Page 75 of Coach's Temptation

I throw my hands in the air, spinning on the spot.

“Hunter, this isn’t somegrit through the painbullshit. This is a muscle strain. Abadone! If he forces it now, we might as well wrap his shoulder in caution tape for the next two rounds.”

Hunter’s jaw flexes. “We need him.”

I scoff.

“Oh, I know you need him. You need himtonight. But what about next week? What about the next series? The Stanley Cup Finals, if we make it? Because if he plays tomorrow, you can kiss all of that goodbye.”

Hunter’s nostrils flare, but I don’t give him a second to argue. I spin toward Blake, ignoring the heat of Hunter’s stare burning into the side of my face.

“You want to play?” I demand.

Blake hesitates, flicking his gaze between me and Hunter. “I mean—”

“Not him,” I snap, jerking my chin at Hunter. “Not the team.You. Do you want to play if it means potentially tearing yourshoulder and spending the rest of the playoffs sitting on your ass in a sling?”

Blake swallows hard. He’s a good captain. He wants this win just as much as Hunter does. But he also knows his body, knows that I’m not bluffing.

He exhales, dropping his gaze. “I’ll do whatever you say, Doc.”

Hunter’s hands flex at his sides, his whole body tight. “Blake—”

“Hunter.” The daggers in my eyes force Hunter to take a step back. “You don’t get to make this call. I'm the physio, and it's my damn job. Not yours.”

His jaw ticks, his throat working on a swallow as I close the space between us. Step by step, I feel his heat growing hotter the closer I get. A muscle jumps in his forearm, the veins in his hands and biceps flexing, standing out in sharp relief as his fingers twitch.

For the first time, I notice the slight flush creeping up his neck. Like he knows how close we are to falling over the edge with each other. Like he feels everything I'm feeling too.

“The hell I don’t get a say,” he growls, his voice gravel-rough, vibrating straight through my bones. "This is my damn team, Hayes."

I tip my chin up, refusing to be intimidated. Refusing to let my pulse betray the way his anger shouldn't be turning me on like this.

I step even closer. So close, my breath skates across his jaw, my chest brushing his as I level him with a whisper meant only for him.

“You’re not him, Hunter.”

His nostrils flare, breath catching. His pupils are blown so wide, the steel-gray of his irises is nearly swallowed whole.

I don’t stop.

Ican’tstop with Hunter.

I care too much to stop.

"You’re not the kid who got blindsided into retirement anymore," I murmur, my voice steady even as my pulse pounds like a drum. "You’re not the guy fighting to stay on the ice because it’s the only thing that makes him feel like he’s worth a damn."

His jaw clenches. His breath is coming harder now, every inhale brushing against my skin.

"You’re nothimanymore."

Silence. Thick, electric silence.

His body is so goddamn big, so devastatingly solid, and I don’t miss the way his fingers twitch again, like he’s fighting every instinct screaming at him to grab me. To shake me. To anchor himself the only way he knows how.

To get that control.

Totouch me.

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