But that kiss though…
I wanted to grab his face and lay another one on him. To tell him screw the playoffs, screw the committee, and let’s run away to Portland together to open a vegan cat cafe, where nobody actually likes cats, just the aesthetic.
“Did you hear what I just said?”
“I heard you.” One misstep, one wrong move, and Portland wouldn’t want anything to do with either of us. Personal and professional ruin. I lowered his arm carefully, feeling the joint protest under my palm.
“And?”
“And you need to snap out of it,” I said finally, pressing into his deltoid.
“Ow. What?”
I moved back so I was facing him again. Ready to invite him into a front-row seat to my downward spiral. He was right to backtrack on what he did. He was better off.
“We’re on the verge of losing everything we’ve worked for, and you wanna talk about a kiss? Seriously?”
His shoulders dropped a fraction. “I know. I just… I didn’t think—”
I shook my head, moving him through another range. “No, you don’t know, Bouchard. You’ve got to focus. On you, on your body, on the committee sitting rinkside as we speak. When you go out there today, they’re gonna be watching you like a hawk.”
He exhaled and ran a hand through his hair. “I get it. I just— sorry.”
I paused on his arm, feeling the subtle pulse of muscle under my fingers. “Stop apologizing. You want to play? You want us to survive this? Then all you have to do is keep your head in the game.”
He nodded, quiet, but his eyes lingered on mine for longer than necessary. “I… I know you get it. Last time I told you about the pressure I was under, I felt like you didn’t understand.”
I snorted, backing up to grab the tape from my desk. “Oh, I get it. I totally get it. I was pre-med, about to become a doctor like the rest of my family. Except, Northwestern gave me a big fat no, so I pivoted to physio. Hope springs eternal, right? Figured maybe I could salvage some parental approval before I died alone on my couch eating ice cream straight from the tub.”
He tried to hide a smile, but failed. “Sorry you didn’t make medical school, but I got a mental image of you and that tub of ice cream just now, and it’s pitiful.”
“Not more pitiful than being caught out by a bunch of suits with clipboards,” I replied without missing a beat. “So I don’t know why you’re in such a great mood.”
He smirked. “Well, you’re not mad I kissed you, so that’s a good start.”
“Hold still.” I playfully slapped his bicep, my cheeks warming despite my call to focus. “Strapping doesn’t work with twitchy arms.”
I lined up the tape, fingers precise. And right when I was about to place the strip…
“If you want this evaluation to go off without a hitch, you should give me another shot.”
He wasn’t serious. Couldn't be. “I told you last time— One and done. You went balls to the wall in that game against Dallas, and it’s showing. Taking another shot is just gonna do more harm than good.”
His eyes caught mine, and that light teasing from before was gone. “This isn’t a game, though. It’s an evaluation. No body checks, no fights. There’s no reason to have any balls on any wall.”
I hesitated, biting the inside of my cheek. Every fiber screamed no. It was the worst out of a slew of bad ideas our bad idea factory had been spitting out lately. But I also knew the playoffs, his place in it and my job with the team, everything was hanging on the next sixty minutes.
“Fine,” I muttered, voice tight. “But this is the last time, and I mean it.”
He held his arm steady while I prepped the syringe, and barely flinched when I pressed it into his arm. Relief washed over him almost immediately, and I felt the tension drain from the room.
“Pain?” I asked, stepping back.
“That’s a negative,” he said, rolling his shoulder. “Except…”
“Except what?” I stepped back, but he didn’t let me retreat.
He leaned in, too close for casual air, and the next thing I knew his hands were on my hips, pulling me flush against him. My knees nearly betrayed me, heat prickling down my spine.
