Hot As Puck

Chapter 1

Brandy

The sleek glass doors of the New York Titans' headquarters slide open, and I step into a world of polished chrome and the unmistakable scent of ambition. My heels click against the marble floor as I make my way to Shayla's office, my new boss and the woman who's about to initiate me into the high-stakes realm of professional hockey rehabilitation.

"Brandy, come in," Shayla calls out as I approach her open door. She's perched behind a massive desk, her salt-and-pepper hair pulled back in a no-nonsense bun. "Ready to dive into the deep end?"

I grin, settling into the chair across from her. "Born ready. Hit me with it."

Shayla's lips quirk up in approval. "That's what I like to hear. Now, let's talk about our problem children." She taps a stack of files on her desk. "We've got a few players who'll need your magic touch before the season kicks off."

I lean forward, eager to prove my worth. "Lay it on me. Who's first on the chopping block?"

"Let's start with Mike," Shayla says, flipping open the top file. "Shoulder injury from last season. He's been slacking on his PT, and we need him in top form."

I nod, already formulating a plan. "Got it. I'll whip him into shape. I have a way with resistant participants."

"Love to hear that. Next up, we've got Jason," Shayla continues, moving to the next file. "Knee's been giving him trouble. He's our star player, so we need him at a hundred and ten percent."

My heart doesn't skip a beat at the name. After all, Jason's as common as dirt. I focus on the task at hand. "Any specific concerns with his injury?"

Shayla shakes her head. "Nothing out of the ordinary, but he's crucial to our lineup. I want you to give him extra attention."

"Consider it done," I reply, making a mental note. "Who else is on the roster?"

As Shayla continues running down the list of players, I can't help but feel a thrill of excitement. This is what I've been working towards – a chance to prove myself in the big leagues. Each name represents a challenge, a puzzle for me to solve.

"That about covers it," Shayla says, closing the last file. "Any questions?"

I shake my head, confidence surging through me. "Nope. I'm ready to get started."

Shayla grins, a predatory gleam in her eye. "That's what I like to hear. Welcome to the Titans, Brandy. Now go work your magic."

She hands me a sleek keycard, her eyes twinkling with mischief. "Your kingdom awaits, my dear. Try not to get lost in there."

I snatch the card, grinning. "No promises. I might set up camp and never come out."

"Just remember," she calls as I head for the door, "I expect miracles, not hermits!"

The hallway stretches before me, a gleaming expanse of possibility. My heels click sharply against the polished floor, each step bringing me closer to my new domain. I pause at a set of double doors, my heart racing as I swipe the keycard.

The lock disengages with a soft click, and I push the doors open, stepping into... Well, holy shit.

"Wow," I whisper, drinking in the sight.

Floor-to-ceiling windows dominate one wall, offering a panoramic view of the stadium below that takes my breath away. Sunlight streams in, bathing the room in a warm glow that makes everything look like it's straight out of a dream. To my right, a state-of-the-art treatment table beckons, surrounded by equipment that would make any PT drool. Hell, I'm practically salivating myself.

I run my fingers along the smooth surface of my nearby desk, marveling at the cool touch of mahogany. It's the kind of furniture you see in fancy magazines, not something you'd expect in a therapy room. A top-of-the-line computer setup sits ready, dual monitors gleaming like they've never been touched. I can already picture myself working here, fingers flying across the keyboard as I update player files. This isn't just a room – it's a freakin' palace of physical therapy.

"This is mine?" I murmur, still in disbelief.

I spot a small kitchenette tucked away in one corner, complete with a fancy espresso machine. "Oh, hello, beautiful," I coo, already imagining the caffeine-fueled nights ahead.

My gaze lands on a framed jersey hanging on the wall, autographed by the entire Titans team. A sticky note clings to the glass:

Welcome to the family. Excited to see what you'll do. - Shayla

I chuckle, shaking my head. "No pressure or anything."

Sinking into the plush leather chair behind my desk, I spin slowly, taking it all in. The enormity of the opportunity hits me, a mixture of excitement and nerves bubbling in my chest.

"Alright, Brandy," I say to myself, cracking my knuckles. "Time to show these boys what you're made of."

I start playing with the high ticket items on my desk, trying to decide between a minimalist setup or organized chaos, when a knock at the door interrupts my internal debate.

"Come in!" I call out, swiveling in my chair.

The door swings open, revealing a woman with a bright smile and an armful of files. "Hey there! I'm Katie, the new physiologist. Thought I'd introduce myself before we're knee-deep in muscle strains and protein shakes."

I stand up, grinning. "Brandy. Physical therapist extraordinaire and newly minted Titan wrangler. Come on in, pull up a chair."

Katie drops her files on a nearby table and plops into the chair across from me. "So, ready to whip these boys into shape? Some of them are real tools, I tell ya."

"Oh, you know it," I say, leaning back. "I've got a mean streak when it comes to slackers. You might want to invest in some earplugs for when the whining starts. And it won't be my whining I'm talking about."

Katie laughs, a rich, genuine sound. "I like your style already. Maybe we can tag-team the stubborn ones. Good cop, bad cop style."

"Dibs on bad cop," I reply, winking. "I've perfected my 'disappointed mom' look. I think I even have a handlebar moustache in here somewhere."

"Deal," Katie says, her eyes twinkling. "I'll bring the juice boxes and stickers for good behavior."

We chat for a bit, swapping stories about our most challenging patients and debating the merits of various recovery techniques. It's easy, natural – like we've known each other for years instead of minutes. I find myself relaxing, my earlier nerves about the new job fading away as Katie and I trade quips and professional insights.

"So," Katie says, glancing at her watch, a mischievous glint in her eye, "what's your take on the team so far? Any potential problem children I should watch out for? I mean, we are dealing with pro athletes here. Egos the size of stadiums, am I right?"

I shrug, thinking back to the files Shayla showed me. My mind flicks through the faces and names, trying to pinpoint any red flags. "Hard to say without meeting them in person. But I've got my eye on a couple already. There's this guy Mike who's apparently been slacking on his PT... Classic case of 'I know my body better than the doctors' syndrome, if you ask me. And don't even get me started on the one who thinks ice baths are optional. Like, honey, your muscles aren't made of steel."

Katie perks up at the name. "Mike? The forward with the killer slapshot?"

"That's the one," I nod, noticing her sudden interest. "Why? Got some inside info?"

She shakes her head, a little too quickly. "Nah, just... heard he's a key player. We should probably keep a close eye on him, right?"

I raise an eyebrow, filing away her reaction for later. "Uh-huh. Sure. For purely professional reasons, of course."

Katie stands up, gathering her files. "Well, I should get back to setting up my own office. It's just across the hall if you need anything."

"Thanks for stopping by," I say, walking her to the door. "Looking forward to working with you."

"Same here," she replies, pausing in the doorway. "Oh, and Brandy? Fair warning – I'm totally stealing that espresso machine when you're not looking."

I laugh, shooing her out. "Dream on, coffee thief. I sleep with one eye open."

As Katie disappears into her office, I close the door, still chuckling. It's nice to know I've got an ally in this testosterone-fueled madhouse. Something tells me we're going to need each other before this season's through.

Still smiling about Katie's snarky, bubbly personality that fits so well with mine, I stand on my tiptoes, stretching to hang a framed print of Monet's "Water Lilies" on the wall behind my desk. The serene blues and greens contrast nicely with the sleek, modern office decor. Just as I'm about to step back and admire my handiwork, a knock echoes through the room.

"Come in," I call out, still fussing with the frame's alignment.

The door creaks open, followed by heavy footsteps and a low mutter. "Damn knee's acting up again. Hope the new PT can—"

I set the painting aside and turn around, a welcoming smile plastered on my face. "Hi there, I'm Brandy, the new—"

The words die in my throat as I take in the man standing before me. My heart stutters, then kicks into overdrive. Time seems to slow, each second stretching into eternity as my brain struggles to process what my eyes are seeing.

Those bright blue eyes, now widened in shock. The strong jaw, now sporting a neatly trimmed beard. The long brown hair, pulled back into a messy ponytail. It's a face I know better than my own, one I thought I'd never see again.

Jason.

My high school sweetheart. My college love. The man I let go seven years ago, thinking it was for the best.

And now he's here, in my office, looking like he's seen a ghost.

I open my mouth, but no words come out. My mind races, a thousand memories flooding back in an instant. Late-night study sessions. Stolen kisses between classes. The bittersweet pain of our goodbye.

Jason stands frozen in the doorway, his hand still on the knob. The silence stretches between us, heavy with unspoken words and shared history.

Finally, he breaks the spell, his voice a hoarse whisper. "Brandy?"