Page 52 of Arrogant Puck

I flip through the papers, noting tomorrow’s flight time, mid-morning, and the hotel arrangements. “Looks like we’re staying overnight.”

“Both nights, actually. Flying back Sunday morning.” He leans back in his chair, studying me with the same intensity he probably uses to analyze game footage. “You okay with travel? Hope you can find someone to watch your cat.”

I grin. “No cat, coach. I will be there. Thank you.”

“Good. Because we need someone who can keep these guys in line, physically speaking. Riley might not have been perfect, but he knew how to manage egos and injuries.” His expression softens slightly. “You’re young for this kind of responsibility, but from what I’ve seen, you know what you’re doing.”

Great. No pressure at all.

I stand to leave, clutching the travel packet against my chest like armor. Two days on the road with the team. Two days of close quarters and nowhere to hide.

Two days of trying to avoid Slater Castellano while being professionally required to treat him if he needs it.

This is my inescapable new hell.

Chapter 18

I catch Coach’s voice through his half-open office door as I pass by on my way to the showers. Something about Chicago, Milwaukee, travel arrangements. But it’s the other voice that makes me stop—Sage’s voice, professional and controlled.

“I understand,” she says, and I lean closer to the doorframe.

“Flight details, hotel info,” Morrison continues. “Since this is your first trip with us...”

Trip? She’s coming on the trip with us.

A slow smile spreads across my face as I continue toward the locker room. My plan with Riley worked perfectly. The bastard ran just like I knew he would, leaving Sage to pick up the pieces. And now she’ll be trapped on a plane with me, stuck in hotels with me, unable to run away every time I get too close.

Perfect.

But the memory of her breakdown in the office keeps playing on repeat in my head. The way she was shaking, the panic inher eyes, the desperate way she’d pushed against my chest like I was some kind of monster. That wasn’t the Sage I know—the confident woman who looked me in the eye while her hands worked magic on my hip, who called me out on my bullshit and didn’t back down.

Something happened to her. Something that made her terrified of being vulnerable, of being seen. And if I want her—which I do, more than I’ve wanted anything in years—I need to figure out what the fuck that was.

I don’t want her submissive because she’s scared of me. I want her to choose it, to trust me enough to let go. I want her to have fun with me, not cower like I’m going to hurt her.

I have plans for her. Plans that require her to be willing, not terrified.

The shower water is scalding against my skin as I work through my strategy. I need to be smart about this, patient. I can’t just corner her and demand answers—that clearly doesn’t work. I need to smooth my way to her heart, make her want to tell me her secrets instead of forcing them out of her.

But I also need to keep her at a distance from everyone else. The way Davidson was looking at her today, the easy way she smiled at Mitchell yesterday—that shit needs to stop. I don’t care if she doesn’t like how protective I am. I will always protect what’s mine.

And that thought stops me cold.

What’s mine?

Jesus fucking Christ.

When did I start thinking about Sage Monroe as belonging to me? When did I realize that I wanted to do more than fuck her? How is this turning into something deeper, more possessive?

It’s because she’s interesting.

Difficult.

Broken.

Like me.

For the first time in my life, I’m genuinely interested in a woman beyond what she can do for me physically. I want to know what makes her cry, what demons live in her past because I can tell from our interaction earlier that she has some deep wounds.

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