light and he realized it wasn’t simply black, as he’d thought, but a shifting mix of brown and black. “I didn’t play at the top of my game in the play-offs last year. It happens. Check out the NHL sometime. Best team going into the play-offs loses in the first round. Most expensive player on the team falls on his ass. Like I said, it happens.”
“Your friends seem to think that you didn’t simply have a bad couple of days in both of the last two play-off seasons. They think you choked.”
He was getting more irritated by the second. He wondered how he’d managed to stay friends with such a pair of meddlers for the past three decades. “You should know that if you start putting ideas in a player’s head about choking and performance anxiety, you’re sowing the seeds for trouble.”
“That’s an interesting phrase you use. Performance anxiety. Do you think you suffer from it?”
“No. You’re putting words in my mouth. I—”
“They were your words, Adam.”
“Look, it’s an amateur tournament. We raise money for charity. It’s not the Stanley Cup.”
“Then why are you getting so worked up about this? Maybe I can help you. Maybe I can’t. The best thing that can happen is that I help you improve your playing ability during the play-off rounds. The worst thing that can happen is that nothing changes. Either way, my services are free and all you’re giving up is some time.”
“What about you? What’s in this for you?”
Her fingernails were longer than strictly necessary. He had a momentary vision of her dragging them down his back in the height of passion. He had to blink the crazy mental image away.
“Max is a good friend who’s done a lot to help me build my business. If he asks a favor, I’ll do it. No questions asked.”
It was stupid to feel a pang of jealousy. Max was a great guy and very successful with women. If he and the dominatrix performance coach had a past, it was nothing to do with him. Still, some devil prompted him to ask, “And Max? Would he do anything for you?”
Her gaze stayed level on his. “I like to think so.”
He took another sip of coffee. “I don’t know.”
“It’s up to you. If you’re not willing to work with me, to do any exercises I give you, then we’re both wasting our time.”
“And if I do? If I promise to do your exercises and whatever else you ask of me? Can you guarantee my team will win Badges on Ice?”
When she laughed, her whole face lightened. She had even white teeth, a little wrinkle at the top of her nose that crinkled when she smiled. “If I had that kind of power, I think we’d be sitting here bartering for your soul. At least.” She set her cup down. “Here’s what I can guarantee. If you work with me, you’ll know that your performance is the best it can be on that day. That you’re not getting in your own way.”
There was an uncomfortable ring of truth to those words. Getting in your own way. Did he do that?
“Give an example of one of these exercises.”
“I’ll give you one right now. And I want it completed next time we meet.” She pulled a well-worn leather planner out of her bag. Interesting that for all her gadgets she still relied on paper. “I think we should get right on this. How’s tomorrow at lunch for you? You can pick the place.”
“Yeah. I can do that. What’s the exercise?”
“I want you to go through the plays you messed up on last year’s play-off game. In visual detail, and reimagine them as successful plays.”
“I’ve played dozens of hockey games since last year. I can barely remember the championship game.”
She drilled him with her eyes. “You remember every second of those games. And you’ve tortured yourself over and over again reliving your mistakes.”
“I—”
“Don’t. We both know the truth.”
She was right, damn it, and the uncomfortable silence only confirmed her words. He’d spent sleepless nights going over every second of play, every moment when he should have been on top of his game, and instead he’d felt a big weight on his chest and a strange feeling of panic. He didn’t want to go back there and experience that panic again, not even in the privacy of his home. He wanted to get out there and prove he had the guts and skill to lead his team as he did all year long. To be a winner.
“I’ll try,” he said.
She shook her head. “Let’s work on a different verb. Not try.”
“Okay. I’ll do it!”
“Good.” She put her planner away and glanced at the slim gold watch on her wrist that was so expensive he bet a lover gave it to her. His mind sped to Max, who could afford to buy every watch, watchmaker and watch factory in Switzerland if he so desired. “Well, our thirty minutes are up. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
He rose as well, mostly because his mother would smack him on the back of the head if she caught him slouching while a woman was leaving.
She held out her hand and as he clasped it, he thought that her long fingers and those red-tipped nails would look just right wrapped around the handle of a whip. Uncomfortable heat coursed through him.
As she released her grip, she said, “By the way, what was your wish? The one Dylan said you got?”
He stared at her for a moment, debating with himself, then decided, what the hell. She’d asked. He leaned a little closer, the way he would if he were at a party wanting to get to know a woman better. “I told Max that if I had to work with a female performance coach, she’d better be hot.”
She didn’t sputter or blush or act coy. She said, “Well, it’s nice to know your friend thinks I’m hot.”
“Oh, he’s not the only one.”
3
WHEN SHE ARRIVED home at the end of a long day, Serena was so tired she wanted to throw a frozen dinner into the microwave, pour herself a huge glass of wine and flop on the couch.
But her blog waited.
She could hear her inner saboteur muttering, I don’t want to blog tonight. I’m too tired.
Negative thinking, she reminded herself. Negative thinking got you exactly nowhere. Her success was the product of hard work as well as talent and she never let herself forget it. She was a big believer in the saying that success was 1 percent inspiration and 99 percent perspiration.
She updated her blog every Monday. In a perfect world she’d update more often, but she tried to use her time as wisely as possible and once a week was a reasonable compromise.
As was a glass of wine, she decided.
She unzipped her boots, put her clothes neatly away and dragged on her oldest, most comfortable pair of jeans and a favorite
