Page 36 of Silver Fox Puck

I whip my head back to him, eyes blazing. "Are you serious?!"

He shrugs. "I was under the impression we were keeping things uncomplicated."

My breath catches. He’s not wrong. That was the deal. One night. No strings. No complications.

But that was before. Before this.

Before I realized I’d hooked up with my brother’s new assistant coach.

Before I realized he was going to be in my life whether I wanted him there or not.

My hands clench into fists at my sides.

I hate this.

I hate that he looks so unaffected while my heart is pounding. I hate that his stupidly handsome, unreadable face gives away nothing.

I hate how stupidly good he looks standing there—broad and infuriatingly composed, his dark eyes unreadable, his shirt stretching just enough over his chest to remind me exactly how solid he felt beneath my hands.

I hate that my body remembers.

I hate that I do, too.

I exhale sharply, lifting my chin.

"Fine. You’re right," I say coolly. "No complications. No problem."

Something flickers in his gaze. Something fast and sharp and unreadable.

Then he schools his features back into that infuriating, unbothered calm.

"Good."

I nod. "Good."

Silence stretches between us, thick and charged.

And for some stupid, reckless reason, I wonder—

If I got closer, would he still smell the same?

If I touched him, would it undo me all over again?

I shove the thoughts down.

No.

No, no, absolutely not.

I force my body to turn, to walk, to leave. Because I need to get out of this office. Away from him. Away from whatever the hell this is.

Just as my fingers graze the door handle, his voice stops me. Low. Smooth. Dangerous. "Careful, Flight."

I freeze. Heat snaps down my spine.

Slowly, I turn, pulse hammering. "Excuse me?"

His lips twitch—just a fraction, just enough to make my blood boil.

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