Page 47 of Silver Fox Puck

Jake rolls his eyes. "You’re literally sitting at a table full of hockey players. You might want to rethink your life choices."

Allie snorts. "She’s not wrong, though."

I glance at her, catching the way her gaze lingers on me. Allie knows me too well. She sees things I don’t want her to see. So I ignore the look and pretend my pulse isn’t racing.

I pretend that I’m not hyper-aware of the man sitting just feet away. That my skin isn’t prickling from his proximity. That my body isn’t remembering every single way he touched me. Instead, I cross my legs, tilt my chin up, and force a casual smile.

"So," I say, dragging my gaze away from Grant and toward my brother. "What’s this little lunch meeting about?"

Jake leans forward, launching into something about team strategy, trades, and how some of the guys are adjusting to the coaching change.

I nod along, pretending to listen. But the whole time? I can feel him.

Watching.

Not obviously. Not in a way anyone else would notice. But I feel it. That careful, controlled awareness. Like Grant Maddox is too good at pretending not to care. Like he’s still trying to convince himself that he doesn’t want me.

And that?

That’s a mistake. Because I see the way his hand flexes against the table. The way his jaw tightens—just slightly—when I cross my legs. The way his eyes linger on my bare shoulders in my sleeveless top a fraction of a second too long, before he looks away.

He’s not as unaffected as he wants me to believe. And I’m about to prove it.

So I set my glass down, lean in slightly, and tilt my head toward him.

"You look tense, Silver Fox," I murmur, just loud enough for him to hear. "Maybe you should pick up a hobby. Something relaxing."

I expect him to react. For his jaw to tighten. For something.

But instead?

He lifts his coffee to his lips, takes a slow sip, and barely spares me a glance.

"Thanks for your concern, Flight," he says, voice smooth as hell. "But I manage just fine."

Oh, for fuck’s sake. I blink. What the hell is happening? I threw a shot, and he didn’t even flinch.

Jake chuckles, glancing between us. "Kenzie, don’t mess with Maddox. He’s got the patience of a saint. Probably deals with worse chirping from Gator on a daily basis."

Grant hums in agreement, setting his coffee down. "That’s true."

What. The actual. Hell.

Jake just unknowingly handed him an out, and he took it.

No tension. No smirk. No reaction at all.

And now?

Now I’m fuming.

Because this isn’t how this was supposed to go. I was supposed to be winning. I was supposed to make him break first. But he’s not breaking. He’s just sitting there, looking unfairly good, like he isn’t affected at all.

Like I’m not even worth a second thought.

And for some stupid reason?

That makes me want to push harder. So I reach for my drink, swirling the straw before I glance at him again, tilting my head.

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