Page 154 of Silver Fox Puck

Talia chokes on her drink. “Oh, babe. That’s not subtle.”

Shit.

I force a casual expression onto my face and take a slow sip of my drink, like I’m just casually watching a normal game where the assistant coach isn’t someone I was tangled up with two nights ago.

The jumbotron finally shifts away, but my heart is still pounding.

People saw that.

I grip my drink tighter and try to focus on the actual hockey game happening in front of me.

The Eagles are locked in a brutal fight against their biggest rival. It’s the kind of game where every play feels personal, where tempers are running high, where the players aren’t just looking to win—they’re looking to destroy.

Grant is at the edge of the bench, barking instructions, his voice cutting through the chaos like a razor-sharp blade.

Even from here, I can see the vein in his temple, the tight clench of his jaw, the fire in his eyes.

And I feel it in my chest.

God, he’s in his element.

I don’t think I’ve ever wanted him more.

Then—everything happens at once.

One of the Eagles’ star players—Kingston—goes into the boards hard.

The hit is ugly. Questionable.

The arena erupts.

Grant is on his feet instantly, shouting at the refs, pure fury radiating off him.

The cameras catch everything.

And then, like some cruel joke from the universe, the jumbotron flickers back to me.

Catching my reaction.

My visceral reaction.

Because I wasn’t watching the game.

I was watching Grant.

The intensity on his face. The way he’s barely keeping his rage in check. The way he looks like he’s ready to jump over the boards and fight someone himself.

And apparently, it was all over my face.

Because the second the camera zooms in on me, my expression is a dead giveaway.

A mix of concern, admiration, and something far too intimate.

The final buzzer blares through the arena, rattling through my bones.

The Eagles win.

The entire building erupts, the energy a tidal wave of cheers, music, and flashing lights.

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