Page 37 of Off-Limits as Puck

The first official activity is a “therapeutic hike” that I’m supposedly leading. Twenty-eight players, coaching staff, and me trudging up a mountain while I spout wisdom about mindfulness and team cohesion.

I’m checking my trail map when a shadow falls over me.

“Need a hiking buddy, Doc?”

I don’t look up. “I’m sure you can find someone else to annoy, Mr. Hendrix.”

“But annoying you is so much more fun.” He leans againstthe lodge’s exterior wall, too close for comfort. “Nice room assignment, by the way. We should coordinate shower schedules.”

“We should coordinate you staying fifty feet away at all times.”

“Restraining order distance? Bit extreme for neighbors.”

“Reed—” His name slips out before I can stop it.

“Chelsea.” He matches my tone exactly, and I finally look at him. Mistake. He’s in hiking gear that shows off every muscle I’m trying to forget, looking unfairly good in morning sunlight.

“Dr. Clark,” I correct, but it’s weak and we both know it.

“Right. My bad.” He pushes off the wall. “See you on the trail, Dr. Clark. Try to keep up.”

The hike is torture. Not the physical part—I’m in decent shape despite my academic lifestyle. It’s Reed, who seems determined to stay exactly three feet behind me the entire time. Close enough that I can feel his presence like a physical weight. Far enough that it’s not technically inappropriate.

“You’re supposed to be with your defensive line,” I mutter during a water break.

“I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be,” he replies, voice low enough that only I can hear.

“Which is?”

“Making sure you don’t get lost.”

“I have a map.”

“Hendrix!” Weston calls from up ahead. “Stop harassing the doc and get up here!”

Reed gives me a look that promises this isn’t over before jogging ahead. I use the reprieve to catch my breath and my sanity, both of which are in short supply.

“He’s got it bad,” Maddy observes, appearing at my elbow like a guardian angel in Lululemon.

“He’s got nothing. We’re nothing.”

“Honey, that man has been staring at your ass for the last mile.”

“Maddy!”

“What? I’m paid to notice things. And what I’m noticing is sexual tension thick enough to cut with a skate.”

That night’s bonfire is mandatory fun at its finest. The team gathers around a massive fire pit, beers flowing freely, inhibitions lowering with each degree the temperature drops. I position myself strategically between Patricia and my father, using them as human shields.

It works for exactly twenty minutes.

“Doc looks cold,” someone suggests. “Hendrix, give her your jacket.”

“She’s fine,” my father says curtly.

But Reed’s already moving, dropping onto the bench beside me with practiced casualness. “Can’t have our therapist freezing to death. Bad for morale.”

He drapes his team jacket over my shoulders before I can protest. It smells like him—ice and cedar and trouble. The weight of it feels like being held, and I hate how much I don’t hate it.

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