Hennessy is leaning against the bartop, her head thrown back in laughter at something Mitch Connors is saying. Connors, my former assistant who jumped ship to Westlake two seasons ago. He's standing too close to her, his hand casually resting on the bar behind her like he's trying to cage her in.
She's changed out of her earlier outfit into a tight black dress that hugs every curve and shows off those legs that were wrapped around my waist just last night. Her hair falls in loose waves around her shoulders, and she's wearing dark lipstick that makes her mouth look sinful.
She’s literally every man’s dream girl, and I’m the only one here who’s had her. At least I better fucking be.
I freeze mid-step, unable to tear my eyes away as she laughs again, placing her hand on Connors’ arm.
I’ve played thousands of games of hockey in my life. But nothing has ever made my blood surge like the sound of her laugh.
Didn’t I fucking tell her I better not see her touch a single person here? I know I fucking did, and here she is getting a one-way ticket to the fucking bad girl list.
His eyes are on her cleavage, not even trying to hide it. Something animalistic claws its way up my throat. I really do think I could rip his fucking arm off right now or shatter his entire kneecap and not feel an ounce of remorse.
Connors leans in closer, whispering something in herear that makes her smile and flip her hair over one shoulder. His hand slides to her waist, fingers splaying across the fabric of her dress.
I grab Connors' wrist, peeling it off Hennessy's waist with a twist that makes his knuckles go white. "Conference doesn't cover sexual harassment claims," I say, my voice low so no one else can hear, applying just enough pressure to make his tendons strain. "You might want to back off."
Connors' head snaps up. The color drains from his face when he realizes it's me.
"Kingston," he stammers, wincing as I release his hand with a final warning squeeze. He takes a step backward, cradling his wrist. "I was just?—"
"Leaving," I finish for him, not bothering to hide the threat in my voice.
He glances between us, confusion turning to understanding as he sees the way Hennessy's watching me. Like I'm a predator she's been baiting.
“Right,” he mutters, running a hand through his hair. “I should check in with my guys, anyway. Nice talking to you, Hennessy.”
He scurries away like the fucking coward he is, disappearing into the crowd without looking back.
Hennessy turns to face me, those dark eyes glittering with mischief. Her lips curve into a knowing smile that makes me want to either kiss her or strangle her. Maybe both.
“Jealous, Coach?” she asks, tilting her head to the side.
I step closer, invading her space the way Connors was just doing. The difference is I belong here. “You should leave before I do something stupid.”
“You already did,” she says, her voice dropping to a whisper.
She picks up her wineglass, maintaining eye contact as she runs her tongue slowly along the rim, collecting a drop of red that's clinging there. My cock hardens instantly, imagining those lips wrapped around me instead, that tongue licking away the evidence of what she does to me.
“I warned you,” I growl, fighting the urge to grab her right here in front of everyone. “I told you not to let anyone touch you.”
She sets down her glass, eyes never leaving mine. “And I told you that you need to make up your mind. You can't push me away one minute and get territorial the next.”
I glance around the crowded rooftop. Too many eyes, too many people who could report back to her father. To the university. To the NCAA. My career balanced on the knife-edge of her smile.
“It's time to call it a night,” I say, my voice low enough that only she can hear me. “Go back to your room.”
She arches an eyebrow, defiance flashing in those dark eyes. “Last time I checked, Coach Kingston,” she says, emphasizing my title like it's a joke between us, “you aren't my dad.”
Something inside me snaps at the mention of her father, at her casual dismissal of my authority. I step closer, crowding her against the bar until there's barely an inch between us.
“Do not fucking test me right now, Hennessy,” I growl, gripping the bar on either side of her, caging her in. “I'm about five seconds from throwing you over my shoulder and carrying you out of here. And do you really want to deal with your dad when he hears about it?”
Her eyes widen slightly, that smug smile faltering for the first time tonight. I've finally found the chink in her armor. For all her boldness, all her provocations, she doesn't want to face Javier's questions about us.
“You wouldn't dare,” she whispers, but there's uncertainty in her voice now.
“Try me.” I lean in closer, my lips nearly brushing her ear. “Your father is downstairs right now. One text from any of these assholes, and he'll be up here faster than you can say 'daddy issues.'”
