Now I sat in the same chair, staring at the same wall of team photos, while Richards tried to look intimidating behind his massive desk.
"We need to talk about Dr. Graves."
My jaw clenched. "What about her?"
"Don't play stupid, Knox. Morrison said he could smell your pheromones from the hallway during her first exam." Richards rubbed his temples like I was giving him a migraine. I probably was. "She's been here one week. One. Week."
"And?"
"And she hasn't quit yet, which is a fucking miracle. So whatever Alpha bullshit you're thinking about pulling don't."
I leaned back in the chair, making it creak. "I haven't done anything."
"Yet." Coach Sullivan entered the office, arms crossed over his chest. The head coach looked ready to throw me through thewindow. "But we both know what happens when you fixate on someone."
"That was different."
"Was it?" My coach’s eyes narrowed. "Because from where I'm standing, you're about to cost us another team doctor. Except this time, we're fucked if she leaves. No one else will take the job."
"I said I haven't done anything."
"Keep it that way," Richards said. "Dr. Graves is off-limits. Non-negotiable. You so much as breathe wrong in her direction, and you're suspended without pay."
My hands curled into fists. "You threatening me over some Omega?"
"I'm threatening you over our team physician," Sullivan corrected. "Who happens to be the only doctor in the Pacific Northwest willing to deal with your ass. So yes, Knox. Stay the fuck away from her."
"I have treatment twice a week."
"Medical treatment. Nothing else. And you'll be nothing but professional." Richards stood, trying to use his height to intimidate me. Cute. "I mean it, Knox. We can't afford to lose her."
I stood too, and Richards took an involuntary step back. "We done here?"
"Be nice," Sullivan said. "That's an order. Be fucking nice to everyone, but especially to her."
Nice.They wanted me to be nice while my fucking dick was starting to ache at the thought of sliding into her body. Every single cell in my body screamed to claim her, mark her, find out what she smelled like under all those suppressants. Bury myself in her…
"Sure," I lied. "I’ll be nice."
The next thing I knew I was yanking the door open so hard that it rattled on its hinges and stalked out of the room. I was fighting against my nature to put another hole in office wall using my General Manager and Coach’s head.
The training facility was busy, players getting treatment for various injuries before afternoon practice. As I stormed towards the weight room, needing to burn off the rage building in my chest, I passed the medical suite. The second I did, I heard the doctor’s voice. It was soft and kind and unmistakably belonged to the woman I wanted to fuck.
"Just a minor sprain. You'll be fine in a few days."
I stopped, looking through the open door. Dr. Harper Graves was wrapping Peterson's wrist. The rookie winger was sitting way too fucking close to her, grinning like an idiot while she worked. His fucking knee was pressed against the white lab coat and under the fluorescent lights, his brown eyes almost seemed to be amber.
"Thanks, Doc. You've got magic hands."
She laughed. Actually laughed. A soft sound that made my vision go red at the edges.
How fucking dare she laugh at his stupid weak ass,I thought.
"Just ice and rest," she said, stepping back. "No stick work for forty-eight hours."
"Yes, ma'am." Peterson stood, and that's when the little shit did it. He touched her shoulder. Quick, casual, but his hand lingered a second too long.
The growl ripped from my throat before I could stop it.
