Page 40 of Slap Shot Scandal
“Knowing Weston, he probably has a strict no-sex policy during the season. To keep his focus laser-sharp.”
Focus.
There’s that word again. And it’s starting to feel like a battle I’m losing.
“Damn, you sound like you know him pretty well already.”
I bite at my lip and stare out at the dark ocean, reflecting.Do I know Weston well already?
Not really, but it feels like we’ve known one another a lot longer than a week and a half.
Because you click with him.
Shoving that thought away, I focus on my sister. “Anyway, enough about me. What’s up with you? How’s work?”
“It’s fine. That’s one of the reasons I’m calling. I have an assignment in Florida later this month and was hoping to see you.”
“Sure, sounds good. Shoot me the dates and I’ll get you on my calendar. I need to check the schedule, but I should be around.”
“Great. I’ve gotta run to a nature meditation session. But I’ll send you dates!”
“Perfect. Love you, Pipes.” I blow her a kiss as she waves and clicks off, the screen going dark.
My sister’s something else. We’re nothing alike—she’s a free spirit and I’m more structured, preferring a schedule and rules to the freelance lifestyle. But she is intuitive and just may be on to something.
In the elevator, things shifted between me and Weston. Maybe it was the confined space or the darkness, I don’t know. But for the first time, it felt like maybe—just maybe—something could happen between us.
And I’m not sure if I should be happy about that or shaken to the core.
Because I can’t afford to screw up this team rebrand. An entire team’s counting on me. Jobs hang in the balance—including mine.
Even if I wanted to take a chance with Weston, it’s a terrible idea.
I set aside my wineglass and open the Hockey with Heart proposal, forcing myself to focus on the community outreach calendar instead of piercing blue eyes and the scent of cedar.
My phone vibrates against the nightstand. I check the screen and nearly drop it.
Weston: Prince wants to see updated mascot mockups by tomorrow. I’ve got early ice time at 5:30. Meet at Shoreline Coffee at 7 to review?
Pulse jumping, I stare at my cell. It’s a professional text from a colleague.
An ordinary request.
But it doesn’t feel ordinary—not with him. Not anymore.
I have a perfectly professional reason to meet with him. Alone. And it’d be suspicious if I declined.
The smart move would be suggesting a video call. Safe. Remote. Professional. Exactly what my father would expect from someone in my position.
But you know what? I’m tired of playing it safe. Tired of his voice in my head dictating every single decision.
Harbor: Sure. See you at 7
I hit send, dropping the phone on the bed.
What the hell am I doing?
CHAPTER 11
