Match Penalty: Coach’s Daughter Hockey Romance (The Rookie Hawkeyes Series Book 1)

Heading towards the rink this afternoon after work, I adjust the strap of my duffel bag over my shoulder. Dad texted me late last night about fitting in another practice this week. With the auction only a week away, I’ve been busy getting things ready, and he’s been busy with the team’s hectic schedule.

I told him to give me a head start after work. I need to warm up first and honestly, I’m still processing everything that happened with JP two nights ago on the Zamboni, even though I already know that I’ve decided to give us a chance, even if the idea still scares the hell out of me.

The ice has always been the place I do my best thinking.

As I lace up my skates, my mind wanders to him and the night he and I were out here together as he drove me around on the Zamboni, telling me about his dad and how meeting me for the first time made him want to give everything else up. I feel like I finally understand him better than I ever have.

It’s no wonder that JP has been in my head nonstop. God, I can’t stop replaying every moment we’ve had together over the last five weeks since he walked back into my life.

I’m halfway to the ice when I hear laughter—high-pitched and bright, the kind of sound that doesn’t belong to the usual chorus of hockey players or staff. I pause, confused, and glance toward the rink. A cluster of kids and parents are out on the ice, some stumbling awkwardly in rental skates while others laugh and cheer.

And there, in the center of it all, is JP.

He’s crouched low, helping a little girl steady herself as she clings to his hands. He grins at her, saying something that makes her giggle, her confidence growing as she takes a wobbly step forward. JP doesn’t let go, his patience unshakable as he coaxes her into gliding.

“What’s going on?” I ask, turning as Everett approaches, hands tucked casually into his suit pockets.

He smiles, nodding toward the ice. “Some of the families we’re working with for the auction. They agreed to come out to the event and give their testimonials of how much the Kids with Cancer foundation has stepped in to help them. I think it will help donors give more if they can put a face to the cause. And I thought it might be good for them to see the space beforehand.”

My gaze shifts back to the ice, where JP has moved on to another kid, tossing a puck back and forth with a boy who can’t be older than six. “And JP?” I ask, unable to keep the curiosity from my voice.

“We ran into him when I was giving a tour of the stadium. When he saw the kids he ran down to the local rink to borrow skates for everyone,” he says, his voice tinged with admiration. “Then he jumped right in, started giving the kids lessons on ice skating. The guy’s a natural with kids.”

My heart stutters, the sight of JP laughing and encouraging the kids tugs at something deep inside me. Everett’s next words only make it worse.

“You’ve got a good guy there.”

I flinch. “He’s not mine,” I say quickly, the words sour in my mouth.

Everett raises a brow, studying me with an expression that’s far too knowing. “Are you sure? You could’ve fooled me,” he says lightly before turning and heading back down the tunnel.

I stay rooted to the spot, my eyes fixed on JP as he kneels to tie a little boy’s skate. He glances up then, catching me watching, and his face lights up with that infuriating, heart-stopping smile of his. He waves me over, but I shake my head, gesturing that I’ll stay where I am.

JP huddles down with the kids, whispering something that has them all giggling. Then, in unison, they turn to me and say, “Please come skate with us, Ms. Wrenley!”

My heart squeezes. The way their voices echo through the arena, the way JP’s eyes are practically daring me to say no—I don’t stand a chance. With a resigned sigh, I step onto the ice.

The next twenty minutes are pure chaos—and pure joy. The kids swarm around me, giggling as they show off their moves or grab onto my arms for balance. JP watches from the edge, leaning against his stick with an easy grin, chiming in with encouragement or teasing when a kid does something silly.

At one point, he skates over to help me with a particularly bold six-year-old who’s decided he’s going to “race” me. JP crouches beside him, giving him tips on his form, his voice low and gentle. The boy nods and then takes off in a flurry of wobbly strides.

“You’re good with them,” I say as JP straightens, his eyes meeting mine.

“They make it easy.” He shrugs, but there’s lightness in his voice.

Before I can say more, the parents start rounding up the kids, herding them toward the tunnel with promises of lunch and naps. The arena grows quieter as they trickle out, leaving just me and JP on the ice.

“Want me to stick around for a bit?” he asks, tilting his head toward the goal. “I can help you with your slapshot.”

I hesitate, the rational part of me screaming that this is a bad idea. But the way he’s looking at me, with that mix of challenge and flirtation, is impossible to resist.

“Fine,” I say, grabbing a puck and skating toward the blue line. “But only because I need to practice. Not because I need your help.”

He smirks, following me. “Whatever you say, Wrenley.”

We fall into an easy rhythm. JP feeds me pucks, offering tips on my stance and follow-through. Every now and then, he skates up behind me to adjust my grip or reposition my shoulders, his hands warm and steady on my arms.

Our bodies melding together like we belong connected. There’s no awkward touch—no second guessing.noveldrama

Each connection has me looking forward to the next.

“You’re gripping too tight,” he murmurs, his breath brushing against my ear as he stands close behind me. “Relax your hands. Let the stick do the work.”

I try to focus, but his proximity is distracting, his voice low and intimate. When he steps back, I release the shot, the puck soaring into the corner of the net with thud.

“Better,” he says, grinning. “You’re looking solid.”

“Don’t get cocky,” I shoot back, though I can’t help the small smile that tugs at my lips.

We keep practicing, each minute building on something that feels impossible to ignore. By the time I take my final shot, my legs are trembling—not from exertion, but from the way JP is looking at me, his gaze heavy like he’s about to pick me up and carry me back off to the Zamboni garage again. It has me wondering.

What happens if my dad beats JP at the slapshot?

As crazy at it seems to leave everyone and everything I love here… do I go with him?

“Thank you for helping me today,” I say.

He steps closer, his eyes searching mine. “Anytime. This is my favorite place on earth, and I get to be here, with you… well, there’s nowhere I’d rather be than on home ice with you.”

For a moment, I forget how to think, how to breathe. All I can do is stare at him, my heart pounding so loud I’m sure he can hear it.

He leans in, his eyes dropping to my lips, and the world tilts on its axis. My pulse races, my body swaying toward him like a magnet.

He’s going to kiss me. In the middle of the rink.

“Cammy!”

The sound of my name shatters the moment, and I jerk back, my head whipping toward the tunnel. My dad skates out, his expression hard and unyielding as his eyes lock onto JP.

JP steps back, his jaw tightening as he nods toward Seven. “I’ll see you later,” he says quietly before skating off, leaving me to face my dad.

“What’s going on?” Seven asks, his voice clipped.

“Nothing,” I say quickly, my cheeks burning. “JP was just helping me with my positioning.”

Seven doesn’t respond, his eyes narrowing as he watches JP disappear into the tunnel. When he finally turns back to me, his expression softens, but the tension lingers.

“Let’s get to work,” he says, motioning for me to line up at center ice.

As I skate to my spot, I can’t shake the feeling of JP’s hands on my arms, his voice in my ear, his eyes on mine. And as much as I try to focus, my heart refuses to listen, beating a frantic rhythm that has nothing to do with the game.