This isn’t good at all.
As if it wasn’t bad enough that I respect and like him, that I’ve wanted to explore every inch of that strong, muscled body…this whole interaction has me falling a little in love with him.
And I know he sees it.
Because he steps back as if he’s been burned.
“Joey.”
It’s a cold rebuke.
“I need to get on the ice,” I mutter, shoving by him, reaching for the handle again. My fingers close around the cool metal when his words reach my ears.
“This can’t be, you know that.”
I turn the knob. “I know that.”
“For a hundred reasons.”
Gee, thanks.
“I know that too,” I say aloud, pulling the door open.
“Itcan’tbe.”
I glance at him over my shoulder. “Damon,” I say quietly. “I’m well aware of every obstacle that stands in my way”—I hold his stare—“including you?—”
He opens his mouth but I don’t let him speak.
“—so just shut the fuck up and let me do my job.”
Blue eyes spark with fury, kissable lips press flat, his ever-present frown deepens.
“Joey,” he begins.
And I do the only sensible thing I can?—
I walk away.
But when I glance back at him before I turn the corner…
The look on his face has me falling even deeper.
ONE
Joey, Eight Months Later
I rollmy shoulders before I head for the locker room.
The team’s home opener is tonight and the fans are expecting another great season.
Even with the upheaval of the previous one—our head coach getting fired because he was sexually assaulting several female staff members, including the significant other of one of the players on the team—we managed to make it to the second round of the playoffs.
Not as far as we wanted—no, the end goal is always hoisting the Cup.
But better than most people expected with the negative press, the turbulence, the change in personnel.
Because Travis Hiller wasn’t the only problem in the front office.
