Page 95 of Slap Shot Scandal
He glances over at me and my breath hitches under his heated gaze. A stare so intense I almost stop breathing, my heart pounding a mile a minute.
With a quick inhale I hope Mr. Prince doesn’t notice, I try to get my swirling emotions under control.
It’s really damn hard when Weston’s staring at me like that. All primal and possessive, his jaw set, lips slightly parted.
Like he’s ready to set the world on fire and burn everything down for me.
I fidget with my bracelets, the jingling snapping me back down to Earth.
“Excuse me for a moment, Mr. Prince. I need to go check on the camera crew and make sure they’re ready to roll.”
“For sure. No problem. And Harbor?” He reaches out, gripping my elbow.
“Hmmm?”
“Keep up the good work. Your dedication to the team’s second to none.” He shoots me a wink and I flash him a tight smile.
If only he knew how dedicated you were the other night…
Shoving that voice out of my head, I hustle out to the lobby. Mainly to get away from the watchful eye of Prince and the rest of the team. I need one minute to collect myself before going back into the arena.
“Hey.”
I clock the now-familiar deep voice without turning around, the husky tone sending a thrill through me.
Spinning, I smile at Weston, pulse racing.
“Hey. Everything good? You ready to skate with some tiny people?” I joke, tucking a loose strand of hair behind my ear.
“Yeah, I am. How are you?”
The way he asks the question—eyes flickering over my face, watching for my genuine reaction like he actually gives a damn—I’ve never felt so seen in my entire life.
“I’m good. A little nervous about the rollout, truthfully.” I surprise myself with the honest answer.
A rarity in the PR world.
“Really? Why? Everything looks great.”
I gnaw my bottom lip, contemplating how much to say. “Kids are a wild card. You never know what to expect with those little guys. One wrong move by a player, one slipped swear word, and all the good mojo flies out the window.”
“Right.” Weston nods, his expression serious. “How about this?”
He takes a step forward, the crisp scent of his cologne curling around me, his fingers lightly touching my arm.
“We go in, smile, and don’t swear. I’ll keep it PG—even if you keep gazing at me like that.”
He winks and I blink up at him, warmth creeping up my neck.
Damn.
He’s too good at this—steadying me and unraveling me in the same breath.
I’m in very dangerous territory right now, every single rule on the verge of being broken.
Champions stick to the playbook. They don’t go off-script.
“Excuse me?” A brunette in tight jeans, a crisp white button down, and stilettos—with scarlet red lips and black sunglasses slung on top of her head—interrupts us. For the second time today, I jump, backing away from Weston as fast as I possibly can.
