Page 55 of Cheap Shot
But then, all bets are off. It might be a dream, but I don’t think Michele wants to keep things between us strictly professional either. The two of us have some unfinished business.
* * *
The hum of the water cooler is the only sound in the otherwise quiet training room. Most of the other players have cleared out, finally ready to get some ice time. I’ve been itching to sneak away and lace up my skates, but Michele has been watching me like a hawk.
We worked our way through the entire treatment plan she laid out for me, and it was a lot tougher than I originally thought. All my muscles ache, but in a good way, proving to me that Michele knows what she is doing. Not that I didn’t push her for more every chance I got. She never lost patience or told me to fuck off, much to my surprise.
“How’d I do today, Trouble?” I drop onto the edge of the padded table, pulling my shirt over my head and tossing it to the floor.
“Passable,” Michele responds, wrapping my injured shoulder in a heat pack before running the tip of her fingers across my collarbone, sending a shiver down my body. "You need to stop clenching."
My lip twitches into the hint of a smirk. “Hard not to when your hands are on me like that.”
Michele rolls her eyes, but the corner of her mouth curves into a smile of her own. “I’m serious, Cole.”
“So am I.”
The minute her eyes lock with mine, the mood changes. All traces of our teasing banter disappear. The heat that simmered between us all day flares to life, and this time, there’s no one to stop us. The training and locker rooms are completely empty. I can feel my pulse thudding in my ears, the warmth radiating off her body as she leans toward me, the scent of jasmine, saffron, and something deep, slightly sweet, fills my nostrils.
“I should—” she begins, her voice husky and filled with want.
“You should, what?” I ask, leaning forward. This time, our noses brush each other, and her breath hitches.
My hand reaches up, hesitating for a moment before grabbing her waist and pulling her body toward me. She doesn't resist, falling into my chest as my eyes flick from her mouth.
“Tell me to stop.”
Our faces are mere inches apart now as my nose brushes against hers, the contact featherlight. Her eyes drift shut, her tongue peaking out to wet her lower lips as our lips brush against each other softly. A deep, guttural groan rips from my throat as I grip the back of her neck, pulling her towards me when—BANG!
“Yo, Hendrix! Are you in here being difficult?” Sammy’s voice booms through the gym, cutting through the haze. “Oh. Shit. Sorry!”
Sammy, I could kill you right now. I inhale deeply through my nose before blowing it out of my mouth. I need to remember that killing my new potential teammates is never a good idea. Besides, Sammy seems like a decent guy.
Michele's eyes widen in horror as she scrambles out of my grasp, moving as if she were just burned. All the softness in her expression snaps back into professional mode.
“Sammy,” I say through clenched teeth, dragging a hand through his hair as he turned to glare at the doorway.
Sammy is frozen in the doorway, clearly trying not to laugh. “I’ll just… come back later.”
“No need.” Michele smiles, her cheeks on fire as she runs her hands down her body. “Cole was just finishing up. Did you need something?”
“I just need some ice,” he mutters, looking anywhere but at the two of us.
“I can grab that for you,” she says quickly, reaching for her tablet on the bench.
“Michele—” I reach for her, but she steps out of my reach.
“I’ll check your shoulder again tomorrow.” She doesn’t wait for my reply as she heads toward the locker room door, almost colliding with another one of the rookies, Jensen, with two of the younger guys in tow—all loud energy and protein powder bravado.
“Sorry,” Michele whispers as she steps out of the room, leaving me with the heat of her touch still lingering on my skin.
Jensen clocks Michele, doing a double-take as the door swings shut behind her. “If I’d known that was hiding in here, I’d have faked an injury.”
“Damn, if I wasn’t already married,” one of his friends says to Jensen. “Sheishot.”
My eyebrows arch slowly, pushing to my feet as I stride toward them. “Excuse me?”
“You can’t keep her all to yourself here, Hendrix. Learn how to share with your teammates,” one of the other asshole’s comments, the three of them laughing and congratulating each other on whatever happened out on the ice, but I don’t give a fuck.
