Page 59 of Slap Shot Scandal
I’m swiping my key when I catch a glimpse of a darkblue blur two doors down from me. Out of the corner of my eye, I spot her.
Harbor.
Of fucking course I run into her.
I can’t seem to avoid her, no matter how hard I try.
I should duck into my room and pretend I don’t notice her standing there. Ignore her and the thudding of my heart.
I hesitate for a split second, then click my door shut and take three long strides until I’m standing in front of her.
“Weston.” Her voice is surprised and breathy. But it’s her pulse fluttering in her neck that gives her away. She’s as affected by what happened today as I am, I’m sure of it. “Do you have questions for me about the interview?”
“Questions, yes. But not about the interview.” I all but growl the words, fists clenched at my side to keep from reaching out and touching her. She smells sweet, her intoxicating scent winding around me in the close space.
Her wide eyes flick to my face, two bright pink stains coloring her cheeks.
“We can’t,” she whispers, the briefest flash of regret filling her pretty face. “You know we can’t. It’s too risky.”
“Because of the job? Or because you’re scared?”
“Both. Everything I’ve worked for, Weston. I can’t—I won’t be the cautionary tale.”
A rock settles low in my gut. I know she’s right. But I don’t have to like it.
I scrape a hand over my jaw, heavy disappointment settling over me.
“I know. You’re right.”
Not waiting for a chance to second guess myself, I step in and scoop her close to my chest, pressing my lips lightlyto the top of her head. Her sigh tickles my throat as she closes her eyes, seemingly savoring the connection. But before she can blink those beautiful hazel eyes open again, I step back and turn away.
“Night, Hurricane.”
Before I do something I’ll regret, I hustle back to my room and shove inside. I have to forget about the locker room. Pretend nothing ever happened and move the fuck on with my life.
It’s the safe play. And now’s not the time to take a risk, no matter how badly I want to.
Practice is a disaster. No sleep. No rhythm. Every break is off, every pass mistimed.
Finally, I give up and hit the showers to get ready for the team meeting. Prince hasn’t looped me in on the coaching situation and I’m kind of pissed about it. Not that I have any say, really, but an intro before the meeting would have been nice.
I’m buttoning my dress shirt when the team starts to file in a few minutes before ten. Callum lopes over to me, looking uncomfortable in his dark gray suit. He’s not one for dressing up, always more at ease in his athletic gear than anything else.
“Morning.” He tips his head, shoving a hand deep in his suit pocket. “How was practice?”
“Shitty.”
“Sorry to hear. You nervous about the interview?”
I shrug. “Not really. Just a little off out there.”
“Happens to the best of us.”
“I’m almost afraid to ask, but how late did Bennett stay out last night? Did he get into any trouble?”
Callum shakes his head. “No. He was on his best behavior. All good.”
I tuck in my shirt and try to ignore the tightness between my shoulder blades creeping up into my neck. I can’t seem to shake the anxiety that’s been my constant companion for the last few weeks.
