It had been less than a week since the black-tie affair. Just six days since Tank had walked her to her door and kissed her to within an inch of her life.
McKenna still wasn’t sure how she’d managed to pull away from him, because God knew that was NOT what her body wanted. After saying goodbye and locking the door, McKenna had gone straight to her bedroom, stripped off her dress, and given herself four orgasms in a row with her new best friend—her vibrator.
Every single one of those orgasms had left her trembling and wrung out, with Tank’s name on her lips and his handsome face behind her closed eyes.
Jesus H.
She was in serious trouble here.
Because lines that should be crisp and crystal clear were now blurry as hell.
Tank Phillips was literally the last man on the planet she should be thinking of beyond a professional working relationship.
The guy checked off every single one of the boxes in her “avoid like the plague” category.
He was a swaggering, cocky hockey player. That’s a big hell no.
They worked together. Another hell no.
And the word commitment wasn’t even in his vocabulary. Put a big fuck no next to that bullet.
So why—WHY—was he consuming her waking thoughts and monopolizing her dreams?
She’d nearly let him kiss her on the dance floor…in front of God and everybody at the gala. She’d spent months regaining control of her life, setting reasonable career and relationships goals that wouldn’t leave her with another broken heart, and building her confidence back brick by brick.
Tank didn’t fit into any of that. Even worse was, she knew all too well he could destroy what she’d found here.
This was her job, dammit, and she refused to screw it up. She was still too new, with only ten months behind her. She’d worked her ass off during that time to prove that Benny had been right to hire her, that she was more than capable of doing the job.
Her attention shifted from the computer screen to her phone, which was propped up on a PopSocket, Tank’s voice coming through the speaker. He was currently doing an interview with a popular sports podcaster, something she’d set up during the early days of his reputation rehabilitation.
Tank was killing it, though she wasn’t surprised by that. He’d been playing by all the rules she and Benny and Roger had laid down for him right after that video went viral.
In the past, she typically held her breath during Tank’s interviews and press conferences, because he had a habit of saying the first thing that popped into his head rather than giving the appropriate responses the rest of the guys were so adept at wielding. He’d pissed off opponents from other teams—as well as some of his own teammates—with his hard-hitting comments about dirty plays, tough losses, and bad calls.
Today, however, he was nailing it.
Ten out of ten, chef’s kiss perfection.
Of course, the second she thought that, the interviewer strayed from the approved list of questions.
“It’s been just over a month since a video featuring you went viral.”
“Five weeks,” Tank said, his tone just as smooth as it had been throughout this conversation.
“The video, which featured you and two women standing outside during a fire alarm at a hotel, caused quite a scandal, as you were all under the influence, underdressed, and one woman was wearing handcuffs.” The interviewer chuckled, as if amused by his own words.
Tank, uncharacteristically, remained silent.
The interviewer continued smugly. “The fallout from that video caused you to be suspended from play for two weeks.”
Tank paused for another moment, then asked, “Is there a question somewhere in this recap?”
The interviewer sounded less amused when he said, “We’re nearing the end of the season, and the Stingrays are going to have to fight hard if they want to secure a spot in the playoffs. You’re one of the team’s top scorers, and there are a lot of fans who believe the Rays would be in a better position now if you hadn’t been sidelined for those six games.”
McKenna growled. The podcaster had promised her the interview wouldn’t stray into anything personal, as his listeners were more interested in hearing their favorite players talk about the sport. But obviously, he’d been playing the semantics game.
More silence met the interviewer, until Tank cleared his throat. “Still not hearing a question, Chuck.”
