“Tate’s a monk. The guy doesn’t date, doesn’t get jealous, doesn’t do anything that conflicts with his kid or his team.”
He got jealous about me, though, months ago. And he lost control with me during the power outage.
“And he sure as hell doesn’t look at women the way he looks at you.”
A startled flock of butterflies takes flight in my chest. What way?
“He takes care of everyone but himself, and he always says he doesn’t need anything but his team and his kid, but I don’t know.” He shrugs, leaning forward to find his brother on the bench, looking so sharp and strong in his suit. “It would be nice for him to have someone, too.”
“Yeah.” I study him down on the bench, thinking about sitting on the sofa together and listening to music during the power outage, and how right it felt. “I know.”
Deep down, I want it to be me.
CHAPTER 63
TATE
“Something wrong?”Volkov asks during the second period, when I miss a penalty call against the Storm because I’m sneaking glances up at the owner’s box instead of paying attention.
“No.” Yes. Everything. Jordan wearing the necklace and Noah flirting with her and spending time alone with her and putting his fucking arm around her the way I want to.
Volkov gives me a look like he doesn’t believe me. “Who’s that guy with Jordan?”
“My brother, Noah.” I’m trying to sound like I don’t care but it’s not working.
He grunts an acknowledgment.
“That was some stunt you guys pulled the other week with the fake dinner,” I add, my eyes on the game even though every cell in my body wants to look at Jordan.
Besides fucking Noah smiling at her, as the jumbotron keeps showing, she looks good up there. Confident and at ease, like she’s where she should be.
If I want to stay with the team,she said the other night. She’s actually considering it.
And here I am, letting my emotions get in the way of her future. I had my selfish years, and they almost ruined everything.
“You’ve had your fun,” I tell Volkov, glancing at Jordan andNoah one more time. “But nothing’s happening between Jordan and me.”
I sound so certain, I almost believe it myself.
It’s a commercial break during the third period when the kiss cam starts. Unease spreads through me as the crowd cheers for the first three couples, and then the fourth couple appears on screen and everything in my body tightens.
“Please welcome special guest Noah Ward, brother of Coach Tate Ward!” the announcer calls as their smiling faces appear on screen. The fans cheer. “Accompanying Jordan Hathaway!”
They cheer louder for her, their appreciation cutting through the jealousy in my chest.
Until the camera lingers on them.
“Kiss, kiss, kiss!” the fans cheer.
“KISS HER!” Miller yells with his hands cupped around his mouth. “KISS HER GOOD!”
“Miller,” I snap, and he gives me an innocent look. “What the hell are you doing?”
The guys on the bench cheer and holler. Even Volkov applauds, but when I give him an outraged look, he stops, clearing his throat and looking away.
“What?” Miller asks, all innocence. “Why shouldn’t Jordan kiss Noah? They’re both single, right?”
My teeth grit, and I’m about to say something stupid when movement on the screen yanks my attention.
