Page 38 of Silver Fox Puck

Oh, his damn eyes.

Dark. Steady.

Tracking my every move. Guessing why I’m leaving. That he got to me. That he just won this round. And I’ll be damned if I let that happen.

So I straighten my spine. Lift my chin. And smile. A slow, sweet, totally fake smile.

"See you around, Coach."

I swear—his lips twitch. He can see exactly what I’m doing. He knows this isn’t over. But he doesn’t say a word. Doesn’t stop me. Doesn’t chase.

Just watches as I turn on my heel, walk out of the office, and leave him standing there like none of this ever touched me.

Chapter 7 – Kenzie

This is fine.

Totally. Completely. Absolutely fine.

I’m going to have a normal dinner. I’m going to laugh at their stupid inside jokes, steal fries off Jake’s plate, and pretend my entire world hasn’t been flipped upside down by one very specific, very off-limits, very infuriating man.

And I definitely won’t be thinking about him.

Nope.

Not at all.

Not even a little.

Except—

The second I walk into the restaurant, my stomach drops.

Because he’s here.

Grant Maddox.

Seated at the table with my brother and his teammates. Composed. Relaxed. Effortlessly at ease.

Like this isn’t the same man who had his hands on me in the dark.

Like he hasn’t spent the past few days haunting my mind, uninvited.

I stop short, hand tightening around my clutch. My body registering the impact before my brain can catch up.

"Yo, Kenz!" Jake calls, waving me over. "Get over here before Kingston eats all the nachos."

I swallow hard, plastering on a smile. I will not let this man get to me. So I straighten my shoulders, push my chin up, and walk to the table like I’m completely unbothered. Like my pulse isn’t thudding just a little too hard. Like I don’t immediately feel Grant’s gaze on me.

Jake slides a beer in my direction as I sink into the empty seat across from Grant. "Didn’t know you were coming."

"Didn’t know I needed to RSVP," I shoot back, grabbing the bottle and twisting the cap off.

Jake smirks. "Fair enough."

I take a slow sip, forcing myself to not look at Grant. To not acknowledge the fact that he’s sitting right there, watching me. To not let my brain supply me with a highlight reel of every single thing we did a week ago.

Nope.

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