A beat.
“Also not yours.”
Then he turns and walks away.
Just—leaves.
Naomi stands there, chest heaving, arms trembling from the weight and embarrassment.
Teeth clenched, she hauls the last two gear cases inside, nearly wiping out over a coiled extension cord on her way in.
Her face is flushed, and it’s not entirely because of the manual labor.
How does he do that?
How does he manage to be the most aggravating man on Earth while also looking like an off-duty Norse god?
She takes a breath, swipes her sweaty hair out of her eyes, and heads back to find Mila.
Tall’s voice slices through the ambient hum of the arena.
“If I see the little redhead hauling your equipment again, we’re going to have a problem.”
Naomi freezes mid-step, breath catching.
She doesn’t hear BradChad’s response. Doesn’t even want to. Her brain short-circuits somewhere between him calling her little and the fact that he could be arsed to care about something other than himself.
For a full three seconds, she’s indignant.
She doesn’t need defending. Especially not from someone as rude and arrogant as Garrett Tall. Especially not from someone who just walked away from her without offering a lick of help.
But henoticed.
Of everyone in this building, it was Tall who saw her hustling to keep the shoot on schedule while the AV guys stood around debating lighting temperatures. It was Tall who spoke up.
And now she’s malfunctioning.
She spins on her heel and speed-walks down the hallway in search of Mila, trying to pull herself back together.
She finds her easily, standing just outside the players’ entrance. To Naomi’s absolute non-shock, she’s deep in conversation with the silently smoldering defenseman, Theo Tilbury.
Again.
Naomi slows her pace, narrowing her eyes like she’s examining a crime scene. A lusty one. Because she did not stumble upon chit-chat. No, this is not “oh hey, great game last night” vibes.
This is heat.
Theo’s looking at Mila like he’s one sentence away from pinning her against the nearest wall. His jaw is tight, arms crossed like he’s physically restraining himself from reaching out. His eyes never leave Mila’s face, and Naomi can’t even blame him—Mila looks amazing. But the intensity in Theo’s stare is next level.
Forget shy. This man is making plans. With his eyes.
For one wildly unprofessional second, she considers leaving them alone. Maybe Theo deserves to make a move. Maybe Miladeserves to be kissed breathless in the bowels of a hockey arena, possibly in the locker room.
But also?
They have a goddamn shoot to run. And Naomi’s done juggling this circus act alone.
She snaps back into motion.
