Page 7 of Defensive Desire

"But… her coffee…"

I glare harder and he shrinks back into his seat.

"Smooth, Kane," Connor mutters from beside me, too low for the others to hear.

I ignore him too.

Big Mike looks pleasantly surprised. "Well, that's the initiative I like to see! Anyone else have preferences for partnerships?"

The meeting dissolves into a flurry of suggestions and debates.

I tune it out, already planning what equipment Emma will need for a temporary café setup at the arena. She'd want her espresso machine, obviously. Storage for those specialty beans she keeps in those air-tight containers. Probably display space for her books...

Fuck. What am I doing?

We hit the locker room after the meeting and Connor wastes no time coming up to me with that smug fucking grin on his mouth.

"Jesus Christ, Kane. Could you be any more obvious?"

I ignore him, reaching into my locker for fresh gym clothes.

Ryder sidles up, grinning. "Logan's just in it for the free coffee, right? Can't blame him. Emma's stuff is legit."

"Emma'sstuff?" Connor echoes with a suggestive wiggle of his eyebrows.

"The coffee, Walsh," I growl, slamming my locker shut with enough force to make him jump. "Her coffee is good. End of story."

"Right," Connor drawls, unconvinced. "And this has nothing to do with how you stare at her every time we're at Chapter and Grind? Or how you keeping insisting to build those shelves for her display? Or how—"

"You're building her shelves?" Ryder interrupts, eyes wide. "Dude, that's like... domestic and shit."

I fight the urge to shove both of them into the equipment bin. Coach Brody's hell bent on team discipline and camaraderie ever since he loved up. I can't afford any suspensions for friendly fire this season.

"My sister dated a carpenter once," Ryder continues, oblivious to the danger flowing through my veins. "Started with an end table, ended with a ring. Just saying."

"Nobody asked you," I mutter, yanking my t-shirt over my head.

"Look at that," Connor stage-whispers to Ryder. "The Iron Wall is blushing."

"I don't blush," I snap. "And I don't need to explain myself to you assholes."

Blake approaches, already changed and ready to hit the gym. As captain, he always knows when to intervene. Right before blood is spilled.

"Leave Logan alone," he says, though his eyes are dancing with amusement. "Not everyone can articulate their feelings through grand center-ice proposals."

"Fuck off, Maddox," I mutter.

The truth is, I don't know what this thing with Emma is. Don't know what to call the way my chest tightens when she smiles or how I can't stop noticing shit she needs fixed in that shop of hers.

Don't know why my throat goes dry when she bends over that damn coffee counter, or how her ass looks in those tight blue jeans she wears. Or the way her tongue darts out to taste test new blends that makes my mind go places it shouldn't.

Don't know why I wake up thinking about her smile. Or go to bed remembering the way she touched my arm last week when I helped move those boxes.

It's fucking annoying, like an itch I can't scratch, a distraction I don't need.

Hockey is my life.

Has been since I was old enough to hold a stick.

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