His Pucking Queen

Chapter 1

Asher

I adjust my tie, scanning the room like a hawk searching for prey. This recruiting event is my chance to land a good coaching gig, and I'll be damned if I let it slip through my fingers. The air hums with chatter and the clink of glasses, a symphony of ambition and networking.

Most of these scouts and managers I have already met. Though some had okay offers, the ones I really wanted weren’t interested. I’m not going to leave empty-handed tonight. 

I continue my search of the room, looking for prospects.

That's when I see her.

Standing out like a beacon in the sea of suits and forced smiles, she's a vision in a charcoal dress that rides the line between cocktail chic and boardroom-ready. Her curly black hair frames a face that could launch a thousand hockey pucks, and those green eyes? Damn. They're magnetic.

I watch her for a moment and realize that she’s a scout herself. Even better. Now I have a reason to at least approach her and see what she has to offer.

Before I know it, my feet are carrying me towards her. She notices my approach, those captivating eyes locking onto mine. Game on.

"Evening," I say, flashing my most disarming smile. "I'm Asher. And you are?"

"Wylie," she replies, her voice a perfect blend of honey and whiskey. "What brings you to this den of desperation, Asher?"

I chuckle, appreciating her candor. "Hunting for my next coaching gig. You?"

"Oh, I'm just here for the free drinks," she quips, raising her glass with a mischievous glint in her eye.

"Bullshit," I call her out, grinning. "A woman like you doesn't waste her time on watered-down cocktails and stale conversation unless she's got skin in the game."

Wylie's eyebrows arch, a smile playing at the corners of her mouth. "Perceptive. I like that in a man."

"I've got other qualities you might like too," I counter, leaning in slightly.

She laughs, a rich sound that holds my attention. "I bet you do. But you're right, I'm not here for the ambiance. My father owns a team."

"No kidding? Which one?"

"The Daredevils," she says, a hint of pride in her voice. "Small-town team in Forge. Ever heard of it?"

"Can't say I have," I admit. "But I'm suddenly very interested in learning more."

"About the team or about me?" Wylie challenges, her gaze unwavering.

I meet her eyes, feeling the spark of attraction crackle between us. "Both."

I lean in closer, drawn by the magnetic pull of Wylie's presence. Though I want to woo her, I do so while still getting down to business. "So, tell me about this small-town team of yours. What makes the Daredevils so daring?"

Wylie's lips curl into a smirk. "Well, for starters, we've got a knack for hiring coaches with more ego than sense."

"Ouch," I chuckle, placing a hand over my heart. "And here I thought we were getting along so well."

"Oh, we are," she says, her green eyes sparkling with mischief. "I'm just preparing you for what you're up against. Forge isn't exactly the big leagues."

"Who says I need the big leagues?" I counter, surprising myself with how much I mean it. "Sometimes the real challenge is in the unexpected places."

Wylie raises an eyebrow. "Is that so? And what unexpected challenges are you looking for?"

"Well, for starters, a team I can help build as my own. And secondly, a conversation that keeps me on my toes. Gotta say, you're nailing that one."

She laughs, a sound that makes the stuffy room feel suddenly alive. "Glad to hear I'm exceeding expectations. It's a rare occurrence in my world."

"Now that I find hard to believe," I say, leaning against the bar. "A woman like you? I bet you leave a trail of exceeded expectations wherever you go."

"Careful," Wylie warns, but her smile betrays her. "Flattery will get you everywhere."

"That's the plan," I wink, enjoying our back-and-forth more than I have any conversation in years.

Just as I'm about to suggest we ditch this snooze-fest for somewhere more interesting, a hand touches my shoulder. I turn to find myself face-to-face with an older man, his expression one of determination.

"Coach Asher Bronson, I presume?" he says, his grip firm. "Joe Griffith. I couldn't help but overhear you talking about my team."

I straighten up, switching into professional mode. "Mr. Griffith, pleasure to meet you. Your daughter was just giving me the inside scoop on the Daredevils."

Joe's eyes flick to Wylie, then back to me. "Was she now? Well, let me cut to the chase. We're in the market for a new coach, someone with fresh ideas and the guts to implement them. I've heard good things about you, Asher. How would you like to come down to Forge and show us what you've got?"

The offer catches me off guard. I glance at Wylie, but she's already melted into the crowd, leaving me alone with her father. A part of me wants to go after her, to finish our conversation, to see where this spark between us might lead. But the coach in me, the part that lives for the game, is intrigued by Joe's offer. After all, it is the reason why I’m here.

"That's... quite an opportunity, Mr. Griffith," I say, my mind racing. "I'd be lying if I said I wasn't interested."

Joe nods, launching into a pitch about the team's potential and the challenges ahead. But I'm only half-listening, my eyes scanning the room for a glimpse of Wylie's curls or the flash of her green eyes. 

Joe hands me his business card before walking away telling me to think about it and to let him know within the coming week. 

I weigh my options. A small-town team could be the perfect stepping stone, a chance to prove myself. And if it means seeing more of this Wylie character... well, that's just an added bonus.

I scan the crowd one last time, my eyes searching for that flash of green and those captivating curls. For a moment, I think I spot her.

"Asher! Didn't expect to see you here, man."

I turn, recognizing an old teammate. "Hey, Rick. Yeah, just keeping my options open."

We exchange a few pleasantries, but my mind's not in it. When I look back to where I thought I'd seen Wylie, she's gone. Vanished like smoke.

I make my excuses and start weaving through the crowd. My eyes dart from face to face, but none of them are hers. The disappointment settles in my gut like a lead weight.

As I reach the exit, the reality hits me. Wylie's gone. Left without a word, without a goodbye. It shouldn't affect me this much, I barely know her. Besides, I got an offer out of it. But yet, she still seems to keep my mind’s attention.

I step out into the cool night air, letting it clear my head. Joe's offer echoes in my mind. The Daredevils. Forge. A small-town team with big potential. And Wylie...

"Fuck," I growl, running a hand through my hair. I can't take a job just to chase a woman. I'm not some horny teenager. I've had my fair share of conquests, it's not like I'm hurting for company.

But she seems different. The way she held herself, confident and sexy as hell. Not trying too hard, just naturally magnetic. A woman who knows her worth and isn't afraid to show it.

I flag down a cab, my mind busy with the events of the night. The job itself is intriguing, sure. But I'd be lying if I said the prospect of seeing Wylie again isn't a major draw.

As the city lights blur past the window, I can't shake the image of her. Those green eyes, that sly smile. The way she kept me on my toes with every word.

"Where to?" the cabbie asks, snapping me out of my thoughts.

I give him my hotel’s address, settling back into the seat. The recruiting event's energy has drained out of me, replaced by a restless curiosity. Wylie's abrupt departure only fuels my need for more. That’s what this is really about. I hate feeling left unfulfilled.

When I get to my hotel, I toss my key onto the counter with a clatter. The silence feels oppressive after the buzz of the recruiting event. I loosen my tie, my mind still pondering the job offer.

I grab a beer from the mini-fridge, popping the cap off with practiced ease. The cold liquid does little to calm the fire in my veins. This isn't like me. I don't get hung up on women, especially ones I've just met.

I pace the living room, Joe's business card burning a hole in my pocket.

"Get it together, Asher," I growl at myself. "You're not some lovesick puppy."

But the excitement builds, a potent mix of professional challenge and personal intrigue. I've never backed down from a challenge, and I'll be damned if I start now.

Before I can talk myself out of it, I pull out my phone and dial Joe's number.

"Griffith," his gruff voice answers on the third ring.

"Mr. Griffith, it's Asher. About that coaching position..."

"Decided we’re worth the tryout?" 

"Actually, I want to accept the job. If the offer's still on the table."

There's a pause, and for a moment, I think I've misread the situation. Then Joe chuckles. "Well, hot damn. Welcome aboard, son. When can you start?"

We hash out the details, and by the time I hang up, it's settled. In two weeks, I'll be in Forge, ready to whip the Daredevils into shape.

I toss my phone onto the couch, a grin spreading across my face. This is it. My shot at the big time, even if it's starting in a small pond. I'll turn those Daredevils into a force to be reckoned with.

And if I happen to see more of Wylie in the process, then at least I know I’ll like the view.

I know getting involved with the boss's daughter is a recipe for disaster. But the memory of our banter, the spark between us, it's too intriguing to ignore. There's more to Wylie than meets the eye, and I'm itching to unravel her mysteries.

As for Forge? I've got no clue what to expect. But that's half the fun. A new town, a new team, a new challenge. It's everything I've been looking for, wrapped up in one unexpected package.

I drain my beer, my mind already strategizing plays and training regimens. But beneath it all, there's a current of anticipation. Of possibility.

Forge, here I come. Ready or not.