“I can do that. Yep. I’m pretty good at shutting up. Well, actually, I’m kind of terrible at it. Just ask Sydney. So, no, I won’t shut up. I’m going to keep talking until you tell me what all that was about downstairs. Who was that guy?”
She was quiet for a long moment.
“I don’t discuss my personal life with the team.”
“Oh, come on. I’m not just a guy on the team anymore. I’m the guy who punched you.”
An exasperated smile tugged at the corner of her lips, and I counted that as a win. My eyes traced the sharp lines of her face, landing on her perfect mouth. Damn, she was beautiful.
Even with red-rimmed eyes and a swollen cheek.
Her copper hair clung in wet strands to her cheeks, and for once, she didn’t look so put together, so in control. Instead, she looked… wild. Unkempt. Unsure.
I reached for the corn she was still holding against her cheek and gently lowered it to get a closer look. “That’s going to bruise. I’m so?—”
“If you say ‘sorry’ again, I’m going to make sure you have another bum knee.”
“Whoa, Coach. That’s… aggressive.”
There. A real smile. Directed right at me. Was I in some alternate reality?
But it quickly fell, and her gaze locked on mine, serious now. “I’m so sorry you got pulled into my mess.” She lifted the corn to my lip, where I’d tasted enough blood to know it was split. “That’s going to leave a mark.”
I shrugged, trying to downplay it. “I’ve had worse.” Like the concussion currently making her expression blurry.
I probably imagined it in my concussed state, but for a moment, I thought I saw her gaze flicker to my lips. Just a flicker. As if she too was aware of how close we were. As if she too imagined me reaching over, undoing the silk sash, and letting her robe fall open.
“I guess I should thank you,” she murmured, her voice low, barely more than a whisper.
“For what?”
“Keeping Travis away from me. If you hadn’t been here…” She sighed. “I might’ve done something very stupid.”
Her breath warmed my face, and I swear I’d never been so close to both heaven and hell. This was dangerous, but I couldn’t pull away. “What would you have done?”
Her lips parted on a breath, the smallest exhale, and I inhaled it before I continued. “Would you have gotten this close to him? Put your lips on his?”
She was impossibly still, her chest rising and falling with only the slightest movement.
“Would you have let him touch you?” The back of my hand brushed against her bare leg, the soft hairs under my fingertips making my stomach tighten. She hadn’t shaved recently, and that small detail made my gut clench.
“Valentine,” she whispered, her voice trembling. “What are you doing?”
She stayed frozen in place, the tears now replaced with the quietest whimper. Damn it, I wanted to taste that sound. To see where else her wildness might be hidden.
“Not doing anything, Coach.” I smirked, dragging my gaze back to hers. “I came here for you to help me with my concussion. Now, we’re just talking.”
“Talking,” she breathed.
I nodded, my hand drifting toward her side. Silk crumpled beneath my fingers as I traced the smooth curve of her muscles. This woman could probably tear me in half if she really wanted to.
“Why him?” I asked suddenly. “Why let that asshole anywhere near you?”
It hit me then just how little I really knew about her. Sure, I knew her as a coach—strong, determined, impenetrable—but I had no idea about her personal life. The things that made her who she was outside of hockey.
Her eyes, still red and swollen from crying, locked with mine. “He…” She trailed off, her words cut short when my phone rang.
I squeezed my eyes shut, fighting to steady my breathing. When I opened them again, she’d scooted away from me, her face now unreadable. The moment was gone.
