Against the Rush: Philadelphia Power, #1

By Susan Scott Shelley and Chantal Mer

Jalen Daniels loves his job as a hockey coach to kids in the Philadelphia Power's youth league. Coaching in the same league he played in and volunteering his time to a charity that brings the game to underserved communities takes up a lot of his time. The rest is filled with playing hockey in a rec league and bouncing at a nightclub. Meeting Leif Larsson, star player for the Power and father of one of the kids he coaches, knocks Jalen's busy life off balance and leaves him craving Philly's favorite Swede. 

 

Philadelphia Power defenseman Leif Larsson has devoted the last four years to being a dad and a hockey player, in that order. Focusing on being the best dad for his daughter and the best teammate and player for the team was all that mattered. But when he sees Jalen at a charity event, their connection is strong enough to push his heart into pursuing the talented, surprising, handsome man. 

 

Amid the bustle of hockey season, the sparks between Jalen and Leif ignite into something bigger and brighter than they've ever experienced. But navigating a relationship when their conflicting schedules make meeting up close to impossible is harder on their hearts than they anticipated. Can they find a way to score a win for love? 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Susan Scott Shelley
• Release date: May 30, 2023
• ISBN: 9781960707017

Book preview

Chapter One

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Jalen

The rink is alight with the cheerful sounds of laughter, conversation, and cheering. I wave to a group of preteens as the pack rushes to one of the charity event’s main attractions. Pro hockey players, both current and retired, sit at long tables set up in a U shape, signing autographs and posing for photos with attendees.

Several kids call out Hi, Coach! and wave to me as they pass. Amid the sea of jerseys supporting our city’s pro hockey team, The Philadelphia Power, there are a handful sporting hoodies and tees for our rink’s youth league. Playing hockey has made a difference in these kids’ lives and I’m honored to contribute a small part in that.

At one table, retired players sign autographs. Another table has a handful of current Power players, laughing and teasing. We’re lucky the current players were available to join us, since their season opener is only two days away. The start of October has always been one of my favorite times of year because pro hockey is back and I’m filled with anticipation for all the possibilities that await my favorite team.

At the last table sits Leif Larsson, one of the Power’s defensemen. I sigh and bring my fingertips to my lips, covertly checking for any spittle as I drool over him. He’s incredibly droolworthy with his head turned up as he talks to their starting goalie, Sawyer Garcia, and a representative from the charity, Hockey Included, which is the reason we’re here.

There are many hockey greats present. But I can’t take my eyes off Leif. Long legs in dark-washed jeans are bent at the knees, almost hitting the underside of the table as he leans forward when a small boy approaches. He says something to the boy—whose eyes round to the size of hockey pucks—as Leif signs a picture and the child’s stuffed Philly Power mascot, Striker. His languid smile paired with the tussled copper-colored hair make him look like he’s just rolled out of bed after a night filled with filthy talk and orgasms.

Thinking of those legs draped over my shoulders while I swallow down what’s between them sends a tingle to the base of my spine. A smack on my biceps interrupts the inappropriately timed fantasy. I gaze down to see my best friend and assistant coach. You made it.

There was an accident on 95. Monet scrunches her pierced brow. You’d think no one has ever seen an accident. Her hands wave and gesticulate as she speaks. I’ve been unintentionally smacked in the face more than once, so I take a step back. Cars crushed, police on the scene, everyone standing around… Move on, people. There’s nothing any of us can do, so why must we rubberneck?

I grunt my agreement. Monet is no nonsense, which is one reason we clicked so well the first time we coached together in the Philly Power Youth League. Five years later, we’re still coaching together, and there isn’t anyone else I’d rather work with. I continue to watch the throngs of kids and adults as they line up for a chance to chat with their favorite players. Looks like a good turnout.

Monet was one of the driving forces in preparing the application to get the charity organization to Philly. Now, kids in communities that are unable to afford hockey have the opportunity to play and experience it. She stands on her toes and pushes her body into me. Who are we looking at?

No one. I blink and glance down at her, embarrassed that she’s caught me so blatantly ogling the father of a kid on our Pre-Mite team.

Right… She doesn’t believe my lame words, not that I thought she would. Oh, I see. She drops back onto her leopard-print ballet flats. Leif Larsson is pretty. I keep hoping he’ll pick up Thea one day so I can see him up close and personal.

Me too. As the words leave my mouth, the man we’re gawking at turns his head like he can feel us staring at him. When his azure eyes collide with mine, I’m assaulted with want and desire so great I’m set to steal him away to a dark corner. Kissing and touching until he’s panting for me to take him. Our gazes hold for a split second before the corner of his mouth tips, flirty and provocative. When I wet my lips, the left corner of his mouth joins the right. The slight lift of his brows is an open invitation before the next person in line snatches his attention.

Looks like you’ll get your chance soon, Monet says. Lucky. She loops her arm through mine and tugs me toward the food stations. You need to feed me so I can dull this jealousy.

Chuckling, I give her a nudge with my elbow. Jealous? After I spent months hearing about you and Eric?

Her pout morphs into a devilish grin. He was yummy, wasn’t he? Maybe I should call him…

Please don’t. I can’t handle the drama, I only half tease. They were like two meteors plummeting toward each other. All heat, speed, and fire, but when they collide, the bits and pieces from their destruction burn everyone in the vicinity.

Coach Jalen! Coach Monet! Two red pigtails bounce through the crowd as Thea Larsson skips between bodies much bigger than her.

I bend down when she reaches us and raise my hand. Hey, Thea. You having fun?

She slaps my hand and fist bumps Monet. Yep. Guess what? I get to be on Daddy’s team for the Hockey Puck Challenge. Her light-up rhinestone sneakers flash on and off, and her lemon-colored tutu flounces with every bounce as she claps her hands together.

That’s awesome, Monet tugs one of her pigtails.

Will you root for us? She pulls the bottom of her striped leggings over her socks.

With faux indignation, I gasp and slap my hands over my heart. Who are you talking to? Of course we’ll root for you. We’re rooting for all our kids.

Yay! Thea punches her arms in the air.

Thea… Holding two soft pretzels, a juice box, and two bottles of water, Thea’s mom, Candi, winds around a group of parents. I told you to stay with me.

But I saw Coach Jalen and Coach Monet. Thea gestures at Monet and me with the flare of a magician revealing her greatest illusion.

Thanks for watching her. Candi gives us a grateful smile, then looks at her daughter. There are too many people here for you to run off like that. Next time let Mommy know.

Okay. Is that my pretzel?

Candi hands her the pretzel and juice box. There’s a good turnout to—

Daddy! Thea bulldozes through legs, pushing anyone in her way.

Say excuse me, Thea, Candi calls. With a shake of the head, she rolls her eyes. You’d never know her dad’s a hockey player.

That’s why she’s good on the ice. Monet nods her approval. Though I’ve had to tell her she’s not old enough to check yet.

Candi groans good-naturedly. I don’t want to hear about my sweet girl checking other four-year-olds. Her preschool teacher called me last week because Thea pushed a little boy who wouldn’t share his crayons.

Only half my attention is on the conversation. I can’t listen when sparkling blue eyes are headed this way. Towering over everyone on her dad’s shoulders, Thea directs Leif toward us. With every step closer, my heart rate kicks up a notch. I wipe my hands on my pants. I’ve had a major crush on Leif Larsson since he first started in the league.

His smile widens when he spots Candi and he bends, placing a quick kiss on her cheek. We found Mommy.

Candi holds out a bottle of water and a pretzel. I got these for you.

Thanks. He lifts Thea from his shoulders and places her on the ground before taking the offered gifts.

His movements are smooth and graceful, and I wonder what his arms would feel like wrapped around me from behind. The expanse of his solid chest pressed to my back. Is the hair on his chest the same red-brown found in his close-cropped beard? Does he even have hair on his chest? Instead of touching his beard to see if it’s as soft as it looks, I make a fist before wiggling my fingers.

Leif, have you met Thea’s hockey coaches? Candi asks.

When he turns his attention to Monet and me, his smile widens, gleaming teeth on display. The effect leaves me as light-headed as a Victorian-era woman in a too-tight corset.

Thea, introduce Daddy to your coaches. Candi puts her hand on her bouncing child’s shoulder.

This is Coach Monet and Coach Jalen. Thea points to Monet and me. And this is Daddy.

He extends his hand first to Monet, then to me. Also known as Leif. The combination of his piercing eyes and the roughness of his palm when he clasps my hand sends a zing zipping up my arm, down my center, and ignites in my pants. Nice to meet you.

How can four words that I’ve heard hundreds of times and said as many sound so deliciously dirty? The slight squeeze of my hand before releasing it feels like a secret code meant only for me to decipher, and I have to will my vocal cords to work. Nice to meet you. Thea’s a great kid.

And apparently thinks she’s playing in the pros on the ice, Candi deadpans though her affection is clear.

Leif stands a little taller, pride reverberating from every part of his being. That’s my girl.

Candi laughs. Of course you’d say that.

Excuse me. Evelyn, my least favorite parent, scoots behind Leif, and he steps closer to me to allow her passage. The brush of his shoulder against mine is a jolt of lightning vibrating through and filling me with a glow that’s breathtaking. I don’t miss the side-eye Evelyn shoots our way once she passes, but I’m quickly distracted by the scorch of Leif’s arm as he remains pressed against me.

As Monet and Candi discuss the snack schedule, Leif tips his head toward mine. The back of his hand skims the side of my pinky finger. Thea talks about you and Coach Monet all the time. She loves playing.

She’s a natural. I skim my tongue along my teeth and wonder if the touch was intentional. God, what I would give for it to indicate interest.

More like a pistol. The heat of his breath hits the rim of my ear, sending an involuntary shiver through me as we watch Thea twirl in circles with her arms out.

Before I can reply, we’re interrupted by the announcement for all participants of the Hockey Puck Shot Challenge to get their skates on.

Not the least bit wobbly by the dozens of circles, Thea plows into Leif’s legs, wrapping her arms around his thigh. Come on, Daddy. It’s time. It’s time.

Let’s go. He lifts her in one arm, but before they head off, he asks, Are you going to watch, Coach Jalen?

He’s cheering for us. He already told me. Right, Coach Jalen? Thea vibrates with excitement. The hood of her sweatshirt bounces as she squirms in Leif’s arms.

That’s right. Go out there and show them how to shoot the puck. I bump her extended fist and make an exploding sound.

Leif tips his chin to his chest. The look he flashes is sultry summer nights with no air conditioning. I should get points for refraining from fanning myself. Hell, I should get double the points for refraining from pushing him against the nearest wall and stripping him naked.

My restraint is legendary.

Glad you’ll be watching. He winks, then lifts Thea over his head. Her squeals of delight peel over the murmur of the crowd. Trying to find my equilibrium, I watch the two, my heart revving like drag racers down Columbus Boulevard.

Hockey players have the best asses, Monet says, then bites into a tortilla chip slathered in nacho cheese.

Where’d you get those? I steal a chip and pop it into my mouth as we admire the glorious backside of Philly’s favorite Power player. It’s round and firm and calls for my fingers to dig into it while he shoves his tongue into my mouth. He’s not as big as me. I have too much bulk to have his nimbleness and grace. But something tells me Leif would be as demanding and formidable in bed as he is on the ice. My dick twitches. I don’t know what it is about the man—other than his muscular build, distracting eyes, and raw talent—but I can’t seem to keep my mind from trailing off. Wicked thoughts like the brush of his beard against my neck and the feel of his hands cupping my balls plunder my mind.

Monet lets out a dejected sigh when Leif and his backside are out of sight. Come on. I want to get a good spot.

We head toward the Polar Bear Rink, and make our way to the end where Leif, Thea, and the rest of their team have gathered. Each team is made up of two league players and half-a-dozen kids of varying ages and skill levels. The Power’s top line center, Axel Lavigne and Leif gather their group in a close circle. Axel fakes a fall that lands him on his ass and the kids crack up.

You see that? Monet lifts her chin toward Mason, an eight-year-old player who has Down Syndrome. He extends his hand to help Axel up. Grinning, Axel takes it. Once he’s back on his feet, he slings his arm over Mason’s shoulders as Mason looks at him in awe. The pair return to the group, ready to face off against the Power’s star rookie, Calder MacKinnon, and the two kids vying for his attention.

I can’t help but smile. Witnessing the impact of a seemingly inadvertent gesture on a kid is one reason I love coaching. We’ll need to tell Jacques. Mason’s really coming out of his shell.

When Leif’s gaze meets mine, he holds it for a beat, and I swear, the heat he’s launching could melt the ice.

Okay, teams, time to take your places. Microphone in hand, the charity’s rep stands in the middle of the ice, directing everyone to their positions.

Soon, pandemonium erupts as grown-ass men push and block and revert from professional athletes to a bunch of buffoons. Every kid, even the teens who are usually oh-so-cool, are on board with the shenanigans. Puck in his hand, Axel slides on his belly into the net. Leif is holding Thea under one arm and AJ, another Pre-Mite, under the other, skating toward the opposite net as each child throws multiple pucks into the goal.

Meanwhile, Mason is beaming, his missing front tooth on display, as he blocks Calder from trying to yank Axel out of the net by his skates. Leif has four kids hanging off him like monkeys climbing a tree, all intentions of getting pucks into the goal long gone. One of the Power’s former legends and Striker try to act as referees, but get caught up in the melee, with Striker adding to the mayhem. The scene is chaotic and riotous, and fun. Every person on and off the ice is laughing.