His broad shoulders fill the doorway, and he arrogantly leans against the frame like he owns every room he enters. His blue-green eyes find mine and hold me in place. They’re cold and accusatory, like I’ve done something wrong by simply existing in his space.
The audacity of this man to smell and look this good. The black T-shirt might be painted on him. My eyes slide down his body to his sleeves of tattoos on thick forearms. Most of that is new—sexyeven. I swallow hard, hating that my body has any reaction to him at all.
“Coach wants you, Cap,” Patterson says to Callan.
“Right now?” Callan asks.
Patterson doesn’t move. “Apparently.”
I hold his glare because I refuse to be the one who turns away first. My pulse pounds as his shoulders tense beneath his shirt. Patterson doesn’t deserve any of my attention, and yet here he is, demanding it.
“Did you get enough shots?” Callan’s voice stays steady as he glances between us.
“I did,” I say kindly. “If you need to go, I can schedule you again if I need anything else.”
“Great.” Callan stands, moving past Patterson.
“Enjoyed our conversation,” I tell him.
“Was eye-opening.” He pauses at the door and glances back at Patterson and me before leaving.
We’re alone.
He doesn’t speak. He stands there, watching me like I’m something he wants to destroy. It wrecks me in the worst possible way.
“You lost?” I ask over my shoulder as I pack my art supplies into my bag.
“Nope.”
“Then go the fuck away. Pretend I don’t exist.”
“Impossible.”
I can feel his eyes on my back, and irritation crawls all over my skin. A minute later, I swing my bag over my shoulder and grab my canvas, then turn to face him.
Callan’s words echo in my head.
“How about you not suck tonight on the ice and actually win the damn game?” I say, letting every ounce of venom drip from my voice. “Your team needs you locked in.”
His jaw clenches so hard that I can see the muscle tic. “Excuse the hell out of me?”
“You heard me, Pattycakes.”
I walk past him, close enough to catch his scent, and I hate the way my stomach flips as I keep moving. The door slams behind me, and the sound echoes down the hallway. I don’t slow down until I’m outside the facility, standing on the sidewalk with February’s coldness biting at my skin.
As I breathe in, I smile, knowing Patterson’s probably fuming inside that conference room.
Good. Let him spiral.
As I head toward the subway, I text Addison.
Kendall
Drinks later? I need to decompress after my day.
Addison
Yes, please. I need an update on how the portraits are going!
