Page 46 of Slap Shot Scandal
As I push through the door, my cell vibrates in my pocket.
Puck Bunny: Team dinner tomorrow night at the Rusty Anchor. Prince says bring Harbor. Guys want to meet the woman behind the move
The thought of Harbor surrounded by my teammates—especially fucking Bennett and his knowing smirks—has me all the way on edge.
Heat roars through my chest—and the warmth’s not from the beating of the Florida summer sun.
CHAPTER 12
HARBOR
Dammit.
I blink at the dark blue streak of Weston’s T-shirt as he darts out of the coffee shop, practically running to get away.
What possessed me to pat him down like a freaking TSA agent, my fingers all over his coffee-stained junk? Very sizable junk, too, impossible not to notice through the thin fabric of his pants.
I just made things a million times more awkward.
And right when I thought we were making real progress—starting to see eye to eye on the rebrand—things between us are all weird again. Something between us shifted, then shifted back again the instant I spilled my drink all over his lap.
Le sigh.
I hoped we’d turned a corner after our time in the elevator together, but I guess not. He couldn’t get away from me fast enough.
Which is probably for the best but still stings a little.
Maybe I’m reading too much into his body language, those smoldering stares. It has been a minute since I waded into the dating pool. I’m out of my element, most likely overanalyzing all the things.
Still, the way he acts when he’s with me—so focused and attentive. Like I’m the only person in the room.
Shit.
I need to stop thinking about Weston.
His ice-blue gaze, the shadow of stubble on his sharp jawline. The way the cotton of his shirt stretches to try and contain his muscles. Those abs.
All of him.
I shouldn’t be thinking about him, full stop.
We’re colleagues, nothing more.
Keep it professional, Harbor.
It’s safer that way.
Being Coach Doug Hayes’s daughter means every single move I make is analyzed, scrutinized.
Broadcasted.
I can’t date a player. That would be catastrophic, career suicide.Hello, puck bunny!
And I certainly can’t date Weston Steele. Falling for a man like him is dangerous.
Because he’s the type of guy you fall in love with—and never get over.
I can’t afford a heartbreak like that. Not now. Not ever.
