Forbidden love for my hockey coach

Wren POV "f**k," I groan, gripping the edge of my dark sheets, already halfway off the bed. My back arches as everything in me clenches, a wave ripping through me. My nails dig into the bed while the moans from the phone screen propped against my headboard fill the room. "Yeah," the girl breathes, her blonde hair sticking to her forehead. "Hmmm. Just like that." I told myself I was only going to watch it, just to get my morning started right. But before I know it, my hand is already reaching for the drawer beside me, feeling around until I find what I want. I let out a shaky breath, kick the rest of the sheet off my leg, and plug my goldenman into the socket behind me. Yes. That's what I call it. I bite down on my bottom lip as I pull my lounge pants down just enough, ignoring the small ache in my hip. My body is already buzzing with anticipation as I lift myself up, lining the device near my entrance. "Five minutes," I whisper to myself. "Five minutes and I'll get up and get ready." The tip is just starting to tease me open when the light goes off. Silence drops over the whole apartment and meets me right there on the bed, needy and cheated out of something. I can't even hide the scowl that forms on my face, or stop the frustrated groan that follows it. "For f**k's sake!" I mutter, throwing my goldenman to the floor and falling back into the bed. "This town. Remind me again why I moved here." But I already know. Everything in me knows. I don't need reminding, because the reason lives right inside me, refusing to let me rest. I sigh again and drag myself off the bed just as a knock lands on my door. Part of me thinks about ignoring whoever it is, because my morning has already started badly enough. But I don't want to leave a bad impression on my first day, so I pull my pants back up and walk to the door. Whoever this is will just have to manage my mood. The knock comes again, harder this time, and I roll my eyes. "I'm coming," I shout. "You don't have to break my door down this early." I mutter the last part under my breath before pulling the door open. "Hello, good…" The rest of my fake cheerful greeting dies in my mouth the moment I see the man standing outside. He looks like he just stepped out of the shower, his hair still wet and stuck to his forehead. But that's not what silences me. It's his face. He looks like he should be on the cover of a fitness magazine, not standing by my door in trousers and a shirt with the logo of the university I just transferred into, scowling at me like I owe him something. There's a stud in one ear, catching the light when he tilts his head. "Can you turn that down?" He leans against the doorframe, green eyes looking me over with something close to distaste, a smug curl at the corner of his mouth that makes me decide, right there, that this is the last time I ever want to see this man. "Turn what down?" Keep looking at me like that and see what you'll get. i***t. His eyes flick past me into the hallway before returning to my face. He looks like a man who has never welcomed anybody in his life, which is funny, since he's the one standing at my door uninvited. "That." And then it hits me. The sound is still travelling through the walls. The girl on the screen must be close to finishing, and I am close to wishing the ground would just open and take me. "Holy s**t!" I mutter, taking off toward my room like my life depends on it. I jump on the bed trying to reach the phone, but it slides off and lands on the floor, out of reach. I hear footsteps coming down the hallway behind me, closer with every second. Before I can get to the phone, the man is already standing in front of me, shaking his head like I've committed some kind of crime. He picks the phone off the floor and switches it off, the moaning and grunting dying with it. "I have a fourteen-year-old next door," he says, running a hand through his wet hair before tossing the phone onto the bed. "And I have work this morning, so next time you feel like playing that so loud, do it somewhere else. Better still, do it outside this city." I did connect it to my speaker, but that's beside the point right now. "I didn't invite you in. This is a straight up invasion of privacy. Ever heard of that?" "Ever heard of noise pollution?" he shoots back, not one muscle on his face moving. "It's an offence around here. Don't count on me being this kind next time." Is this what he calls kindness? God help him. Him and his stupid swimmer body. "Whatever," I mutter under my breath. "What did you say?" "I said thank you for being kind," I say out loud, forcing a grin at him. It doesn't touch the scowl still sitting on his face. That thing must be carved into his skin permanently. How does anybody survive living with him and his attitude? I'm just grateful he's not going to be my problem. He doesn't spare me another look, walking out of my apartment and pulling the door shut behind him. I roll my eyes and drop back onto the bed. This is going to be a wonderful day. ……….. The word travels across the empty rink and gets swallowed almost at once by the low hum of the cooling units beneath the ice. I glide to a stop and bend forward, bracing my gloved hands on my knees while the cold air burns the back of my throat. Every breath leaves my mouth as a small cloud. What does this man want from me? I am already worn out and on edge. Does he want my head too? I lift my face just enough to glare at him. He's standing near the blue line, hasn't moved an inch. I open my mouth to argue, but the rink doors swing open. He turns his head that way, finally shifting his weight, and every ounce of irritation on his face slides into something colder, tighter, like he already knows exactly who just walked in, and exactly how much trouble it's about to cause him. I follow his gaze, and my stomach drops before I even see the man's face. Because the last person I expect to see in this world isn't just walking in. He's walking straight toward me.