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

I check my watch as I head down the service corridor toward the locker room. Two hours until puck drop. Plenty of time for pre-game routine, but Coach Haynes likes us suited up early for home games. Something about team unity, but then I hear her.

The sound of Cammy’s laugh stops me in my tracks.

She’s in the main concourse, leading a group of suit-wearing investors on what appears to be a stadium tour. Her voice carries as she explains the arena’s recent renovations, professional and poised. But what catches my attention is the jersey she’s wearing.

Seven’s number. Her father’s legacy stretched across her shoulders like a shield, reminding me what’s at stake.

The sight stirs something possessive in my chest. Before I can think better of it, I’m moving toward the group. Cammy’s back is to me as she points out the new digital displays, giving me the perfect opportunity.

‘Excuse me, Ms. Wrenley,’ I say, keeping my tone professional. ‘Could I borrow you for a moment? Equipment issue.’

Her eyes gleam back at me the moment they meet, causing my cock to stir. Now my equipment issue is a real problem. But as much as I’d like to do something about it, I doubt Cammy would agree to a quickie in the broom closet before the puck drop. Shaking the thought away, I focus on keeping my expression normal as she tilts her head curiously and then answers.

‘Of course.” She turns to her tour group next. “If you’ll excuse me, gentlemen?’

The moment we’re around the corner, I pull her into the equipment closet. The space is tight, filled with the scent of rubber, cleaning supplies, and her perfume.

‘JP, what are you doing?’

‘You’re wearing the wrong number,’ I say softly, fingers finding the hem of Seven’s jersey.

She’s taken by surprise but lifts her arms to let me finish as I slowly lift it over her head, leaving her in a thin camisole that has me rethinking our time constraint. I was supposed to be in the locker room five minutes ago, and Cammy has a hallway full of Everett’s inventors waiting for her.

Before she can protest, I’m pulling my own practice jersey from my bag.

‘What are you doing?’ she whispers, but she’s not stopping me as I help her into it.

The sight of my number stretched across her back unlocks something primal in me. I turn her gently, adjusting the fabric until it sits just right.

‘You look good in my number,’ I say, “Dumont II” written over her shoulders, making me wonder what it would be like to make that permanent.

She looks up at me through her lashes, a slight flush coloring her cheeks. ‘This is a pretty big statement you’re asking me to wear…’

“It’s more than a statement,” I say back.

Voices pass by the door, and reality crashes back in. She steps back quickly, gathering Seven’s jersey.

‘I have a tour to finish,’ she says, but there’s a smile playing on her lips that’s brighter than it was before.

‘Wear it tonight?’ I ask before she can leave. ‘For the game?’

She hesitates for a moment before nodding. My first victory of the night.

But I have one more play to make tonight, and it won’t be in front of the net.

Back in the locker room, Slade’s words from weeks ago echo in my head again as I tape up my stick in the locker room.

You want it all?Then prove it. Prove you’re not just another player passing through. Prove your end game material.

End game. The word sits heavy in my chest as I suit up. Because that’s what Cammy is—what she’s always been, if I’m honest with myself. Not just another conquest, not just another chance at redemption.

She’s everything.

The energy in the stadium is insane tonight. Fans are on their feet before the puck even drops, the sound of their cheers vibrating through the walls of the arena. It’s my first home game, and I’m locked in, focused on stopping every shot. Everything but this game fades away. Cammy, Coach Wrenley, my father’s expectations. Out here on the ice, I have no questions of what I should be doing, this is all muscle memory, split second decisions that have to be made before I even have time to think.

But knowing Cammy’s here—in the stands—wearing my jersey, brings an unfamiliar calm I’ve never felt before. As if no matter what happens out here, I might finally have a shot with her. Or at least, I’m about to find out if I do.

The first period starts strong. My saves are clean, reflexes sharp. Save after save, the crowd chants my name, and I can feel the momentum shifting in our favor.

During a timeout, I spot her in Seven’s season ticket seats beside Brynn, my number clearly visible even from the ice. The sight sends a surge of energy through my blood.

Seven’s at the bench, arms crossed as he watches me. His expression is unreadable, but I know he’s seen the jersey switch. He’s watching everything I do out here, judging whether I’m worthy of wearing his team’s colors.

Of loving his daughter.

The game is a battle from the start. The Wolverines aren’t pulling any punches, but neither are we. Every shot they take is faster than the last, they want this win just as bad as we do, but my reflexes are on point tonight. After a big glove save midway through the second period, I glance toward the stands where I know she’s sitting.

Sure enough, I find her. Cammy’s leaning forward, her elbows on her thighs, her knee bouncing, completely focused on the game. Her hands clench into fists whenever the puck comes too close to the net. Brynn is next to her, equally engaged but focused on Milo, too, who’s screaming and shouting, cheering on his team.

When the buzzer sounds signaling the end of the period, we’re up 2-1. As I skate toward the tunnel, I sneak another glance in her direction. Our eyes meet, and for a brief second, the chaos of the arena around me fades. Her lips curve into the smallest smile, and my pulse ticks up a notch… as if it wasn’t already beating fast enough.

I force myself to look away before I trip over my own skates. She’ll never let me live that down.

Passing through the players tunnel and the home bench, I glance over to see Seven’s stance, arms still crossed, staring directly at me. The message is clear: Prove it. But I know tonight isn’t just about Cammy. This is about me proving that I’ve earned my spot here.

So I will.

Right before third period starts, I have a puck in my hand, the one I pulled from my bag before we head out for the last period—the one I marked earlier with a silver sharpie.

The toss is perfect, sailing over the glass. Cammy reaches up for it, letting it fall right into her hands. She looks at the puck and then reads the simple message: Dinner?

This time, her smile is different from all the times before. My heart nearly stops when she nods yes.

Suddenly, this isn’t just another home game anymore. This is the best night of my career.

I play the final period like I’m invincible, stopping everything that comes my way. Each save feels easier than the last, powered by the knowledge that she’s watching, wearing my number, and finally—finally—said yes.

After the final horn and the celebration on the ice, I catch Cammy and Milo at the plexiglass, pounding on it as I skate by. When they both blow me a kiss, I nearly lose my balance and wipe out right there in front of everyone.

After a quick congratulations in the locker room, I’m heading to media in my game-day suit when I spot her waiting near the press room. She’s still in my jersey. My chest fills with pride.

‘Nice game,’ she says with a soft smile.

‘Nice jersey,’ I counter, stepping closer.

She glances down at herself. ‘I’m a little underdressed for dinner now, aren’t I?’

I bend down, my lips close to her ear. ‘Not even close. Seeing you in my jersey is better than lingerie.’ I lower my voice even more. “I can’t decide if I like it better on you… or laying on my bedroom floor.”

She bites down on her bottom lip, her eyes dilating at my admission. It’s worth every second I’ve waited for this moment, and it takes everything in me not to kiss her right here as all my teammates walk by.

“Come on, lover boy,” Hunter says, stopping behind me and squeezing my shoulders. “Kiss your girl later, you still have work to do.”

Aleksi gives Hunter a shove to keep him moving down the hallway. “Your public awaits on bated breath to see the beauty,” Aleksi says.

“More like they want their pound of flesh,” I hear Trey say weaving around us.

I wave them off as if it’s not important, but we all know that the press is part of our job, as much as we all hate it. “Yeah, yeah… I’m coming.”

I lean a hand against the cement wall, leaning in closer so no one can hear us, but really it’s just because I want her all to myself. ‘Team’s heading to Oakley’s to celebrate,’ I say, Cammy’s eyes twinkling back at me. ‘We’ll make an appearance, then slip out for dinner? Just us?’

She nods, and then licks her lips. ‘Just us.’

My eyes drop to her mouth. ‘Perfect.’ I resist the urge to touch her, knowing the media’s watching. ‘Give me fifteen minutes with the press?’

Her breath catches, and I’m not ashamed of the satisfaction that curls in my chest at the sound. I brush my lips against the side of her neck, a barely-there kiss, and feel the shiver that runs through her.

She inhales sharply, her scent—something warm and sweet—filling my lungs. When I pull back, her eyes are wide, the warm honey of her irises darkened and dilated.

“Do you think we have time before your interview?” she asks, her voice soft but edged with something unmistakable.

I don’t even hesitate. “Fuck yeah.”

Without another word, I grab her hand, weaving us through the crowd of players and staff. No one pays us much attention, too focused on post-game routines and celebrations. My grip tightens as I lead her toward the back hallway, adrenaline pounding in my veins.

I lead her to the same broom closet we were in earlier, tucked away and forgotten. I pull her inside, closing the door behind us, and in the dim light, all the tension that’s been building between us snaps like a rubber band.

She barely has time to catch her breath before my hands are on her, sliding over the fabric of the jersey, up her sides, until they settle on her hips. Her back presses against the wall, and I lean in, my forehead resting against hers.

“You’re dangerous, you know that?” I murmur, my voice rough. “Walking around in my number like this. Like you own me.”

Her hands find the lapels of my suit jacket, tugging me closer. “And you’re too cocky for your own good.”

“Am I?” I ask, my lips brushing hers in a teasing, featherlight touch.

She doesn’t answer—not with words, anyway. Instead, she tilts her head, closing the gap between us. The kiss is everything I’ve been holding back, weeks of frustration and yearning pouring out as I press her against the wall, my hands roaming under the jersey to find bare skin.

“You know how you had a fantasy of us on the Zamboni?” she breathes against my mouth, her fingers tangling in my hair.

“Yeah.” I say, pulling back just enough to look at her. Her cheeks are flushed, her lips parted, and I swear I’ve never seen anything so beautiful.

“Well mine’s always been to fuck you in your game day suit,” she says with a smirk, and pulls me back in.

Her hands reach down, finding the zipper of my slacks, and within seconds, her warm hand reaches past my briefs, wrapping around my hard cock.

She begins a tortious rhythm, one that will have me coming before I even touch her if I’m not careful. I growl against her throat, my teeth nipping against her neck.

‘As much as I love this, I need you to come with me, and we don’t have time for both. The new media guru is probably looking for me,’ I say, closing my eyes to enjoy her last few strokes. We’ll be exploring more later tonight—after Oakley’s, after dinner—when I take her home with me because I can’t spend another night without her in my bed.

‘Afraid we’ll get caught?’ she asks with a glint in her eye.

‘No, I’m not worried about that. I just want to see your eyes roll back when you take my cock before I have to face the tyranny of the press. Is that okay with you?’

“Sounds like we’re on the same page,” she says, reaching for the bottom of my jersey she’s wearing, attempting to pull it off.noveldrama

‘No,’ I say, stopping her hands. ‘Keep that on. I want to see my name on your back when I fuck you.’

She sucks her lower lip into her mouth, her breath hitching as I twist her around, reaching for the button of her jeans. With deliberate slowness, I unfasten them, my fingers brushing against the soft skin of her lower belly. Her body shudders under my touch, and I feel the sharp inhale she takes as I slide the denim and her black cotton panties down her legs, leaving her bare for me.

I take a step back for just a second, my gaze drinking her in—the soft curves of her hips, the delicate dip of her lower back, the way my jersey hangs off her shoulders, oversized and perfect. The sight of my name stretched across her back sends a fresh surge of possessiveness through me. After all these years, this woman is finally mine.

“Fucking perfect,” I murmur, my hands skimming up her thighs before I guide her forward, bending her over against the wall.

She arches for me so beautifully, her palms braced against the surface, her breath already coming fast. My fingers slide between her legs, teasing through her folds, finding her soaked and ready. A low growl rumbles in my chest as I drag my cock through her arousal, coating myself with her wetness.

“You’re dripping for me, mon ange,” I say, my voice rough with need. “You want me to take you like this? Bent over and bare? Tell me.”

“Yes,” she whispers, her voice trembling. “Take me, JP.”

That’s all it takes.

I line myself up, pressing the thick head of my cock against her tight opening, watching her pink pussy stretch to fit me, inch by inch, her center squeezing around me. We both groan as I sink deeper, stretching her, filling her until I’m seated all the way inside her, buried in the tightest heat I’ve ever known.

“Fuck,” I bite out, gripping her hips as I hold still for a moment, letting her adjust, letting me breathe through the overwhelming sensation of being completely sheathed inside her.

She lets out a soft, whimpering moan, shifting back against me, urging me to move.

That’s all the invitation I need.

I pull back and thrust forward, slow at first, savoring the friction of her slick walls around me. But I don’t stay slow for long. My control is slipping, unraveling with every deep thrust, every desperate sound she makes. My grip tightens on her hips as I drive into her, the force of it making her gasp and brace herself harder against the wall.

“Cammy,” I groan, watching between us as I disappear inside her again and again.

She’s clenching around me, her body gripping me so tight, the friction almost unbearable.

“Look at you,” I whisper, my voice thick with admiration. “Taking me so perfectly. Nothing’s ever felt this good. I swear, Cammy, my cock belongs inside you—and it never wants to leave.”

“Then don’t leave. Keep me,” she moans, pushing back against me, meeting every thrust with the same desperate urgency I feel burning in my veins.

“I plan to,” I grit out, thrusting into her with a punishing rhythm, each snap of my hips sending a sharp, sweet slap of skin against skin. The sight of her—bent over for me, her ass shaking with every stroke, her body taking everything I give—nearly undoes me.

“You’re mine, Cammy,” I growl, my fingers digging into her hips, anchoring her to me. “And I’m yours. Nothing is going to change that after tonight.”

The words feel too small for what she means to me. For what this means to me.

One of my hands slides down between her legs, finding that sensitive bundle of nerves, rubbing in slow, torturous circles before speeding up when she gasps my name.

“This is where you like it, isn’t it, mon ange?” I rasp against her ear, my fingers teasing her clit. “Right here, Cammy. This is where you come for me. And then I’ll fill you so full, coating every inch inside you that your body will only ever want me.”

Her body tightens, her breath coming in sharp gasps. She’s right there, teetering on the edge, and I feel it—her walls fluttering around me, her muscles clenching like she’s trying to hold me inside her forever.

She cries out a muffled ‘Oh my God, JP,’ her body locking up as she shatters around me, her orgasm ripping through her, drawing me in with her.

I curse as the pleasure grips me, white-hot and relentless. My hips slam forward one last time as I come deep inside her, my cock pulsing as I spill every drop into her, exactly where it belongs.

I don’t let her go. I wrap my arms around her, pulling her up against me, her back flush against my chest, my lips pressing to her bare shoulder as we both come down, our bodies trembling from the aftershocks.

‘Tu détiens les clés de mon âme. Je suis à toi,’ I whisper against her ear, my hands smoothing over her skin, grounding us in the aftermath.

She sighs, her body softening against mine.

For a long moment, there’s nothing but the sound of our ragged breathing, the heat of our bodies tangled together, and the faint hum of the arena’s cooling system beyond the closet door.

Finally, I press one more kiss to her shoulder and smirk. “I think I need to fuck you in a jersey more often.”

She laughs breathlessly, tilting her head back against my shoulder. “Only if it’s yours.”

The possessiveness inside me flares. “Always.”

I run my hands up her thighs, still not ready to let her go.

And based on the way she presses herself closer, neither is she.

“You okay?” I ask softly, pressing a kiss to the back of her neck.

She nods, turning her head to glance at me over her shoulder. Her cheeks are flushed, her lips parted, and she looks completely wrecked—in the best way possible.

“I’m more than okay,” she says, with a blissful smile stretched across her lips. “But now you’re really going to be late for that interview. Will they fine you?”

I laugh softly, pressing another kiss to her shoulder before carefully easing out of her. I look around and find a box of tissues for us to clean up. It’s not the best option, but it’s the best we can do at the moment. I hand it to her first so she can clean as I help her straighten up. I pull her jeans back into place, my hands lingering on her hips longer than necessary.

Then I take care of myself and pull up my slacks, my cock unhappy about only going one round with her but we have later tonight. Maybe, if I do everything right tonight, she’ll agree to come home with me again and sleep in my bed.

“I’ll take whatever punishment they throw at me,” I say, brushing a strand of hair out of her face. “You are worth every penny.”

“You make me sound like a sex worker,” she teases.

“No, never, because you fuck so good… I’d never be able to afford you.”

“You have such a way with words. Isn’t the French side of you supposed to be the romantic side?”

“I’ll show you the romantic side… tonight. Then I’ll show you the “French” side in bed later… if you’re a good girl.”

She shakes her head. “I should go before someone starts looking for me.”

“Not without this,” I say, leaning in for one last kiss. It’s slower this time, less urgent but no less intense. When I finally pull back, her eyes are shining.

A sharp knock on the door jerks us both out of the moment, and I swear under my breath. Cammy stifles a laugh, her face buried in my neck as I steady her back on her feet.

“Dumont, you’ve got media waiting!” A muffled voice calls from the hallway.

“Be right there!” I shout back, my voice rougher than I’d like. Turning to Cammy, I brush a thumb over her flushed cheek. “Give me fifteen minutes to answer questions?”

She nods, her eyes still dazed. “I’ll hold you to it.”

As we step out of the closet, back into the chaos of the arena, I feel her hand slip into mine for the briefest second before she lets go. It’s enough to keep me grounded, to remind me that this isn’t just a fleeting moment.

It’s the start of something bigger. And I’m not letting it slip away again.

The post-game media session is a whirlwind, as always. Cameras flash, reporters fire off questions, and I give the same canned answers I’ve rehearsed a hundred times.

“How does it feel to get your first win as a Hawkeyes, JP?”

“Great. The team played hard, and it’s a privilege to be here.”

“What does this win mean for your comeback?”

“Every game is important. I’m just taking it one at a time.”

When it’s finally over, I bolt for the locker room to change into jeans, desperate to get out of here and start the next phase of my plan. Dinner with Cammy.

Because tonight, Cammy said yes.

And that’s better than any shutout.