“Here.” He tapped the corner of his mouth. “I think you missed a spot.”
“Looks just fine to me.” I tried to yank back, just a fraction, but his grip challenged me. I couldn’t decide if I was thrilled or panicked. My hands found their way to his chest as if to answer that question for me.
Theo’s eyes bore into me, a dare held up by a knowing smile that made it hard to concentrate on all the right choices I had at my disposal. I looked away, determined to steer clear of temptation.
He caught my wrist with one hand and tilted my head up, and it was game over.
The kiss wasn’t the quick sweep of victory from yesterday. It was slow. Soft. His tongue rolled over mine as if we had all the time in the world. I grabbed the back of his neck, my heart racing and my brain short-circuiting at the same time.
“Better?” I asked when we finally broke apart.
He pretended to think about it, then said, “A little. But my doctor advised me that several treatments a day are necessary for full recovery.”
“I’m your doctor.”
He’d gone back to grab his shirt off the table, and flashed a grin as he turned it right side out. “Not a doctor, remember?”
I laughed, and then remembered what the hell I was supposed to be doing here. He was getting dressed, but I hadn’t finished taping him yet.
“Where are you going? I’m not done with you.”
“Get your mind out of the gutter, Hopper.” He pulled on his compression shirt like it was nothing. No careful movements, no wincing. “This is a respectable place of business, can’t you tell?”
I watched a totally different man than the one I’d been working with. The ease in his movements, the confidence in his stride as he walked toward the door.
“Hey, Bouchard…”
He turned in the doorway, that smile still firmly planted on his face.
“Do you like cats?”
“What?” Confusion clouded his expression, but he gave a little laugh to soften it.
I waved him off. “Never mind. Go save our asses.”
He was gone before I could say anything else, leaving me with the rush of that kiss and a different, gnawing kind of apprehension. I didn’t know what to think about this latest development yet, but with everything else going on, I was happy to take my time with it. Theo wasn’t going anywhere and if this eval went off without a hitch, neither was I.
The committee was already settled rinkside by the time we walked out. I took up McAvoy’s spot on the bench while he went onto the ice with the guys. The committee was packed in Holly’s favorite area near the penalty bench. They were already leaning in and whispering to each other.
McAvoy blew his whistle and called a start to the drills. This was it. The moment of truth.
Van der Berg slid onto the bench next to me. He hadn’t been involved with the team the past few days, so I couldn’t hide the instant shock that took over my face.
“Oh, relax, I’m not stealing my job back,” he chided, eyes on the ice. “Just wanted to see how the eval played out today, that’s all.”
I forced a laugh that sounded too thin to be convincing. “Good, because I just got my name printed on a shiny gold plaque for your office door.”
“I’d wish you luck, but you’ve been around long enough to know that’s a load of bullshit.” The line was dry, but there was weight in it, and I didn’t look away from him. Not until he finally turned and let his attention drift to the drills.
McAvoy was pacing the crease, yelling adjustments, directing traffic, snapping fingers at the forwards. Mason and Grayson weaved through the drills, crisp, deliberate, catching passes in the slot, shooting off the tape like it was second nature. Shawn skated hard along the boards, a blur of speed, while Landon followed every cue, bouncing from drill to drill, eyes bright, blade cutting ice with practiced flourish.
Tucker and Theo held the blue line, coverage tight, reacting like the glue that held the chaos together. Hunter crouched in net, eyes scanning every angle, his glove snapping up in rhythm with every simulated attack.
Theo caught my eye a few times, subtle glances that felt like reassurance and challenge all at once. He moved differently than he had the past weeks. Smooth, confident, decisive. I wanted to relax and watch the skill. Instead, I tensed, every part of me aware of the injection, aware that it wasn’t real. Relief clawed at me each time he intercepted a pass, each time he leaned into a body check or cut off a lane—but guilt dug its claws just as hard.
Every shift, I felt the weight of my hands on his shoulder earlier, the feel of the syringe, the line I’d crossed. One wrong report, one careful observer seeing the tiniest overextension, and I’d not only ruin my career but potentially ruin Theo’s. He was putting himself on the line for me, and I couldn’t stop thinking about what that meant.
I chewed the inside of my cheek, forcing myself to keep it together. The committee scribbled their notes, their eyes tracking every pivot, every subtle gesture. I felt their attention in my bones, the sharpness of their focus slicing past the rink’s plexiglass straight into my chest.
