Page 25 of Arrogant Puck

But he steps closer.

Now I can see the lines at the corners of his mouth, the faint bruise along his jaw, the tightness around his eyes. His gaze doesn’t waver.

“You said it yesterday. To Riley.”

“I—” My grip on the clipboard tightens. “That wasn’t my call. He asked for my observation.”

“You told him I’m hurt.”

“I told him you refused evaluation.”

His jaw twitches. “Which means you told my secret.”

“Your stride favors your right hip.”

“You’ve been watching me that closely?”

I don’t answer.

Because yes. I have. But not the way he’s implying.

“Do you want to know what happens when you tell my secrets?”

He steps into my space. Close enough that I catch the scent of sweat and cold metal. There’s an ache in his body, I can feel it in the way he leans—protective, like it costs him something just to stand still.

I lift my chin, heart pounding.

“I kept your secret. He tried to use me to get to you.” Let him swallow that one. “If you’re pushing through pain and hiding it, you’re a liability on the ice.”

Wrong thing to say.

His expression hardens, lips pressed flat. “You think they’ll keep you if I get benched?”

“What?” I stare into his eyes, confused by what that has to do with anything.

“You think you’re untouchable in this building?” he says, voice lower now. “One whisper from me and you’re out. Gone.”

That hits something low in my gut. Fear, sharp and sudden. He’s not yelling. He doesn’t have to. He’s using his height, his presence, his voice like a weapon.

And it’s working.

But I won’t fold.

“You don’t scare me,” I lie. He scares the hell out of me, but I’ve had it with arrogant men who think they run the world.

His eyes flick down my face. “No?”

His hand comes up—slow, deliberate. He presses it against the side of my neck, fingers warm and wide, wrapping around the space just under my jaw. Not tight. Just there.

My breath catches.

Is he going to choke me to make a point?

The hallway is silent, but my pulse is a drumbeat in my ears.

I grab his wrist—on instinct. Not to push him off. Just to remind him I’m fucking human.

“There it is,” he says, voice like gravel. “Now you’re listening.”

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