Perfect Obsession

Chapter 6 || He Did What?!

𝐑 𝐎 𝐒 𝐀 𝐋 𝐈 𝐄 ' 𝐒    𝐏 𝐎 𝐕

𝐏𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐭...

Maybe criminal charges would have been better than having to spend more time with Roman. There is no doubt that Coach Henderson is sitting in his office getting a good kick out of our misery, if what Miles said about Coach thriving off their pain in practice is true.

Throwing my head back and sighing, I stand outside of the arena doors. Like I have been doing for the past ten minutes, trying to get the courage to go inside. As well as secretly hoping the arena might burst into flames before I can.

The harsh, frigid air hits me as soon as I pull the hockey arena door open. Rubbing my hands together, I pull my warm oversized jacket tighter around my body and as the door shuts behind me, I'm met with silence. The arena lights are bright, allowing my eyes to focus on the only other person in the arena who is currently on the ice.

Making my way over to the rink, I watch as he skates around on the ice. His eyes catch mine when I lean my arms against the wall. He skates over, his face as neutral as ever, until his eyes land on my jacket and a scowl takes over his face. Coming to a stop at the other side of me, he towers over me as always and his blonde eyebrows furrow, as if he can't believe what he's seeing.

"That's offensive."

Furrowing my own eyebrows now, I look down at my LA chargers' jacket before looking back up at him. "My jacket?"

"Who walks into a hockey arena wearing a football jacket? From another state too?"

I roll my eyes as he rests his arms on the wall next to mine and I breathe out a sigh. "I come from a football family. My dad considers hockey treason."

"Treason? Really?" Roman scoffs, shaking his head, and I nod my own in confirmation.

"He takes it seriously," I defend, pursing my lips and shrugging my shoulders. "And this is my act of rebellion for being forced to spend time with you because I knew it would piss you off."

"Trust me, spending time with you isn't my first choice either." Roman walks into the box and heads to the bleachers where his gym bag sits. "I'm guessing your hatred of ice hockey has to do with your dad thinking hockey is treason, then?"

"I don't hate ice hockey. It's a good sport. A certain player, however...I'm not a fan of." I smirk, remaining stood up, and he narrows his eyes at me before roaming through his bag.

"Of course. So that's why you don't know how to skate? Because you come from a football family?" Roman questions, as he takes a sip of water from his bottle.

"That and in L.A we go surfing, not ice skating," I chuckle, shaking my head before I check the watch I'm wearing. "Speaking of, why are you here so early? We were supposed to meet at eight and it has just turned eight."

"I come early to skate around. It's not something we get to do at practice, and I enjoy it. It's calming." Roman shrugs, giving me a blank stare.

"What does helping with the youth hockey group consist of, anyway? Do they need a real teacher rather than someone who frolics around on the ice?" I cross my arms, giving a wide grin.

"If that was the case, the coach would have asked the Zamboni driver. He spends more time on the ice than you do." Roman leans his hands on the back of the bleacher he's sitting on.

"Will he run you over with it if I ask?" I grit my teeth and a smirk overtakes Roman's face before he stands up and walks away.

"The kids arrive at half eight and we begin practice at nine," Roman explains, and I follow him to wherever he's going. "Between now and then, we set up. I set up the rink with the cones and other training equipment. As well as the table that has the check in sheet on as well as beverages and a few snacks for the kids."