. It was a no-brainer to hire him. But I wasn’t going to continue to argue with the woman who signed the cheques.

“Amanda, I think you’ll approve of the way I coach the team. I’m a huge believer in the mental side of the game and helping guys maximize their performance.” I pointed to my forehead. “The game is won or lost between the ears.”

“Of course. In any case, Chris is your boss. I’m not trying to butt in. I only wanted to make you feel welcome here.”

But I got the feeling that the jury was still out on me as far as Amanda was concerned. After she left, I finished up a few things and then headed home. I craved a little relaxation. My new building had a gym, so I hit that for a quick workout. I’d been planning to check out nearby running trails on a day off, but that day off hadn’t yet happened. Besides, it was raining. It had rained every single day since I arrived. Fucking Vancouver weather.

I sprinted up the stairs after my workout. No point taking an elevator when you wanted exercise anyway. I went straight to the refrigerator and had a big glass of filtered water. My new fridge had only a few necessities on the shelves. Besides, I had zero energy to cook. I pulled out a frozen dinner. Like any self-respecting Montréaler, I liked to eat well, but my cooking skills were pretty basic. Eating out didn’t really appeal either. Every other restaurant in this neighbourhood served sushi. That was okay for one night, but not a regular diet. I liked my red meat.

I walked into my bedroom and stripped down, throwing everything into a hamper. A standing laundry hamper was another thing I’d never had before and I liked its utility. I turned the shower on full blast. Even the water in Vancouver was different. It tasted good and felt softer on my skin. Weird, the differences you noticed. The hot water pulsed down on my body, and I scrubbed up with the orange-scented body wash from the shower caddy. I shampooed my hair, which reminded me I needed to find a place to get my hair cut. I needed a waterproof notepad to write down all the things I remembered while showering. Something about the water pouring down made my mind more creative and connected.

I got out of the shower and dried off. I wrapped a towel around my waist. I needed to get a robe. My old place had an ensuite, but this place had only the one bathroom. Once Charlotte got here, I couldn’t be walking around naked.

Clunk.

What was that? It seemed to come from the kitchen. Then there was another sound. Was somebody in here? Maybe a previous tenant still had keys or something. I strode out into the kitchen. There was a woman in there. She was bent over, reaching into a cardboard box. Her ass in jeans looked nice, real nice. But still, that nice ass didn’t belong here.

“Who the hell are you?” I barked.

The woman shrieked and kitchen utensils went flying into the air. I instinctively caught a spatula before it landed on me. She spun around, and I could see her face.

Merde. She was cute—very cute. Her clothes looked expensive and her body was slim and fit. Her dark hair was layered around a pretty face with dark eyes that crinkled at the corners. And her mouth was dark and sharply-outlined—lipstick was a turn-on for me. I had a flash fantasy about easing my cock between those lips, feeling myself bathed in the warm wetness of that mouth, and then pulling out to see little kiss marks on my shaft. It was that contrast I enjoyed—a sophisticated woman and raw sex acts. She was exactly my type. Right now I was working ridiculous hours, but I could always make time for some relaxation. Sex was the perfect way to unwind after a hard day’s work.

She pulled out a pair of earbuds, and her eyes widened with concern. “I’m so sorry. I thought Wayne said you’d be out this evening, so I came in to—oh, we haven’t even met.” She moved closer, holding out her hand. “You must be Leo. I’m Jacqueline Wagner. You know, we talked on the phone and....”

I automatically reached out and her handshake was warm and firm. The heat of her touch was nice, I ran my thumb over her soft skin. She pulled away as if I electrocuted her. Then she looked at me. Really looked, her gaze moving down from my face to my chest to the towel and then her eyes widened. Thinking about getting a blowjob from her had made me harden a little. That pretty lipsticked mouth fell opened, and the tip of her tongue darted out.

I laughed. “What’s the verdict?”

Her hand flew up to her face. “Oh. I’m so sorry. Maybe it’s shock of—oh gosh. I was so surprised that you were—and now you’re not wearing any—oh God.”

Her stammering was accompanied by a very pretty blush that moved from her face down her neck to the V of her dark shirt. My eyes focused on her cleavage. Her breasts looked like perfect soft handfuls, and my cock got even harder. I had this urge to yank off my towel and then all her clothes. Once she was naked, I’d use this plastic spatula on that nice ass, and when she was softened up, take her right on the cool granite countertop. Slide my cock into the soft flesh of this sexy stranger until she made the animal noises that would turn me on even more. And all my instincts told me that she would like that very much—there was a current of connection between us.

But instead she took a step back and crashed into the cardboard box. I reached out and held her arm to steady her. She looked up at me, her eyes wide and almost frightened. There was a vulnerability about her, in spite of her expensive clothing and chic jewellery. That made me hesitate. It was one thing to ask for sex with a woman you met in a bar, but not with a woman who was only here to do her job. It wasn’t how things were done in polite society. I let my palm linger on her upper arm, feeling the tensed muscle under the softness and then released her.

Jacqueline was intriguing. She looked cool and classy, but there was a recklessness about her. She’d never do anything without throwing herself fully into it. I blew out a breath and put the spatula on the countertop.

“Okay, I’m going to get dressed now. Please feel free to do whatever you wanted to do here.”

As I turned to leave, I looked back over my shoulder. Jacqueline’s widened eyes and wavering stance made her look like prey ready to take flight. She really had three choices: flee the apartment, stay here and work, or follow me into the bedroom. And her next step would determine my next step.