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Chapter Text

She swore practice was never going to come to an end. The rest of the team had long departed, but she had been requested to stay behind, courtesy of their head coach.

Alex felt her hips screaming and hamstrings biting. The frigid air of the arena, compounded with the merciless layer of ice seemed to penetrate each bit clinging to her body. She shivered, despite the thick breezers wrapped around her hips and thighs. The chest pad protecting her torso. The pads blocking her legs from assault. The gloves snuggled comfortably around her hands. The closed cell foam usually blocked the chill which clung to every surface, but today, Alex couldn't stay warm. Her black base layer betrayed her, the breath stealing air seeping inside, hugging her lungs and heart before slithering up her throat with its icy tendrils.

“Fucking pain in the ass,” she muttered as her opponent lined up, stick resting comfortably in raven covered hands. Maybe it was the company. Their forward, David Seigel, exercised great restraint as the irritation lingered just beneath the surface. He slightly shook his head at Alex who rolled her eyes. The center, Chris Stone, raised an eyebrow at this. He shot a brief look at Seigel who only shook his head.

“Koch, stop daydreaming!”

The razor sharp words snapped from her coach's lips, resonating through the empty rows of seats then echoing off the walls of the center concourse. She rolled her eyes again from behind the mask, tapping her stick in a show of defiance which only served to annoy the older man. Seigel snickered, keeping eyes trained down on the slick surface, but the burning stare directed towards him could've melted the thickest ice.

“You trying to get extra drills, Seigel? Because I can stay here all night.”

Coach Remmick Mayne, former Forward for Edmonton turned head coach after the career ending meniscus tear in Game 3 of Stanley Cup Finals. Or as Alex like to say, Coach Pain in the Ass. He had been nothing short of such, at least where her performance was concerned. Sure, he had been hard on the guys when they screwed up or made some dumb shit move, but it was her he focused his ire on. The extra drills, longer practices after the guys had finished for the day. The hardened stares of displeasure or irritation. Or both depending on his highness's mood.

“If you hadn't been daydreaming, Alexandra, that game winning goal wouldn't have slid between your damn legs into the net!”

His face darkened, intent as clear as the florescent lighting screaming down at her. Alex crouched, stick across, positioned in front. Her posture stiffened, eyes laser pointed on the rubber puck smoothly gliding towards her. Remmick had perfect control, effortless strides in each click of the blade as it cut across to the immaculate symmetry of his hips and legs, propelling him closer towards her. His cerulean rings burning in cold fury as his pace quickened, arms staying down. He was going for a close shot. Like the one that cost them the game. The shot she allowed to slide between her legs as he put it. Bastard had a way with words.

Remmick's nostrils flared, eyes meeting hers, cutting through the protective grid of her helmet. The frozen daggers pierced her chest, causing her body to shudder. Her peripheral vision catching the abrupt shift in his position, arms lifting, stick striking rubber and ice. A slap shot was it? The sharp smack of wood to rink raced through the air, puck sailing inches above. Alex's right arm instinctively shot out, glove catching rubber at 85 mph. Her eyes never straying from his, keeping track move for move. Remmick came to a stop, a fine mist gathering between them. Alex straightened, each vertebrae cracking in place. Her left arm snapped, the glove collapsing to the ice. Her free hand reached up, tugging the mask off which stood between them. Thick locks of chocolate restrained in a messy bun. Several wayward strands curled along her jaw, screaming for him to reach out and tuck them behind her ear. Her skin glistening from perspiration, casting a younger aura about her despite being 25. Alex looked small in the layers of gear, almost child like. It would've been enduring if this was college league.

“Are we done?” The usually soft Louisiana accent cutting every syllable. “Because I am.”

Remmick moved closer, jaw ticking as he bore down on his goalie. Neither budging, refusing to yield to the other. Seigel and Stone became witnesses to the battle of wills emerging. Alex straightened her posture, chin lifted until her eyes bored straight into his. Remmick matched her energy, closing the remaining space, eyes hardening, daring her to continue this little show.

“No.”

“Excuse me?” Her eyes narrowed to chilly daggers, matching his frigid intensity. Seigel and Stone were quickly forgotten as they watched them face off. They should just fuck and get it over it already, Seigel thought to himself.

“I said, no, we are not done. Your blocking is shaky. It's the hesitation in your movements. It's as if at times, you're scared of that puck, like it has goddamn teeth. What passed for blocking in the minors, doesn't mean shit here, Alexandra, in case you forgot where you are.”

Alex shifted her shoulders back and down, inches from the man who had infuriated her since the day she set skate on the ice. The hot puffs of his breath coated her face as she stood toe to toe with him.

“I haven't forgotten where I am, Coach,” she nearly spat the last word. Her rage simmering, ready to explode like a caldera. “I belong here.”

“Then prove it,” Remmick's voice dropped to a whisper despite Seigel and Stone standing over 30 feet away. “Show those fans who come to see you that you mean it. Make those dicks who wish for nothing more than to see you fail eat their words. Shows those fucks who cat call and jeer you what you're truly made of. Prove to me you're deserving to be here.”

“I fought like Hell to be here. Every game I'm having to prove myself. Why? Because I wasn't born with a goddamn dick.”

Remmick snorted. Foul words from a pretty mouth. A pretty mouth that could be put to better use. Alex rolled her eyes and shook her head. Christ, he was obnoxious.

“Fine,” Alex huffed, displeasure on full display. She grabbed her bottle, squeezing the Gatorade into her waiting mouth then slammed it on the top of the net. Her head did a quick shake as she bowed to their coach's will. “I won't quit, I'll stay.”

“Good,” Remmick gave a short nod, victorious in this the latest of their ongoing battle. “Seigel can practice his shots. His percentage at the blue line is horrible. I still don't understand how he made it past high school hockey. You will practice your butterfly until you can block every shot he makes. Stone, I want you to aim higher. Our goalie needs all the practice she can get.”

Alex huffed, wishing she could check that arrogant Irish man into the wall. Her eyes trailed him. His demeanor towards them was one that he couldn't be bothered by their supposed lackluster performances. Seigel did great on the blue line. Sure, he was small at 5'5”, but he always played his heart out every single fucking game. And yeah, he ran his mouth like it was an Olympic sport, spending more time in the penalty box than on the ice last season. His assists were the top of the team, not to mention the power play goals under his belt. Fans loved him. He never said no to an autograph or photo with a fan. Donated to every animal rescue group in the metro. To Remmick Mayne, those deeds meant shit. The man hungered for a shot in the playoffs. He longed to be back in that frenzy. The crowds going ballistic, standing when there was a breakaway shot or that game winning crossed the red line. The thrill of the hunt. He craved a win. But he wasn't going to get there with the motley crew dropped in his damn lap.

“Hey,” Seigel slid up beside her. “What the Hell's his problem today? Someone switch his coffee to decaf? Someone piss in his coffee? You piss in his coffee? Piss in his whiskey?”

“Jesus, David,” Alex groaned.

“What? It seems every time he speaks to you, he acts as if it's beneath him to be coaching a......*gasp* woman. Just because you have a set of tits and a-”

“Social time is over ladies! Seigel! Get your ass back here and start drilling or I'm benching your ass tomorrow night and putting Walker in!”

Stone snickered, but low enough their coach's ears couldn't pick it up. Remmick's voice climbed several octaves, signaling to Seigel he better heed and listen. As he skated away, he craned his head back.

“Blues City after this?”

“Damn right!” He couldn't see the grin beaming from behind the mask but felt it.

Alex smacked her stick across the front of her each shoulder, one of her little quirks. Casting a short nod in Seigel and Stone's direction, she leaned over, her stick faithfully seated in her right glove, eyes honed on the tiny but mighty frame as he picked up speed, but just enough to take his shot. The first shot she blocked, legs dropping to the ice, knees closed, deflecting the puck with the stick to the right.

Remmick kept his arms crossed, hat down low to shield his eyes as they focused on her while she dropped over and over, stick hand still but serving its purpose. Stone lobbed mid to high strikes, keeping her on her toes. One ricochet off the pipes, striking the glass to the left. Another found its way into her non-stick glove. Ever since that day the owner called him in, breaking the news they were calling Alex up from the minors. He had scoffed at the idea. A distraction is what she'd be. The goalie on roster, Adair, was doing the job just fine. It would create unwelcome scrutiny and diversion for his team.

“Mayne, she's being called up. She arrives next week. Alexandra can be rough around the edges, but she's a helluva goalie. You remember that shot she blocked in the playoffs against Lehigh Valley. Threw herself on that puck. Look, I know you're not exactly excited about this, but, you'll see. Fans are excited about this.”

“A woman is a distraction, Gill.” Remmick adamantly shook his head.

“That's your argument? She's gonna be in layers and a mask, Remmick. I wouldn't say her uniform is going to be detracting from the game. Or the players. Or is there some other reason you're against this?”

“It's not that, Gill. I looked at her record. She's shaky in the playoffs. I can't afford to have a goalie who gets the jitters when they're needed the most.”

“Which is why you're the coach that can do the job,” Gill rose from his desk. The Armani suit immaculate against his solid frame. Not a single threat out of place. His steely gaze locked on Remmick, the message clear. “Remember when you were feeling dejected after your injury? Losing that ability to be on the ice, to feel the power in the stick. I saw you still had that spark. In the last two seasons, the team has made it to the first and second rounds of the Cup playoffs. Back in your element.”

Gill's word was final and there wasn't a damn thing Remmick could say or do to get him to budge.

Remmick shook his head and lifted his gaze. Seigel was circling the goal with puck comfortably in his control; an extension of his body. Alex gliding left then right, following her partner, looking more like she was floating across the frigid surface. Her arms leveling without thought, legs shutting like a gate, blocking the shot.

“Denied, bitch!”

Seigel laughed, collecting the puck before trying again, flipping it with his stick with ease before returning to business. Alex relaxed in her stance, body shifting back into game mode. Her shoulders slid back, pulling away from her ears. When she got tense, those pensive shoulders would practically kiss the bottom of her mask.

“You get this shot, I'll buy you a few rounds next night we have off.”

“You're on!”

“This is gonna go well,” Stone hollered.

Alex blocked all intrusive thoughts from her mind; objective was to block those pucks. Her hips began to ache again; a common ailment among goalies. The demands of flexing, twisting and weight added to an already stressed body. Some of her favorite goalies all had the same issues. Holding the same position which strained the fallible chords of tendon and muscle. Every goalie she followed growing up experienced the same ailment. She was gonna hit the Ibuprofen hard after this.

The sudden jolt against her mask sent Alex sailing back into the net. Her arms sought purchase, only to strike the pipes before her back bounced on the ice, landing flat, face fixed on the inside of the net. The thick barriers of her gloves cushioned her wrists, keeping them firm against the pipes. A ringing began to sing in her hearing, drowning out the angered screaming coming their way.

“Stone, are you trying to fucking kill my goalie?!” Remmick hurried over, a sense of urgency settling in his gut. Stone was kneeling beside Alex, beside himself over his actions. His fingers slipping and struggling to dislodge the puck, lodged in the grid of her mask. How in the Hell did that damn thing start out parallel only to fly in a vertical direction and land where it did?

“Shit, Alex, I'm sorry!”

“Good work, Skippy,” Seigel glided behind him.

Alex sat up, silent as her mind wrapped around the fact the puck was wedged in her damn mask. She wasn't injured, just shocked. This would have definitely made it on the Sports Center reel; only, this wasn't game night. This would make for a great laugh for the rest of team though.

“Alexandra,” Remmick's knees slid along the ice, blocking the sharp jolt from his old injury, mind in damage control mode, his hands already looking her over. “Are you alright?” His tone was softer but still held firm. The deep accent prominent when he displayed any emotion. The ringing subsided, but she wasn't about to let him know that.

“Yeah,” she nodded. “Stunned me more than hurt me.”

He examined the puck, seeing half of it breaching the protective barrier. His hands already moving forward, gently tugging the mask up and off her head. A part of her damned the layers which separated his fingers and her shoulder, wanting those long digits to burn across her skin. Their eyes caught in a brief exchange, an uncertain feeling traded between them; one that didn't go undetected. From beneath the bill of the black cap, deep blue seas captured in a tight pair of rings locked with cutting sapphires that sparkled against the strong lighting overhead. Alex felt a heat creeping up her neck, fanning out as blush across her cheeks. Her pulse quickening at the proximity of their bodies. His cologne danced across her nose, exciting to her senses. She couldn't put her finger on it, but the feeling rising it wasn't unwelcome. Rather, the delectable trails caused her stomach to flutter. Remmick's breath had hitched. This was the closest he had been to her since she arrived. His own uncertainty spreading out like ivy, covering his skin in a light blush.

They didn't move, a sudden shift would shatter this serene moment between them.

“Alright, practice is over for today. Go home,” Remmick abruptly withdrew without so much as another word or look, leaving Alex feeling conflicted. Her stomach churned and mind twisted. What had just happened?

“Hey, you okay down there?” Seigel was snapping his fingers inches from her face. Her gloved hand swatted his annoying fingers aside.

“Fine,” she muttered shifting her body around on her knees, Seigel helping her to her feet. He swiped her mask off the ice, puck still wedged.

“Since I got the puck in the net, you still owe me a few rounds.”

“Puck in the mask does not count as a goal, David.”

“I think it does.”

“You also think Elvis is still alive,” Stone chimed in.

“He is damn it!”

“Keep telling yourself that, David,” Alex sighed as they departed the rink.

As the trio exited the rink and towards the locker rooms, chatting about everything and anything, they were unaware of the heavy stare trailing them.

Remmick lingered in the shadows, watching them interact. Alex and Seigel were like brother and sister, trading banter and having each other's backs. Stone was there for the ride. Seigel surely has some record for having served multiple penalties for going against opposing team members who went after her: charging, holding, high sticking, hooking, slashing, elbowing, fighting major, fighting minor and kneeing. He never struck to injure, only to warn. Though, one fight had broken out which involved his goalie. Alex had been on the receiving end of a slash and her temper got the better of her. Stone and Seigel had to jump in, pulling her off the 6'3” defensive player. Fought with the tenacity of a bobcat, earning her a penalty that Stone served. She had been called for tripping Harrison a few times. Her defense had been he didn't see her stick but the coach knew better.

Wait, Remmick blinked and shook his head. His goalie? No, Alex wasn't his. Why did he entertain that? Alex was nothing more than a piece on his chessboard. A feisty chess piece. A feisty chess piece with sharp eyes that would cut him deep when the cold anger raged. Deep in an exciting way. A way that made his chest tighten and heart sprint.

He waited until the doors to the lockers rooms closed to leave. Remmick had to get out of there before his mind decided to conjure more of these sudden intrusive sentiments. An unwelcome feeling had started to take root in the lower depths of his body. One Remmick refused to entertain.

“I wish you two would fuck and get it over with.”

Alex choked on her tea, an ice cube ejected from her mouth, flying across the table, the glass clinking before landing harmlessly on the table. Seigel flashed a wide shit eating grin, his front incisor missing, compliments of last week's fight at Chicago. Stone laughed with a mouthful of meat and bread.

“Jesus, David, can you be any more obscene? I mean more than usual?”

“Please,” he leaned back in his seat. They chose to sit outside as the October weather had turned favorable in the city. The leaves were turning, gone the deep evergreen as red, yellow and orange crowned the skyline and parks. In the far distance, the Arch stood watch along the Mississippi. The Gateway to the West as it was christened.

A few fans waved and said hello as they strolled by, respecting their privacy and space.

“While you're all gussied up in your battle gear, I've seen our dear fearless leader watching you.”

“David, everyone is watching me. Whether it's practice or game day.”

“Okay, when you're coming in, all dolled up, usually in one of those power suits, I've caught him checking you out. Your hair all perfect, draped across your shoulders. That look of determination crossing your eyes as stroll by the cameras. His eyes drifting from those pent up shoulders nestled in that blazer to that little sweet ass.”

“Ewww, David.”

“I'm not the only one who's noticed.”

“I caught him sizing you up after you left the locker room during practice last week. Remember? Your hair was all damp, those boot cut jeans sitting in all the right places, accentuating EVERYTHING and the ringer tee to top it off.”

“You're both so gross,” she dug into her sandwich. The classic roast beef. Nothing short of culinary perfection. After today, this was badly needed. But the dynamic duo seated across from her were going to spoil this bit of heaven if they continued their damn antics.

“Then why are your cheeks red?” Stone playfully teased.

Alex rolled her eyes and swallowed her food before giving him the pleasure of an answer. He wasn't going to let this go.

“We just got out of practice and I took a hot shower. There, mystery solved, Sherlock.”

“Uh huh,” Seigel raised an eyebrow. “You tell yourself that.”

“Shut up and eat.”

Seigel started at his sandwich. He tried multiple delis around town but Blues City couldn't be beat. When Alex had first arrived, he brought her here. It was their go to at least once a week. On occasion, Adair would join them or maybe one of the other players. As they dined in comfortable silence, a familiar figure crossing the street caught Stone's eye.

“Jerk alert,” Stone muttered, quoting The Goonies, one of his favorite movies.

“Well, look who's coming this way,” Seigel's lips split into a devious grin. Alex cringed in her seat, not needing to look over her shoulder to see who it was. She wished she could curl up into a ball and hide at that very moment. The whiff of the familiar cedar cologne teased her nose, igniting the fluttering in her stomach once again.

“David, Christopher, Alexandra,” Remmick approached their table. He was still clad in the same pants and sweater he had on during practice along with the same black Blues cap. His hands dug deep in the pockets, gaze on table. Alex gave a short smile, averting her eyes away from the man standing inches from her. The man who danced in her subconscious when she slept. Seigel continue to beam, basking in watching her squirm in her seat. She put her glass to her lips, hoping it would block the deepening blush kissing her cheeks and neck.

“Coach,” Seigel gave an over friendly smile. “What brings you here on this beautiful October day?”

“I overheard you and Alexandra mentioning Blues City. Sounded good for a post practice meal. One of the few places I truly enjoy in the city.”

“You should join us, Coach. No need to dine alone,” Stone threw gas onto the fire, earning a death stare for his effort.

Remmick shrugged, “I don't know Christopher. I have a lot of work to do before the game tomorrow.”

“Nah, take a spell, Boss. Enjoy your meal, don't inhale it, like I know you do at your desk.”

Seigel could see the gears turning in his head. He was considering it......

Alex silently prayed he would decline.

“Very well,” Remmick's attention turned to Alex, who was slowly sipping her tea, hoping to avoid any conversation with the man. “Alexandra.”

“Sure, no need to be alone,” she felt her chest constricting at the idea, cursing Seigel and Stone in silence. “There's plenty of room.”

“Very well,” Remmick turned and headed inside, leaving Alex, Seigel and Stone alone. Once the coach was indoors, Alex's head whipped towards Seigel, nostrils flaring and eyes seething.

“You're a dead man.”

“Now what did I do? All I did was invite our coach to join us,” Seigel feigned innocence. “No need to be rude. I mean, the man is alone.”

Alex's voice dropped to a dead threat. “You goddamn know what you're doing, David.”

Seigel simply shrugged and dove back into his meal.

Several minutes later, Remmick was seated next to Alex, savoring an Italian sandwich. Her calf accidentally brushed across his, sending tiny jolts up her spine. Her face kept the stoic expression but her eyes were betraying her. Remmick didn't reveal his reaction to this discretionary contact but hoped she would “accidentally” brush her leg by his again. The metal grated chairs were tight to start with, creating this incidental intimacy. Their thighs grazed again when Alex would shift in her seat, the heat simmering between them despite the chilled October air.

“So, Chicago is gonna use their first string tomorrow night. Guess they're still smarting about being shut out of the playoffs last season. Gonna try to make us pay,” Seigel's attempt at small talk was shop talk.

“Their captain is still rather pissed about me snagging the puck and scoring that winning goal. He's gunning for me. That's the thing about hockey: grudges get donkey punched then tucked away for the next season.”

Alex slid her hand over her face as Remmick raised an eyebrow.

“You have a way with words, Stone,” their coach sighed and slowly shook his head.

“That's what my grandma told me!”

Remmick turned to Alex. She had been rather silent since he sat down. The faint pink still tinging her cheeks and across her neck in erratic splotches.

“Alexandra, you're quiet over there. Are you alright?”

No, I'm not alright. You're sitting right next to me.

Her hands slowly lowered as she swallowed what food remained in her mouth. Felt like a rock going down her throat and landing in her stomach.

“Just the game tomorrow, that's all. Can't let those goons get to me. Harrison already tried taking me out once before. Told me my ass belonged in a kitchen making him a sandwich after he slammed me against the net.”

“You didn't tell me that,” Remmick's jaw ticked and eyes lowered to angry slits. Alex felt her breath hitch at this small display.

“It was an afterthought. He's an asshole anyway. Made it clear on his thoughts about me or any female playing professional. Pearline offered to show him a Massachusetts welcome when she read that. Told her he wasn't worth the energy.”

“Still, totally uncalled for.”

The shift in his eyes speaking more than his lips. A hardness bit around the edges, something dangerous lingered in his words.

“Don't worry about me, I'm fine,” Alex dismissed the concerns. “Besides, David returned the favor.”

“Yeah, he's an assbag. I heard most of his own teammates despise him.”

“David,” Remmick sharply chided.

“No, Hossa and I caught up after the game. He's the one who told me.”

“David Seigel, team gossip queen,” Remmick rolled his eyes. Alex giggled as Seigel reveled.

“At your service, Coach.”

The remainder of the meal was in an awkward silence. Alex focused on keeping her mouth occupied with her meal. Stone and Seigel traded knowing looks between bites and drinks. Remmick kept his eyes down, anywhere but on her. Alex wanted to shrivel into a ball and disappear. From the corner of his eye, Remmick could see her fidgeting in her seat, attempting to mask any reaction to this closeness between them. The tiny crack in the side of his mouth vanished as fast as it appeared.

Alex headed for her car, thankful that tense meal was over. All she wanted was to go home and collapse in bed. Her hips were achy, but nothing that Ibuprofen, stretch bands and a heating pad couldn't subdue. As she slid in the seat and shut the door, Alex sat in the dark, mind thrust into that dangerous place. Her thoughts drew back to earlier. The way Coach's voice rumbled ominously when she mentioned what happened at the Chicago game. He didn't speak like that or carry that tone in his voice with the others. If he was worried about her well being, he could stop. She held her own just fine.

Seigel and Stone were not helping the situation. Teasing her with such juvenile observations of Remmick checking her out like some hormonal crazed teenage boy. Were they stuck in the 10^th grade?

Still, his tone and words, not to mention that sultry Irish brogue went straight between her legs. No, Alex shook her head. There was a line between coach and player. That line could not be crossed, sat on or walked on. It would mean her career. Not to mention he was over a decade older than her. Her last relationship had ended horribly to say the least. Since then, Alex had not been interested in any men. Sure, she had a few one night stands but nothing solid. Hockey was her life. Tomorrow, she would suit up and show that fucker Harrison what she was made of.

She was thankful she took that ice cold shower after practice. It smothered the embers that had been threatening to become a full on fire only for those dying sparks to be reignited during dinner. It was still burning as she put her truck in gear and started down McNair towards home. A cold shower was not going to remedy this.

Remmick flopped on his sofa. Hat tossed to the side, blinds drawn, blocking the burning gaze of the setting sun. His mind darting from thought to thought, attempting to get a grasp on what exactly happened. He sank deeper into the overstuffed cushions and scrubbed a hand over his face, unsure if he was reading too much into the subtle touches and stolen glances.

“She's not my goalie,” he snapped at himself. “She. Is. Not. My. Goalie.”

He repeated the mantra, voice rising with each syllable, yet his hand was sliding down the front of his pants, the stiff bulge pressing against the zipper. His eyes slowly fluttered shut, fingers ghosting across the tent that stood prominent. The gentlest pressure forced a small gasp from his lips. A tiny twitch, an encouragement for him to continue. Abs rolling, bumping the hypersensitive bundle against his hungry fingers.

“She is not my goalie,” his hands acted on their own accord, unfastening the button and dragging the zipper down. His fingers breached the elastic waistband, his palm greeted by the solid erect member resting against the wiry bed of curls. His strong fingers fiercely gripped himself, hips lightly bucking up. Remmick's mind betrayed him, casting those deep buried fantasies of her on knees, her lips latched around him to the forefront of his mind. That wicked tongue slipping along the underside, the faint scraping of teeth. Remmick's hand and wrist quickened, pumping hard and faster, the visions of his goalie driving him mad. The living room a symphony of whimpers, pants and cries as Remmick felt the flames licking between his legs, his body teetering on the brink. How he craved for her to be the source of those sounds instead of his own. Hips rocking with a feverish pace, erratic snaps thrusting his weeping member into the calloused circle. His skin beaded with sweat, mouth dropped wider as the thick warmth spilled across his hand. His hips slowed to slow long thrusts, falling into rhythm with his hand. Remmick's mind was spinning, euphoria clouded any coherent idea or thought.

He sat there, breath hitched and pulse slowing. The evidence of his self-denial smeared on his hand and stained his boxers, cooling to a pearl tinted mess across his fingers and lower abs.

“Fuck.”

Remmick groaned and slumped in the cushions. He was gonna need a long cold shower.

Chapter Text

It had been a week since that awkward encounter at Blues City. Alex had stuffed the entire incident in the back of her mind, devoting her unyielding attention to that night's game. They were on the road, visiting the beautiful but obscenely hot and humid Sunrise, Florida. Home of last season's Cup winners, the Florida Panthers. Walker was taking Seigel's place but he'd be suited up on the bench, taking in the scenery as he liked to say.

Her nerves were shaking as she brought up the rear. Several cameras turned as she slid through the doors into Amerant Bank Arena, eyes laser focused ahead. Bag slung across her chest, attire was lighter to accommodate for the steamier climate. Instead of wool, she went with cotton and a navy blue button up shirt. Her hair layered around her shoulders. Alex could feel Remmick's presence behind her. The blush teased her cheeks, but she wrote it off on account of the Florida heat. The weight of his frigid eyes pressed against her, still, she didn't glance over her shoulder. Alex straightened her posture, turning towards the locker room. Remmick felt his eyes cast sideways, trailing his goalie before she vanished in the locker room. The jacket and pants hugged her curves a little too well this time. The navy blue had brought out her eyes. And her hair......The urge to run his fingers through those soft silk tresses had been gnawing at him since he boarded the bus.

As he watched her disappear behind the door, Remmick wished she could join the rest of the team but, she had to use separate facilities. Most of these large arenas had ample space for different acts and performances, but Remmick still viewed such as an inconvenience. The guys were in one room and she was in another. Made talking to the team more time consuming when they had to wait on her. Wait, Remmick shook his head. He couldn't fault her. If the opportunity had been presented, Alex would use the same room as the guys, not caring what she saw.

“Please, none of you have nothing special on ya. Nothing I or your mama haven't seen before.”

Alex had been talking with Stone after practice one day and he had been ribbing her about using an entire locker room to herself. Remmick had to cover his mouth after that retort.

Remmick had not been ignorant to the posts and comments made about Alex, the league or Gill. Some were mild. Others were downright vindictive, specifically attacking Alex.

The owner was “woke” letting a woman play.

The league was going in the wrong direction.

Women didn't belong on the ice.

She just wants attention.

Tell that bitch to get in the kitchen and make me a sandwich.

She fucked the coach and owner.

Women have no business playing a man's sport.

Gill Reynolds needs to send her back to the minors.

She only got hired for her looks.

Beauty fades.

How long before she cries sexual harassment?

One woman gets in, then they all want in.

DEI hire.

Little Ice Princess.

He had gone on several platforms, under a fake profile of course, to witness this underlying sexism. Remmick had been incensed, infuriated at what he read. Insecure little boys hiding in their mom's basements trashing his goalie's character and questioning how she got there. He had seen Stone and Seigel on there, clapping back at some of the worst posts. Troves of fans had flocked to the team's and Alex's defense; especially the women fans. Hell, even women who weren't Blues fans didn't hesitate to unleash Hell on those fools. They had her back. If Alex had seen those vile words, she didn't react to them; at least not in front of him or the team. Or, she simply ignored all the assholes. Stone and Seigel had not indicated how these affected her either. Maybe, she had not confided in them of such.

Alex finished lacing up her skates. Her jersey hanging behind her, neatly pressed and ready for action. Her mask resting to her right. Several emblems of Saint Louis adorned the rigid sturdy material: The Arch and the fleur-de-lis adorning each side and the city flag on the back. The front covered with the symbol of their team: the prominent blue note with wing in flight attached on the back. It was the city of her ancestors and second home. Louisiana would always be home but, Saint Louis had adopted her. Her uncle and aunt had encouraged her interest in the sport, though not many ice rinks existed where she grew up. Still, they found a way for her to join a team and flourish. She had spent hours after school practicing, choosing the position of goalie. She used a ball and stick to practice until her aunt and uncle surprised her with a proper stick and puck for ther 16^th birthday. Alex had thought of herself as the odd girl out. Her first language was Creole, English was second. She played what proper society labeled a “boy's sport,” getting dirty and rough without hesitation. Alex hated dresses, preferring pants for the range and freedom they offered. Men were the last thing on her mind as hockey was her longtime love.

College came and so did a new world. Wisconsin had offered a full ride, which she happily accepted. The winters had been brutal, a shock to her system, unlike the temperate bayous and coastal marshes, layers were the key. She partied with her teammates and enjoyed her time, but again, hockey had been her full time lover. Two of her years spent in the Badger State they went to the ladies' Frozen Final Four. Alex had developed and tuned her tactics during those years. She expected to land a job in environmental sciences after graduation. That was, until she received a call from the owner of the PWHL, Professional Women's Hockey League. And the following week, she was headed to New York to play for the Sirens. It had been a lonely period. Alex had tried to remain upbeat, but her uncle could sense she was off. New York was a long way from the quiet, slow paced life she had known. The pace rapid and hurried, quickly stressing her out. But, with some encouragement, she stayed, setting a record for most shutouts in a single season. She had been 23. Then, came the call from Springfield, Massachusetts.

It seemed one of the owners had heard about her and her record. It had taken some negotiations and convincing of the other three owners, as they were hesitant at first. But, Matt had won them over and Alex was once again on the move. Her debut had been met with mixed reviews and reception from teammates and fans. Alex wasn't immune from the biting tag lines or snarky comments that were posted and shared or blared through a microphone in a windowless studio. Fuck those fools. She was going to shut them up, prove them wrong. She had every right to be there. She wouldn't be the first woman to play professional hockey. That honor went to Manon Rhéaume, who played goalies for one pre-season game with the Lightning in 92. She was a huge reason Alex stuck with her dreams and kept playing goalie.

Fast forward to now.

Alex wasn't playing pre-season. No, she used the trail Manon blazed and forged deeper, both carving that path for future women players. Being first was never easy; especially in a male dominated rink. With a jackass of a coach who seemed to make it his life's work to push her to the brink. Well, if Coach Remmick Mayne wanted to see what she was capable of, he was gonna get it. Snatching her mask and stick, she rose, taking one last glance in the mirror, nodding in self-approval.

Remmick paced behind the bench. The teams were getting in their last minute practice and stretches. He spotted Alex coming out of the tunnel, stick and bottle in each hand. She paused, turning her head right and catching his eye. Her expression was unreadable, perhaps her mask was shielding what lay behind those deep sapphires. Their coach chose the dark charcoal suit with crisp white button up and Saint Louis blue tie. Fuck, he looked amazing standing there, hands in pockets. Suit was probably more than what her truck cost. Probably some European name she couldn't pronounce to save her life.

He felt his heart skip a few beats in its bony cage, suddenly the arena felt a little warm. Remmick shook his head and dragged his gaze away. A small pang stabbing his chest. Alex exhaled, another moment severed. No, she had a game beckoning her. Another night of putting on a show; a display of her worthiness to grace the ice with the likes of Howe, Gretzky, Crosby, Fleury, Osgood, Orr, Hull, and Modano. Her eyes scanned the rows, noting a lot of butts were filling those seats. No pressure. No pressure at all. The Panthers had a faithful base, filling seats regularly.

Some of the crowd hollered as she glided across the ice. Some boos and jeers were drowned out. Alex saw a few girls along the glass, one, about 6, waved. She slid her mask off, beamed at the young fan and waved back. Her dad flashed a thumbs up. There were men who had no issue with her presence on the ice. Dads who nurtured their daughters' love of the game.

Remmick watched as his goalie slid to the ice, legs splitting into frog pose. Her hips slid back, jutting into the air, holding for 10 counts then slowly retreating. He knew it was 10. He counted. Multiple times. Every time she on her hands and knees, spreading those hips along the ice. It had been that same position his mind envisioned her in when he had pleasured himself last night. Gone were the thick layers of padding, only her naked form, face down on his bed. Ass up, submissive form. A stunning sight, even if in his fantasies. It didn't help last night when the team terrorized the pool she was wearing a two piece that should've been illegal on her. The bikini bottoms hugging her hips, a peek of her ass hanging out. The top restraining what he guessed were C cups. A body he wanted to properly explore on his own terms.

Now, there was 60 minutes of play to focus on. And hopefully, Stone didn't rack up too many penalties tonight. Shaking his head and rubbing his eyes, Remmick observed the rest of the team warming up.

Alex heard the banging on the glass behind her. Probably some tool wanting to harass her and try to get inside her head. Her hips howled in relief, the after burn of the stretching released the tight hip flexor muscles. Standing, she spotted the Panther goalie, Bobrovsky, casually skating towards her. He had been one of the first players outside the team to welcome her in and had become fast friends.

“Alexandra,” the Russian accent warmly greeted. Left elbow tapped right with the opposite following suit with a double glove bump then chest bump.

“Sergei, it is good to see you,” Alex jumped up and down, keeping her balance. He laughed at her antic. They all had their goalie quirks. “How's the high life after winning the Cup?”

Sergei shrugged, “New year, new goals. What about you? How is the Show Me State?”

“They're showing me love, for the most part. Coach is a damn hard ass.”

He laughed, “Ah, Remmick Mayne. Yes, his reputation is earned. But, he is a good man if you can get through that damn hard ass as you put it. He just wants his players to be their best.”

“If by best you mean pushing some of us to our limit on a daily basis, then sure. And here I was thinking it was because I'm a woman.”

Another hearty laugh. “Alexandra, it is not that. Trust me. He sees something in you. I see it too. We don't win all our games. I know you are too hard on yourself when you let the puck slip past you. You are an amazing goalie. Don't let those hateful people weigh you down.”

Alex nodded.

“Hey, Bobrovsky, you lost?” Stone skated a few circles around the goalie, grin plastered wide. Sergei rolled his eyes, no stranger to Stone's sharp tongue.

“I see your bodyguard has arrived. I better warm up. Take care, Alexandra.”

“Later, Sergei, good luck.” Alex turned to Stone, rolling her eyes at him. “What?” A smirk crossed his lips.

“A little Seigel told me a certain coach was watching you warm up. Rather watching you on the ice stretching those hips.”

“For fuck's sake, Chris, not this again.”

“He caught the staring match you two were holding before you trotted out here.”

“David is imagining things. Go warm up before Coach rips you a new one during intermission.”

Stone mumbled beneath his breath then skated off. Alex finished warming her hips and legs up, the final moments before the start of the game.

Halfway through the first period and one shot on goal for both sides. Defense was stepping up for both teams. She shuffled back and forth, stick ready, eyes watching the action at the other end. The whistles blew as Stone had been penalized for high sticking. Minor penalty but definitely worthy of Coach's sage words of wisdom. They were on a power play for the next two minutes. Both sides scrambled for the puck, sticks clashing. Then, Barkov got a breakaway, heading straight for her. The crowd roared in excitement as their captain moved the puck with grace, reading her movements, three moves ahead. Alex tensed, eyes honed on the little rubber puck. Her opponent having seconds to make the shot. The roar of the crowd thundered across the arena as he faked left, then made the shot. Six ounces of dense rubber found the space between the top of the pipe and her shoulder. Alex's arm went up milliseconds later. The air horns screamed across the way, the fans screaming in excitement as their team went up 1-0. Alex shook her head but, it was a good goal. Stone and Walker read her body language, the disappointment written all over. They still had the second and third periods.

The second period did not go so well.

The third period was an encore of second except, Stone got another penalty. This time, fighting.

The weight was on her shoulders.

“Nah, not your fault for the loss,” Stone stopped Alex in the tunnel. Her mask concealing the bitter defeat which darkened her face.

“I should've known he was gonna go left. I've seen the move enough damn times!”

“Hey,” Seigel caught up with them, his hair flattened against his forehead and neck. “One person doesn't lose the game. Florida had our number tonight. They outmatched and outplayed us. Even the greats had shit games.”

“Still,” she shook her head in self disgust. Already, she could feel the weight of Remmick's disapproving eyes cutting her down as she joined the team post-game. Slowly, she tugged her mask away, head down as she flopped on the bench, Stone and Seigel taking up either side. No one was laughing or talking. It was an ugly loss. One of Alex's worst games to date.

“Alright,” Remmick entered the locker room. His eyes hard as they crossed the sea of debilitated faces, pausing on Alex. The edges softened at the sight of her sorry state. All she wanted was to go back to the hotel, grab the bottle of Jack she packed on her bag and be alone.

“It was a rough game. Florida got the best of us. But, I'm not gonna stand here and hold your little hands as you weep in self-pity. That was by far, one of the fucking worst games I have ever seen this team play! Stone, you let Barkov snatch the puck as you skated like a goddamn figure skater! Stone, you racked up at least four penalties this game! Are you trying for a world record! Marchand was left unprotected through most of the second period!”

Alex closed her eyes and rested her forehead on her stick, mentally bracing for her turn in Remmick's “Come to Jesus” meeting.

“And what in the actual fuck were you doing, Alexandra!?!? You left the net open, letting Barkov score off you again! The third time, your damn stick pushed the puck in the goddamn net!”

Alex bit her lower lip, resentment simmering. Her mind shutting out the tangent their coach had gone on. He was going to have a cardiac or an aneurysm, she swore. His face shifting to deep crimson as Seigel and Stone felt her shaking against their sides, both fearing what would be coming next. They held their breath, the trembling increased until she was vibrating between them. Shit, here it comes.....

“You know what!?” Alex shot up, adrenaline and anger fueling her body and mind. Her voice jumping in pitch as she unleashed on the older man. Her accent thickened as her emotions climbed. “We know it was a shitty game, okay!? Yeah, I fucked up. But you know what? All the greats fuck up! Today, was one of those fuck ups. I remember a certain game during your second season with Edmonton when you had a clean shot lined up and you fucking missed it, costing the team a trip to the playoffs. Fans were pissed, your coach was ready to bite your head off!”

Remmick slightly shrank back as his goalie took two steps closer. She knew he had him.

“Yeah, I can see it in your eyes. That feeling of dejection. The overwhelming agony that surged through you when you dropped to your knees on that ice, head hanging, shame radiating from you like the sun. So while you sit in your ivory tower and look down upon us peasants, your lordship, remember who it is that's out there on that ice fighting for each fucking goal.”

Remmick was speechless. The entire locker room was dead silent. Stone and Seigel traded stunned expressions as Alex spun around and stormed off. The only sound was the swishing of the locker room door in her wake.

“I can't believe I did that,” she muttered, standing under the punishing jets. Her hands trembled as they fumbled with the soap and shampoo, dropping the latter twice. Alex had snapped. She had snapped at their coach. In front of the entire team. This was going to make the ride back awkward to say the least. Thankfully, the bus ride would be 15 minutes. Fifteen minutes that would melt into hours. Remmick was probably going to tear into her. Well, he deserved it. If big bad Remmick Mayne couldn't handle being lit up into by a woman, then he had deeper issues. Sighing, she flung the faucet off, grabbed the warm oversize towels and headed out.

Stone was waiting for her when she emerged 10 minutes later. His face told her all she needed to know.

“He's pissed, isn't he?” She flung her bag over her shoulder.

“No,” Stone shook his head. “After you lit him up like a firework, he didn't say anything. He was actually at a loss for words.”

Alex was taken aback. Her eyes wide in shock.

“Wait? He didn't have some snarky comeback?”

“Nope. He went straight for the bus after you left.”

“Probably sulking. Well, there was no need to smash us down like that. We know we played like shit. I can't wait for the latest round of armchair NHL experts to comment on this one. Those fuckers take every flaw I have, every mistake and blow them up like their inflatable dates.”

“Don't let those assbags get to ya. David and I, we have fun with those poor unfortunate souls. Hell, even Walker's joined in a few times and Adair.”

Alex forced a smile, but the warmth lacking behind it.

“I try not to look, but, it hurts, ya know. I'm sure Mayne didn't have this much shit dumped on him for that missed shot.”

“Well, social media didn't exist when he was in skates. Besides, someone has to drag his ass back to earth every so often. As you said, 'his lordship needs to be reminded whose asses are on the ice'.”

The short but agonizing ride back was spent in silence. Alex threw her gear in the luggage compartment then hopped on, finding the last seat was directly across from, the object of her desire and ire. Alex said nothing to Remmick, dropping in the seat, earbuds blocking any word he may attempt to utter. She wasn't in the mood for it. Screaming and insulting them wasn't winning him any points with the team on that particular night. The blanket of night masked her face from his inquiring stare. Her phone pinged. It was a text from her uncle.

I watched the game. Not all games can be a win. Keep that head up. A warrior learns from their defeats. Your aunt and I are still pulling for you and we can never say enough how proud we are of you. Our little fighter.

Alex typed a quick response then leaned her head back, eyes closed as the bus rolled down the interstate.

Remmick tried to keep his attention to the chat with Gill. He wasn't in the mood to listen to him. His solution would be for more practice and harder drills when they returned. Gill wasn't particularly upset, as he too had been in skates, playing for Hartford before they went to Carolina.

Christ, Remmick, I hope you didn't rip into her tonight.

He did.

It was one game. Every goalie has bad games.

He knew that.

Look, I know you're exhausted. Rest, get back and we can talk if you want.

No need to.

It wasn't hard to access the roof. There was an observation area allowing for an ocular treat. The skyline of Miami shamed that of Saint Louis. The third largest in the nation, nothing to snuff at. The Observation Wheel circled lazily around. Nice, but paled to the Arch. Biscayne Bay shimmered like scales on a fish as the lights of the skyscrapers sparkled against the dark skies.

Alex took a drink, the whiskey burning the back of her throat. The tingling began in her fingers and arms, the warmth of the Florida night kissing her skin. No one else was up there. The rest of the team had retired to their rooms, wishing to put this day behind them. Who could blame them. Alex wanted to get some air. The brush of salt across her nose and lips reminding her of home. The brackish waters of the bayous danced with the saline rush of the Gulf, ocean meeting land where she was raised. Here, the air was different. All salt. It was still a nice night. No long sleeves. Shorts and a shirt were perfection.

Another sip of Jack. Another rush of tingles. Her skin warming around the cheeks, body sinking into the lounge chair. Mind drifting, wandering down that scandalous path. Even though he had torn into them with the ferocity of a rabid rhino, Remmick was sexy when he was angry. But watching him freeze, eyes locked with hers, the perfect blend ice and fire as she dared to match auras, was empowering. Remmick had failed to hurl a clap back, any retort or smartass comment. She was certain that was the first time anyone had matched him. She took a longer sip, savoring the rich amber gold.

Her solitude wouldn't last long.

The door connecting the observation deck to the elevators clicked shut, announcing an arrival. Alex stayed seated, only to lift the glass to her lips. The soft treads of tennis shoes encroached on her space. It didn't take a psychic to tell her who her guest was.

“Seigel said you were up here,” the Irish brogue cracked the silence. Remmick paused, looking out and across the impressive night sight. “Nice view.”

“Yep. And Seigel has a big mouth,” Alex poured the last of the Jack in the glass then extended her arm in offering. Her eyes fixed on the skyline. “Wanna drink, Coach?”

“Sure,” he curled his fingers around the slick tumbler, covering hers. Alex's fingers were soft and slender to his burning longer ones. Remmick let them stay, for as long as she would tolerate it. She craned her head, eyes trained on the the incidental connection. The light just enough to reveal not hostility but curiosity. As though she was wondering where this was going. Remmick didn't pull back, instead, he dared to keep this small but potent connection, easing down on the same lounge chair Alex occupied. He noticed her legs bare and arms exposed. Muscle wavered in her quads when they shifted to give him room.

Alex withdrew her fingers, his turning cold against the glass from the loss. Remmick had changed out of the bougie suit and into cargo shorts that brushed the tops of his knees, showing off the rock hard calves which were blocked from her sight most nights. The plain black shirt hugged his torso a bit too snug. But snug as in accentuating the strong form chiseled from seasons of being on the ice. Fuck, he wasn't even trying.

“Figured if you wanna lecture me on my shitty blocking, you'd wanna a little pick me up.”

“I'm not here to lecture you, Alexandra. I wanted to apologize. I was harsh back at the arena. I shouldn't have done that. I already talked to the rest of the team. I could've chosen my words, my tone and my delivery better.”

“Is this because I called you out? I'm not apologizing,” she crossed her arms, lifting the swells hidden in the faded Saints top.

“No and you had every right to say what you did,” Remmick took a drink. Jack Daniels. Cheap American whiskey. He was gonna have to show her the finer tastes.

“Well, you can be a pain the ass.”

“I do it because I know you can be a better goalie. You. Your talent is raw. It needs to be reigned in. Gill sees it. I see it. It's why he wanted you. I want YOU.

Remmick knew those last three words carried more than simple needing for the team. It felt good to lift this weight off his chest. At least, when he said it, the hidden meaning ran concurrent with the obvious.

“I know you may find that hard to believe after the months of slave driving as you called it and the outburst, but, I mean it. I'll be damned if I let my goalie waste her talents. She fought to be here. I know my goalie will have great games, so-so games and shit games. But I let my emotions get the best of me tonight. Made her and the team feel like shit. Made her hide from me, drinking her pain away.”

“Your goalie?” She raised an inquisitive eyebrow.

The Jack thrummed through her veins, mind a little hazy. Alex didn't drink often. She was more of a wine drinker. But, whiskey didn't need a corkscrew to open.

“Yes,” Remmick grew bolder. “You're my goalie. My player.”

Alex shivered despite the 70 degree evening. Possessiveness saturated his words, that familiar warmth pooling between her legs.

“I didn't feel so talented tonight.”

“They got in your head.” There it was. The hard edge biting each word.

Her phone pinged. Alex checked her phone. A text from Sergei.

Don't let tonight define you. Prove them wrong.

Alex smiled and sent a happy face emoji before putting it down and returning to Remmick.

“Leave it to Sergei to brighten my shitty day.”

“He's a great goalie.”

“And friend.”

Remmick polished off the remaining whiskey, his own body humming from the alcohol, but still sober. Mass produced alcohol was for college kids who wanted an inexpensive means to get smashed on a weekend. No, his poison of choice lay back at home, in his liquor cabinet. A bottle of Tullamore Dew that he had not touched yet.

“Jack."

The disdain in his tone wasn't missed.

“It was our drink of choice at Wisconsin,” Alex shrugged. “Wasn't big on beer. I mean, I drank it, but not like the guys hockey players. Drank like damn fish.”

Remmick felt her sitting up, sliding around so she could sit alongside him. Their bare legs brushing against the other, their bodies pressing against one another, their eyes avoiding the other. Remmick felt his heart sprinting in this painful proximity.

“I'm sorry, I dredged up that game. It was a low blow. I shouldn't have said that, especially in front of the team. No excuse,” her head dropped, hands resting between her knees. “I was angry.”

“No,” the gentle brushing of his hand across her leg made her head snap up, eyes forced to meet his. The rigid rings had softened around the edges as Remmick had let his guard down. “You were right. I was projecting my failures, my weaknesses on you and the team. Had so much riding on that one fucking shot. Felt like a fucking failure. I needed to be grounded tonight. You did that.”

When she had unleashed her fury on him earlier that night, a part of Remmick found it beautiful, stunning even when he had been rocked by her words. Words which had sliced deep into the part of him he concealed from all. And she had ripped it wide open.

“You're not a failure,” Alex shook her head. “Failures don't coach a team that makes it to the playoffs. Failures don't make it to the Cup finals as a player.”

“And you,” he squeezed her knee, “Are not a failure. The team wants you here,” his voice hitched, tongue thickening before he could find it again. “I want you here.”

“Is that all?” Her voice darkened like the night, causing Remmick's core to tighten.

“What do you mean?” His own voice lowering to meet hers.

“I think you know what I mean, Coach,” the last word rolling off her tongue. The thick ribbons of his cologne saturated her senses, drawing her closer towards him. Alex needed him to say it. She craved it.

“Alexandra,” his lips paused millimeters from hers, “When you set foot on the ice over the summer, you did nothing but infuriate me. You resisted and defied me at every chance you had. But then I saw it. The spark. The fire burning deep in your belly. The determination. I had players come and go but, you, you're special. You throw your entire heart in the game. You're a breath of fresh air in the sport.”

“Am I?” The soft full lips grazed along his. Remmick tried to capture the wayward mouth, only to have a light shift of air reward him. He growled in frustration.

“Yes,” he grabbed the sides of her face, keeping her still. “You can be a pain in the ass, Alexandra but you're a beautiful pain in the ass. My pain in the ass.”

Their mouths melted together, neither ready to sever this precious link. Remmick cracked first, regrettably pulling away. The Jack Daniels fresh on his lips. The tip of his tongue darting out, the amber sweetness dancing across the top.

“So, I'm beautiful?” Alex couldn't but help to grin from ear to ear. “You, Remmick 'Pain the Ass” Mayne, is giving me a compliment?”

“Don't let it go to your head,” the brogue thickened when he was in a relaxed state.

“It's a nice change from the usual. 'Alexandra, what the fuck are you doing!?' Or 'Koch stop daydreaming!' Or my favorite, 'Damn it Alexandra, are you trying to give me a heart attack!?'”

Remmick laughed, mustering the courage for what he was about to propose. His hand dared to cover hers which she twisted around, letting their fingers slot within one another.

“Maybe we should talk more somewhere less public. I don't either one of us will be sleeping much tonight anyway,” Remmick boldly suggested, hoping she would accept. She bit her lower lip, watching the anxiety loom in his eyes, waiting for her answer. Alex reveled in letting him hang for a few seconds more, the control she wielded with a simple moment of silence a rush.

Remmick felt his stomach dropping. He'd been too forward. Fuck.

Alex dove in, capturing his quivering mouth to her hungry lips. Remmick jolted back but quickly rushed in.

“Does that answer your question, Coach?” God, how she used his title like a weapon. Alex knew exactly what she was doing.

“Room 622,” he whispered, the dangerous tone ushering unspoken promises of what was to come.

“I'll wait a few minutes,” Alex nodded. Through the light, Remmick took her in. Skin tinged from whiskey and lust. Eyes blown with need. For him. Only him.

“Good,” Remmick leaned in stealing another quick kiss before hastily retreating for the elevators, eyes darting for anyone, especially the team.

Alex checked her phone, seeing 5 minutes had lapsed. Nodding in confidence, she grabbed the empty bottle and glass, depositing the bottle in the trash as she waiting for the elevator. Her heart pounding against the bony cage as she stepped in, the temperature quickly surging. She forced deep slow breathing, mind a mess. Her fingers ran absently through her hair, tousling it in the process. Hours ago, they had been at odds, reduced to a shouting match. Now, the months of unspoken pining, fantasizing, and nights pleasuring herself were coming to a head. She snorted at the pun as the doors parted. No turning back now. Remmick wanted her. Under the asshole exterior was a man. A damn fine man who pushed her buttons for at least four months.

Her knuckles rapped twice. Her eyes darting left then right, making sure no one was in the hall. Fuck, last thing either needed was to be seen in this compromising position. The door flung open, Remmick's hand curling around her wrist. Before Alex could speak, her body jerked forward, crashing into his chest. The door closed and locked behind her. The lean predatory stare greeted her as his hands greedily pawed at her, mouth covering hers, the need evident when his tongue slid between her lips, begging to be let in. Alex felt her body responding to his touch, fire burned where his fingers lay.

“Pay up,” Stone waved his fingers at Seigel. Seigel mumbled and swore as he pulled the money from his wallet and slapped the crumpled wad of bills into Stone's welcoming hand.

“Told your ass it would happen here.”

“Yeah, yeah, punk,” he took a drink. “At least we diverted that old man away from the door before they were spotted.”

“No shit. Alex was already tense after ripping into Coach.”

“Well, something's gonna get ripped into tonight.”

“Jesus fucking Christ, David. Really?” Stone rolled his eyes.

“Oh lighten up, Chrissy and finish your drink. I heard there's gonna be mini sticks in the 5^th floor corridor.”

Stone downed the last of the bourbon before following his teammate from the bar to the 5^th floor.

Chapter Text

The team waited to board their flight back to Saint Louis. The bus ride had been sober. Everyone dragging tail as they had to be up before the sun. Getting through security had been a breeze as the business travelers and tourists hadn't arrived yet. The cheap coffee at the hotel had not been enough. Sleep clawed at the back of her mind, body dragging from the combination of lack of sleep and shit coffee.

Alex sat at the terminal, mindlessly thumbing through her phone, attempting to ignore Seigel and Stone, who had been poking her about the previous night when no one was around. She wasn't about to give those two any fodder. The dynamic duo had been pounding on her door bright and early at the hotel. To their great disappointment, she had been discovered to be alone.

“Good morning, Sunshine,” Seigel thrust a to-go coffee cup in front of her. A knowing grin crossed his lips as he flopped in the seat beside her. “You're looking a bit tired this morning. Long night?”

“I don't sleep well when I travel,” she took a timid sip.

“Oh, please. Stone knocked on your room door last night and you didn't answer.”

“Did it ever occur to your simple mind I ignoring you? You two need to let this whole thing go.”

Seigel rolled his eyes then sulked.

“Besides, that would be unethical conduct and would ruin two careers,” she took another sip of coffee. Some medium Sumatran blend. “Where's Stone?”

“Chrissy is in line for food. But don't fret, because here comes your boyfriend.”

The short ticks of her jaw and stiffening of her shoulders told Seigel all he needed.

“David,” Remmick came to stop in front of them. He was clad in business casual: Polo and slacks that screamed for her to look, to steal a peek of that gorgeous body she had rocked but hours before. He greeted Seigel with a tight nod then turned to Alex, catching the morning sun reflecting off the rich cerulean rings. The same rings that shined with need the night before. Both plastered neutral faces, each trading a short courteous greeting. “Alexandra. It's good to see you both. Where's third amigo?”

“Stone's over at the empanada place. You know what? That doesn't sound too bad right now. Think I'll check it out. Got about an hour before boarding. Let you two kids bury the hatchet.”

Seigel stood flashing a short cocky grin at Alex before vanishing in the crowd. Remmick occupied the vacant seat. The rest of the team was scattered throughout the concourse, grabbing a more proper meal before heading home. Neither one spoke for a few moments, she sipping on her coffee as he opened his laptop, checking emails and reviewing practice drills he sketched out for the next three days before going to Edmonton.

“Get enough sleep?” His voice steady, eyes trained on the screen.

“Yeah, felt strange though,” she shrugged her shoulders, catching the raised eyebrow thrown in her direction.

“Oh?” His brogue thick and slow, as if he wasn't completely alert yet.

“Not used to sharing a bed. At least, not with a man.”

Alex took another drink and scanned the sea of faces. People of different walks rushed in opposite directions, scurrying like ants to get to their gates. Seigel and Stone were nowhere to be seen. Hopefully, they stay scarce until they board.

“You sleep with your stick?”

“No, feline. Likes to stretch out and take up an entire side of the damn bed. Why, jealous?”

“Maybe,” he shrugged indifferently. The gold chain he kept around his neck bounced from it's hiding place, shining in the offensive overhead lighting.

Alex suppressed a laugh. That chain had grazed along her skin, along the valleys and peaks of her bare skin.

Previous Night

Alex checked her phone, seeing 5 minutes had lapsed. Nodding in confidence, she grabbed the empty bottle and glass, depositing the bottle in the trash as she waiting for the elevator. Her heart pounding against the bony cage as she stepped in, the temperature quickly surging. She forced deep slow breathing, mind a mess. Her fingers ran absently through her hair, tousling it in the process. Hours ago, they had been at odds, reduced to a shouting match. Now, the months of unspoken pining, fantasizing, and nights pleasuring herself were coming to a head. She snorted at the pun as the doors parted. No turning back now. Remmick wanted her. Under the asshole exterior was a man. A damn fine man who pushed her buttons for at least four months.

Her knuckles rapped twice. Her eyes darting left then right, making sure no one was in the hall. Fuck, last thing either needed was to be seen in this compromising position. The door flung open, Remmick's hand curling around her wrist. Before Alex could speak, her body jerked forward, crashing into his chest. The door closed and locked behind her. The lean predatory stare greeted her as his hands greedily pawed at her, mouth covering hers, the need evident when his tongue slid between her lips, begging to be let in. Alex felt her body responding to his touch, fire burned where his fingers lay.

“Four fucking months,” he growled in her ear, “When you stepped in that office, wearing that damn button up blouse and pants. Then every single time you would wear ANYTHING. We both know this is terrible idea. Crossing the coach player line but fuck it.”

His mouth reclaimed hers, silencing her before she could utter a word. It was better than she could have imagined yet not what she had imagined. Demanding like his coaching. Alex didn't want it any other way. His hand slid through her hair, shuddering at the soft silk that brushed across his fingertips. Oh how he had dreamed of running his hands through those inviting tresses, grabbing them in controlled hunger while having her from behind or caressing them as she slept alongside him.

When they parted, Remmick heard the quiet pants, saw the hunger raging in her eyes. Her cheeks flush and hair tousled. Alex brought her hands to his face, thumbs lazily sliding back and forth across the dry but warm skin, drinking in the sight. Remmick's eyes studied hers, mesmerized by the beauty that stood before him.

“Álainn.”

“What does that mean?”

“Beautiful in Irish,” Remmick took the chance and stole another kiss, this one softer.

“Álainn,” he murmured against her lips.

“Bèl,” the word sending shivers of delight across his spine.

“What does that mean?” He ran his thumb along her bottom lip. Alex caught the tip with her mouth, sucking on it in such a manner Remmick yearned for it to be his cock slipping between those sultry lips. The tiny groan breached his slightly parted lips.

“It means beautiful in Louisiana Creole French.”

Remmick nodded. He knew she was from Louisiana but, when she said that little word, that little word wrapped in that delicious accent, it fanned the flames of desire even high within him.

“We don't have to do anything you don't want,” he promised. His brogue had thickened even more. Her own body burning, begging for his touch. “Tonight, this is about you. What you want. What you desire.”

Alex slid her hand across the front of his shirt, slow, bordering on tortuous. Her eyes never leaving his as the other hand joined, finding the button of his cargo shorts.

“What do you want, Alexandra?”

“M' anvi touche toi,” she grinned slyly, liberating the brass button from its confinement. Remmick didn't know what she uttered but her actions spoke loud enough. Her hand breached the elastic waistband of his boxers, pausing to lightly massage the dusky trail, observing his hips start to rock, the weeping tip of his cock bumping her fingertips.

“Relax,” she cooed, slipping her hand deeper, letting her nails faintly race down the length of his erection.

“Fuck,” his eyes closed, body surrendering. The warm circle melting into velvet, stroking him with long deliberate caresses, pausing at the base to fondle the swollen mounds.

“Tá tú ag teastáil uaim,” his voice strained, body staving back the growing chorus of desire. Alex gave one final squeeze, watching him shudder before pulling away. Her hands reaching for him, pulling him down to her greedy mouth. Remmick moved with trembling hands, curling around the backs of her thighs. She jumped into his waiting arms, clinging tight as he took them both towards the bed. He gently laid her on her back, his hands slid down fingers catching her shorts. Alex watched with heavy lust as his fingers quickly unfastened then tugged the zipper down. Her core throbbed violently as he teased her through the thin cotton barrier.

“Is this for me, love?” He pulled the damp material aside, dipping a finger inside.

“Wi,” she panted, pushing her hips down to meet him.

“Mar sin te,” he growled. “Mianach.”

Remmick watched her slowly come undone on his finger. He curled the thick digit, hitting the spot he knew would drive her mad.

“Fuck,” she hissed through gritted teeth. “Please......Remmick.”

“You have to tell me what you want.”

“Need.......more....your mouth, your cock......”

“Mar is mian leat,” he lowered his body, placing a gentle kiss to her neck. Then another and another, blazing an invisible trail. Alex felt her body rising, his hands drawing her towards him. The faded shirt was lifting up and over her head. Remmick felt like a kid opening a gift as more of her delicious body lay bare. He paused, memorizing each tiny mole, scar and a birthmark on her deltoid. More of her clothing was peeled away, presenting the perfect set of breasts topped with deep rose buds that begged to be suckled.

Her hands tugged the bottom of his tee, gathering it up and over his abs then chest. Remmick helped and peeled it away. Remmick watched as her swollen lips contacted his lower abs, mapping a trail with the tip of her tongue.

“Do whatever you want, darlin,” his hand carding encouragingly through her hair. Alex's fingers pushed the cargo shorts and boxers to his knees, rigid cock springing free. Remmick tipped his head back and closed his eyes, the warm wet tip of her tongue danced across the weeping slit as her nimble fingers teased between his legs. Her mouth widened, sliding down him until the wiry bed of curls kissed her lips. His fingers gripped her hair, pushing her head down, meeting the base with each hard snap.

The slew of incoherent babbling in Irish caused her smile. Alex quickened her pace, tongue flat against the throbbing vein, her teeth gently grazing the sensitive top. Remmick felt his hips snapping harder and faster, the sensation of her fingers exploring the receptive space just behind his balls accelerating him towards orgasm.

“Fuck, darlin, your mouth......”

Her index finger dared to go deeper, finding his clenching tight ring.

“Please....Alexandra.....”

It burned at first. This new sensation slowly fading to pleasure as the lone digit cautiously pumped inside. Remmick had to cover his mouth, remembering there were members of the team on the same floor. No need for them to find out their goalie was going down on and fingering him at the same time.

“Alex....” He couldn't finish saying her name. Hips snapping with fervor, the tightening in his lower body racing towards the peak. Remmick slapped a hand over mouth as the first wave crashed over him. Wave upon wave rolled through his body as Alex worked him through each. Hearing the sweet whimpers and cries music to her ears, her mouth sealed around him, not a single drop falling. His taste was rich and thick. A blend of earth and musk.

Remmick kept her head still, his softening cock falling against her tongue. She slowly withdrew her finger, the loss noticed. His voice hoarse, praising her in his native tongue.

“Fuck, darlin,” he whispered, bringing her to him. “You were......iontach.”

He nuzzled her neck and shoulder as his body sang. His breathing hard. Heart sprinting.

“I'll take that as you enjoyed it,” she smiled, burying her face in his chest.

“Lay back,” his voice commanding. Alex fell back, lifting her hips. The damp cotton slid down her legs then quickly discarded. His hand gently parted her legs, opening her up for him. Her skin was clean shaven save for a black strip of neatly trimmed hair. He spied the wetness dampening the bed below her. Remmick wanted to devour her, watch her squirm and beg. The gentle breach of his fingers drew a sharp gasp.

“You take my fingers so well. Imagine what my cock is gonna feel like. Buried inside you, filling you up until you can't take anymore but you do. I'll make ye.”

Alex's hips snapped involuntarily in sync with the steady snapping of his wrist. The filthy things coming out of her coach's mouth was overwhelming her body and mind.

“So close....” he watched her back arch off the bed, hips thrusting erratically, seeking the light of release.

“Not yet, baby,” his fingers pulled out, glistening in the low light of the room. Remmick earned a snarl of frustration. She watched as lifted those same fingers to his lips, letting them slowly glide between them. The low growl barely audible but the satisfaction written across his face was prominent.

“I wanna taste ye.”

Remmick grabbed her legs, letting them rest on his shoulders as he sank into the mattress. His mouth latched to her wet core.

“Fuck......Coach....”

Remmick quickly pulled back, his gaze intense at her words.

“When ye come, I want to hear you call me that.”

An order. A demand.

Alex meekly nodded.

He dove in, continuing his feast, his hands slid up, latching to her breasts. The erect buds rubbed against his calloused palm, shooting jolts of energy through her being. His tongue skilled in more than verbal lashings. Slow torturous circles danced around her swollen clit as his fingers resumed the delicious pinching and teasing of the overstimulated buds. The tension in his scalp intensified as her fingers tightened around his damp locks, hips grinding harder against his face. Remmick growled, the vibrations penetrating the hypersensitive folds, hurling her closer to the end.

“I'm getting close......”

Alex fought to stem the rising tide but Remmick's tongue and fingers were proving to be overwhelming. Her walls clenched around nothing.

His cock hardened at her plea, rubbing against the rough sheet. His index and middle finger met no resistance as they slid inside. The erratic constriction of her core hugged his slick digits as they scissored and rubbed inside. Alex tensed, her body and mind fumbling into the depths of ecstasy.

“Fuck.....Coach...”

Remmick grinned, lapping up the sweet nectar as she chanted the word like a sacred prayer. Her body was wracked with powerful convulsions, his fingers refusing to cease their tender torment. His mouth released her, but not before delivering a final sweep of his tongue as a parting gift. Alex groaned, drained from the energy her body had expelled. His fingers shined, coated with her precious essence. Alex watched as he suckled his fingers, humming in satisfaction at her taste as they again glided between the full swollen lips. It was a flavor Remmick quickly grew addicted to.

“Exquisite,” he whispered and opened his eyes. The vision which lay before him bordered on divine. Her hair a mess but in that sexy bed head way. Her skin coated in a thin sheen. The pupils in her eyes dilated, dominated by full cerulean jewels. A drop of his release beaded on her bottom lip which Remmick reached out, swiping it clean.

“Come here,” she beckoned. Remmick stretched out on his side, an arm draped possessively around her waist. Alex twisted around to her side, their eyes locking, hazy from their passionate tryst.

“How do ye feel?” He caressed her cheek with knuckles.

“Good. Tired. Like this was a dream,” the lazy smile cracked her lips.

Remmick slid closer, pressing his lips to her. Alex's lips and tongue tingled with the taste of herself as the thick musk and earth greeted him.

“Stay, please,” he quietly beseech. “I'll set the alarm. That way no one sees ye leaving.”

His fingers sought hers, linking them together.

“Can't say no to a desperate man,” she grinned. Remmick rolled his eyes.

“Pretty sure that was you 10 minutes ago, begging for me.”

“Whatever.”

Remmick's eyes wandered to the bathroom door.

“Would ye like to join me in the shower?”

“Sounds heavenly.”

Alex traced the outline of his Celtic tattoo. She would ask him what the symbol was. Eventually.

“Come on,” Remmick gently nudged, “Before we fall asleep sticky and messy.”

“One month.”

He tilted his head. “What do ye mean?”

“Took me one month to be lost to you.”

Remmick simply grinned before curling and arm around her waist, dragging her across the bed and carrying her towards the bathroom.

Present Day

Alex stole the seat next to Adair, leaving Seigel to be Remmick's seat mate. Keeping up appearances and all. Stone and Walker were passed out with Walker using Stone's shoulder as a pillow. Remmick had taken the aisle seat, letting Seigel have the window seat.

“You totally lit up coach last night and damn,” Adair uttered. “That took balls. After you left, he stood there before turning then leaving. NO ONE has ever stood up like that.”

“I didn't want to,” Alex admitted. “But I snapped.”

“But, he did apologize when we got back to the hotel. Said he lost his cool with us. Could've been less of an asshole.”

“Remmick Mayne be less of an asshole? I'd be worried if he goes soft,” Alex snickered. “Besides, it was one shit game and we need to focus on Edmonton. Can't let emotions stand in the way. I wouldn't be surprised if I'm benched and puts you out there.”

The melancholy in her voice caused Adair to wince.

“Nope,” he shook his head, “I've seen some of the best goalies have horrid days but their coaches put them back out the next night. Why? Because those coaches had faith in them. They picked themselves up and shook that shit off. Coach has faith in ya. He doesn't show it. Remmick Payne is not a man of expression.”

Oh, you didn't see the expressions on his face last night......

“I don't know if you know this, but when he was a player, there was a lot riding on him. He bore a lot of weight on his shoulders. One of the best out there. Captain. Rising Star. I think he's the way he is because he wants to see this team succeed where he didn't. That injury, it devastated him.”

“Well, Coach isn't big on sharing his feelings.”

“It's interesting what you hear in the offices after hours. He and Gill were having a chat one night after the end of the season. It was brought up. But, changing subjects, how are those hip flexors? I saw how you were moving earlier.”

“They were tight. Still a bit stiff.”

Adair nodded.

“Gonna have to really hit the stretches, heat and Ibuprofen when we get back.”

Remmick could hear Alex and Adair. His chest constricted over her admission. She still harbored the doubt. He couldn't blame her. But, Adair was right. He does have faith in her yet, a tiny part of her remains to torment her. Remmick was gonna have to work on that. His notes for practice complete, he closed the laptop and reached for his phone. Seigel was passed out, mumbling something he couldn't decipher. Probably dreaming about fighting. They had another 2 hours before landing back at Lambert. Time to hash out evening plans. Plans that revolved around a 25 year old brunette sitting one row behind him. He knew she loved Creole and Cajun cuisine. That shouldn't be a problem to find a good place in town. He began a quick search, grinning when he found there were several in the metro. Alex had accepted his offer for dinner and other entertainment before she hastily departed.

I'll be there around 7. Gotta rest up before.

He couldn't help but to smile. As much as he wanted to pin her beneath him and fill her up until she screamed his name, Remmick didn't want a quick hotel hook up. Wait, what happened was a quick hook up. No, that was an release of pent up tensions simmering for months. What he was planning, would be more meaningful. Remmick had not shown that side of him since his wife split from him. Guess he didn't have a use after he was injured. Remmick had thrown everything he had into that marriage. Gave her everything and beyond. Love wasn't the same as a million dollar mansion or the newest SUV to roll off the showroom floor. He snorted, banishing that part of him away. Bitch wasn't worth a second thought.

“Damn,” Seigel rubbed the right side of his neck.

“Use a heating pad you big baby. It'll feel better,” Stone teased. “Or you could've used Coach as a pillow. I'm sure he wouldn't have minded.”

“Shut up.”

“You're quiet over there,” Stone noticed Alex's distant look.

“Yeah, just thinking about the next game. Got three days to get my shit in gear. Adair says Coach won't bench me. Says he's got faith in me.”

“Duh,” Stone snorted.

“If you're worried, we'll step up our drills. We can keep you on your little toes. Besides, I'm sure someone will enjoy watching you bouncing and jumping all around.”

“Jesus, this again,” Alex groaned.

“Look, Chrissy and I saw you and a certain Irish man last night,” Seigel whispered.

Alex's face drained of color. “What did you see?”

“You two sharing that bottle of Jack,” Stone chimed in. “Some looks of longing, maybe a little kissy kissy.”

“Fuck,” she scrubbed a hand over her face. Her stomach churned, threatening to expel the scrambled eggs and bacon she had.

“Oh, relax,” Stone clasped a hand on her shoulder, “Seigel and I had a bet to see when you two would finally crack. I'm out 50 by the way.”

“You two had a bet!? Tell me why I shouldn't kick your asses right here, right now in this terminal then all the way back to the arena.”

“Because Chrissy and I, we're not gonna say shit. Hell, we made sure some nice old man didn't walk in on you two. Told him the deck was closed for repairs. He believed us.”

“What do you two want? What's the deal?”

“No deal,” Stone answered, sincere in his words. “Look, when we figured out you two had some longing for one another.......”

“Chrissy and I sat back and watched this blooming romance unfold.”

“Who else knows?” Anxiety filled her veins.

“No one,” Seigel shook his head. "They see what's before them. They think you and Coach went toe to toe. That he's a hard ass pushing you, pushing your buttons. He's got a stick up his ass.”

“Let's keep it that way,” her voice lowered to a whisper.

The drive home had been slow. Getting out of Lambert was a pain in the ass as usual. Stone shared seats with Adair as Alex drew the seat next to Remmick. Her phone went off.

7 PM. My place. Dinner on me.

Alex paused, looking out the window, smiling at the glass.

“And for the Edmonton games, I'm putting you in. Look, it was one game. I know you can do better. I've seen you when you're on your game.”

“Thanks,” she smiled.

“A coach has to have faith in his players. Even when she has a few shit games as she put it.”

Alex smiled. She looked at her phone and punched a response.

I thought dinner was served on plates.

She kept her eyes on the window, watching the spans of suburban sprawl whisk by. They all looked the same. No character. Cookie cutter towns. Bedroom communities. The closer they drew to the heart of the metro, the more the character changed. The interstate billboard proudly announced the ghost tours for the Lemp Mansion. Another broadcasting the latest haunted house to open. Older brick homes began to dot the along the way. The Arch grew taller with each passing mile. Almost home.

The bus rolled off I-64 onto Clark Street, turning into the parking area. Nearby Busch Stadium filling up with fans. Apparently, they had made the playoffs. Good for them.

Alex bade everyone goodbye, heading towards her truck. Still had about 5 hours before she was due to meet at Remmick's. He had disappeared to his office as everyone scattered to head home. She took her time, loading her luggage after dropping her gear off. She was ready to hit the shower and see the little four legged demon who probably thought he was starving despite being fed and cared for by Adair's wife, Stacy. Starvin Marvin.

As she started to turn the ignition, a short rapt on the window caused her to jump in her seat. Hand over her chest, she turned her head to see Remmick standing on the other side, beaming from ear to ear.

“Asshole,” she swung the door open and stepped out.

“Didn't meant to startle ye. Thought ye would've left by now.”

“I was but then some crazy guy knocked on my truck window.”

Remmick's grin didn't falter as he leaned in, pressing a burning kiss to her pouty lips.

“We're in a public place,” she whined.

“No one's here. No one can see us. Cameras can't see us,” he dove in again, seeking the heat of those sweet lips pressing against his.

“Gonna spoil your appetite,” she chided him playfully.

“An appetizer never spoiled anyone's appetite,” his lips once again planting hard to hers. “It's just a taste of what's to come.”

“So poetic.”

“Don't tell anyone. Would ruin that reputation of being a pain in the ass.”

“I cross my heart,” the smile crept up the corners of her lips. “See you at 7. Coach.”

Remmick eagerly nodded. “Ní féidir liom fanacht.”

“Good.”

Remmick watched as she hopped back in and pulled away. The smile never wavering, even as he got into his own car and exited the lot.

Remmick couldn't stay seated. It was a quarter to 7. The sun had since set, the apartment awash in a few lamps while the dining area was illuminated with a fancy overhead light. It came with the loft. Houses were to burdensome for him. Having lived most of his life in flats or apartments as they were called here, a house didn't seem palatable to Remmick.

He quickly went over everything, making sure everything was in place. Now, it was 5 till 7. The door buzzer went off, his heart instantly racing in response.

“Who is it?” He answered in a flat tone. On the occasion it could be someone else.

“The pain in your ass goalie.”

Alex couldn't see the dreamy smile plastered on his lips as he buzzed her in.

Remmick opened the door. His mouth dropped open at the sight which greeted him. Alex had chosen a button front mini sweater dress. Emerald green. Strap sandals adorned her feet as a simple clutch topped off the ensemble. Her hair was down, flowing freely.

“Something smells good,” she sauntered across the threshold, feeling his eyes trailing her movements. Alex spun around, drinking in the vision standing before her. Black slacks that fit too well. A dark navy button up shirt with the top two buttons left open, showing the chain and a peak of that tattoo just below the right side of his collarbone. His feet were bare and hair neatly combed; not like the chaotic mop of curls she had grown accustomed to.

“Yeah, I ordered in from a local place. Cajun.”

“Now, you didn't do that on my behalf now did you?”

“Maybe,” he shrugged.

“Well,” she crossed the room, the smile rising, “that was very sweet of you. You didn't have to.”

“But, what if I wanted to, álainn?”

“Then,” she gave him a short peck, “I would have to thank you properly.”

Dinner was amazing. The table was formally set. Alex insisted it was too much Remmick had insisted it wasn't. The shrimp Creole, red beans and rice hit home. It reminded her of her uncle's cooking. Every bite burst with flavor, a perfect sensory experience. The bread pudding was the perfect compliment to the meal. A bottle of red wine from one of Augusta's vineyards sat empty between them.

“That was amazing,” she sat back, stomach full and head buzzing. Remmick caught the blush growing across her cheeks. “Thank you for dinner and the wine. I can help with the dishes. Wouldn't feel right if you did all the work.”

He rose from his chair, rounding the table to where she sat, extending his hand. The temperature rose as she happily accepted, rising to meet him. Their eyes locked, silent need rising between them. The scent of his cologne, cedar and sandalwood, tickled her senses, fannning the flames of desire deep in her being. Remmick leaned in, tracing his nose along her neck, her choice of perfume perfection.

“Dishes can wait,” his hands slid down to her hips, pulling her flush with his body. The bulge in his slacks bumped against her then twitched to the pressure of her warm soft body. “I'm ready for dessert,” his voice rumbled into her neck. “Been waiting all day.”

His hot wet lips worked down her neck, pausing at the jnction of her shoulder. Alex's hands roamed across his back, working lower until they came to rest on the tight globes of his ass, giving them a firm squeeze. The ass she had tried to discreetly gaze at for the last four months. The same sweet ass she gripped so tight the night before.

“I think we should take this somewhere more comfortable,” Remmick breathed against her partially bare shoulder. Before Alex could reply, Remmick swept her up and in his arms. “More private.”

He started towards his bedroom, holding Alex as if she was the most precious thing he possessed.