“As you can see, Sanderson’s office is over here,” Russ motions to a closed door off the main locker area. “And here’s the team’s lockers.” He waves his hand again. There are rows and rows of black and red lockers with wooden benches lining the front of them. Pictures of LAU hockey alumni are hung on the walls, showcasing players in their most memorable moments on the ice. There’s also a black framed display of every previous player who was recruited to the NHL. Their jersey numbers, athletic stats, and which team they played for are all there too. It’s crazy and shows exactly how prestigious LAU’s program really is.
My chest swells with pride as I take in the names.
I’m not related to them or anything, but it’s still cool. To see some of the greatest professional hockey players’ origin stories. Their history. And now, I share a piece of their history. It’s freaking amazing.
Epic, actually.
I trace a name with my finger, a smile gracing my lips.
This.
This is why I want to go into athletic medicine. So I can help some of the future greatest players of all time stay great. So I can help prevent and mend injuries. So I can keep the players healthy and on the ice instead of on the bench before they reach their full potential.
Like I did with soccer.
Sure, some are a bunch of big babies, and it’ll probably feel like babysitting half the time, but it’s still worth it.
Isn’t it?
“My office is down the hall past the showers,” Russ says behind me. “Have you ever seen a dick before?”
I nearly choke on my own spit as I twist on my heel and face him. “I’m sorry, what?”
“I’m just saying.” He shrugs and tucks his hands into his front pockets. “You’re the first girl we’ve hired. I think you have what it takes to excel in this field, but there were a lot of people chomping at the bit for this internship, and you’re gonna be around a lot of guys. They like walking around naked. You okay with it?”
An image of Theo in nothing but a towel comes to mind. I shove it away.
“Not a problem,” I lie, praying my cheeks aren’t as red as they feel.
His bushy white brows rise on his weathered face. “You sure?”
“Definitely. Yup. Positive.” I bite my tongue to keep from rambling even more.
His gaze narrows, and he mutters, “All right. Good. ‘Cause I don’t work with dandies. If you’re gonna be here, you’re gonna see shit. Broken bones. Bloody mouths. And a few naked men. I’m not gonna say something to the team or ask them to act differently ‘round here just because we hired a girl. The locker room is their safe space. I’d prefer to keep it that way without making them bend over backward for the new intern. We clear?”
I nod and clear my throat. “Crystal.”
“Good. Now, most of the players are good guys, but if you ever feel unsafe or any of that shit, reach out to me. Sanderson and I already talked about it. Bringing a girl into the locker room can be a sticky situation, but we’re trying to be progressive. As long as you aren’t stupid, we want you here, and if the guys give you any trouble, you can talk to us.”
“I’ll keep it in mind.”
“Good. Also, I’m not your babysitter. I expect you to be here when I tell you and to follow orders when I give them.”
“I can do that.”
“Figured.” He winks then checks the time on his watch. “Shit. I lost track of time. I have a phone call I have to take, and until you finish the HIPAA training, you can’t be included.” He glances at the head coach’s closed door and frowns. “You can shadow Sanderson as soon as he’s finished in his office with your brother. Once I’m done with the call, I’ll come find ya, and we’ll go through some massage techniques on one of the players in my office. Sanderson should be done any minute. Just hang out in here. We’ll introduce you to the team as soon as they’re done cleaning up.”
Practice ended about ten minutes ago, before I was led into the training facility, so I haven’t seen any of the players yet. I can hear the showers running, though, along with their deep voices. Part of me wants to ask if Russ really thinks it’s a good idea to leave me alone in the locker room when the entire team is showering less than thirty feet away. But he already asked if I’m comfortable being here, and if I bring up the showering tidbit, it’ll prove the opposite.
I can’t let that happen.
“Sure thing. I’ll just wait here.” I rock back on my heels, hooking my thumbs into the back pockets of my dark jeans and wait, though I have no idea what I’m waiting for.
“Good,” he returns. “I’ll be back in ten.”
He heads down the hall, disappearing through the steam billowing from the shower area as he passes it while leaving me completely and utterly alone.
Great.
Fidgeting with the lanyard around my neck, I peruse the black billboard showcasing the hockey alumni again and search for any familiar names.
Barely a minute passes when a bunch of boisterous male voices echoes behind me. Fisting my sweaty palms on the bottom of my T-shirt, I try not to freak the hell out and remind myself to breathe.
Apparently, they’re done with their showers.
I squeeze my eyes shut even though I’m not facing anyone and prepare for the inevitable.
Please don’t be naked.
6
BLAKELY
The hair along the back of my neck stands at full attention since, you know, I’m standing in the men’s locker room where a few players are possibly––probably––naked. And they have no idea I’m here. Or at least, not yet. I count down from ten, curious to see how long it takes until I’m spotted. But I don’t turn around. I won’t. Not until they have a chance to notice a girl’s in the locker room and realize they need to cover their junk. Or at least, hopefully, they’ll realize they need to cover their junk. Honestly, hockey players are known for being hit in the head, so who knows if they’ll put two and two together. But a girl can hope, can’t she?
Ten.
Nine.
Eight.
“You lost, beautiful?” a low voice asks, the rest of their chatter ceasing.
Well, would ya look at this? Apparently, I’ve been spotted.
Sucking in my cheeks until they’re hollow, I turn around, steel my shoulders, and smile, making sure my line of sight is angled toward the ceiling instead of anyone’s nether regions. When I catch a glimpse of fluffy white towels wrapped around their waists, I breathe out a sigh of relief. There are three of them. And even though they’re covered from hip to calf, their massive builds are still on full display as their attention drifts down my body.
They don’t even have the decency to hide their curiosity. Nope. They’re checking me out openly and without an ounce of shame. Can’t say I’m surprised.
“Gentlemen,” I greet them. “And no, I’m not lost.”
I’ve watched enough games to recognize each and every one of them. Quin Graves. One of the goaltenders on the roster. A little hot-tempered but good at protecting the net. Winston Depp. Defenseman. A little weak in the skating department but pretty freaking awesome at stealing the puck. And a new guy. Austin, I think? Greg Austin? He hasn’t had any time on the ice yet, but he played well in high school. Sanderson was smart to recruit him.