Page 106 of Coach's Temptation

I pull Natalie into my arms, feeling her heart racing against my chest. Her fingers curl into my shirt as she takes a shaky breath.

"Hey," I murmur into her hair. "It's just dinner. And if they don't like me? Or the apartment? That's their problem."

She tilts her head back, eyes searching mine. "But-"

"No buts. The only opinion that matters is yours. Doyoulike the apartment?"

A small smile tugs at her lips. "I love it."

"Do you like me?" I wink at her and smile.

She slaps my chest. "Yes. I love you."

"Then that's all I care about." I brush my thumb across her cheek. "That's all that matters. And maybe I just wanted to hear you say that again."

She rises on her toes, pressing a soft kiss to my lips just as the doorbell rings.

My eyes pop with excitement.

"Guess that’s our cue." I smirk, stealing one last kiss before pulling away. "Showtime, baby."

The second Natalie opens the door, her mother’s expression tightens like she just caught a whiff of something unpleasant. Natalie pastes on a smile so painfully forced it might as well be stapled to her face.

“Mom. Dad. Hello.” Her voice is bright—too bright. “Come in.”

Martha Hayes, impeccably dressed in a stiff navy blouse and pearl earrings, steps inside with the air of someone entering a property listing, not her own daughter’s home.

She sweeps a slow, critical gaze across the apartment, taking in the fresh walls, the gleaming hardwood, the carefully restored trim.

Wait for it.

“Well,” she sniffs, “at least you didn’t keep those awful curtains your grandmother loved.”

There it is.

I clench my jaw so hard my molars grind together.

Right on cue, Harold Hayes grunts in agreement, stepping inside with an expression of mild disinterest, like he’d rather be anywhere else but here. His gray slacks are perfectly pressed, his button-down a little too crisp, and the first words out of his mouth aren’thello, orgood to see you, sweetheart, orthank you for having us.

Nope.

Instead, he gestures vaguely at the space. “Seems like a waste of money when you could’ve moved somewhere better.”

Natalie stiffens beside me.

I exhale slowly through my nose, locking down the immediate urge to throw them both right back out the damn door. Because for over twenty years in professional hockey, I’ve had to deal with critical, over-opinionated people.

I know how to play this game.

Keep your head down, get the win, and go home in one piece.

So I straighten my shoulders, step forward, and offer my hand like the civilized man I’m pretending to be.

“Mr. and Mrs. Hayes, I’m Hunter Brody. Nice to finally meet you.”

Harold eyes me like I just handed him a live grenade before giving my hand the world’s weakest shake. Martha does one better. She simply presses her fingers into mine and offers a delicate,Hmm.

Not a full word between them.

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