Page 82 of Silver Fox Puck

Chapter 17 – Kenzie

Irefuse to think about him.

Refuse to let my brain replay every damn second of him at my apartment.

But apparently, my body didn’t get the memo.

Because Grant Maddox has taken up residence in my head, and no matter how much I try to shove him out, he lingers.

It’s infuriating.

All day, I go through the motions, pretending like I’m fine. I grab coffee, run errands, clean my apartment—anything to keep myself busy.

But nothing works.

Because no matter what I do, I keep getting distracted by flashbacks of him.

The way his fingers brushed my wrist. The way his voice dropped low, like a promise and a warning all at once. The way he looked at me—possessive, amused, like he already knew exactly how this ends.

I groan and throw my phone onto my couch, flopping down beside it.

It dings.

Allie.

I glare at the screen. Then I ignore it. Because I am not doing this today.

I pick up the remote and flip through channels, desperate for something to pull me out of this spiral.

Five minutes in, I realize I’ve been staring at the screen without absorbing a single word. Because Grant is still in my damn head.

I groan again, rubbing my hands down my face. This isn’t normal. I hate to admit he’s right: it’s not just sex anymore.

And the worst part? I have no idea what to do about that. Before I can figure it out, my phone dings again.

Not Allie this time.

I stare at the text.

Because for the first time in my life, I don’t know if I actually want to go to the rink. But the thought of sitting here alone with my thoughts for one more second?

Even worse.

With a sigh, I grab my keys and head for the door. The second I step into the rink, I know this was a mistake. It’s not even the cold air that hits me first—it’s him.

Grant is on the ice, commanding the entire damn team, and looking way too good doing it.

I tell myself I won’t look. That I’ll keep my focus on Jake, that I’ll stay far, far away from whatever gravitational pull Grant Maddox has on me.

But the second my gaze drifts to him, I can’t look away.

He’s completely in control, barking orders at the team, his voice cutting through the crisp air like a blade.

It’s unfair.

The way his coaching gear fits just right. The way his sharp jaw flexes when he’s focused. The way he moves with this effortless confidence, like he owns every inch of that ice.

Every time I’ve seen him he’s always had that presence, that quiet authority. But here? In his element?

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