When I finally pull back, we're both breathing hard. Her lips are swollen, her lipstick smeared, showing evidence of my loss of control.
I glance up to see the sprig of green and white hanging from the ceiling, then back to her flushed face. “That wasnot a mistletoe kiss.”
“No,” she agrees, running her tongue over her bottom lip. “It wasn't.”
Taking a step back, reality crashes over me like ice water. What the fuck am I doing? In the middle of a hotel lobby like I’m no better than one of my players.
A smirk plays across her lips as she straightens her sweater, completely unfazed by what just happened. She leans against the elevator door to keep it from closing, studying me with those dark eyes that see too much.
“Well, it was good seeing you again, Coach King,” she says, her voice dripping with suggestion. “I look forward to seeing much more of you this weekend.”
She steps backward into the elevator, her gaze locked with mine until the doors slide shut between us. Just like that, she's gone.
I stand frozen for several seconds, my heart hammering against my ribs. My eyes dart around the lobby, searching for the one person who would make this situation infinitely worse.
No sign of him. Thank fuck.
I straighten my tie and run a hand through my hair, trying to regain some semblance of control. The taste of her still lingers on my lips, and I swipe my thumb across my mouth, half-expecting to find traces of her lipstick.
The ballroom is already half-full when I arrive, a sea of suits and laughter. Christmas music plays at a volume just loud enough to be annoying. I grab water from a passing server and scan the room, mentally cataloging who I need to acknowledge and who I can avoid.
“Beckham Kingston, you miserable bastard.”
I turn to find Roman Calloway grinning at me,hand extended. His St. James University tie is loosened, glass already half-empty.
“Roman,” I say, shaking his hand firmly. “Didn't expect to see you here. Thought you'd be busy trying to salvage your defense after that embarrassment against Westlake.”
He laughs, clapping my shoulder. “Still an asshole, I see. Some things never change.”
“Why fix what isn't broken?”
“You hear they're changing the overtime rules next season?” Roman launches into shop talk, and I find myself actually engaged in the conversation. We came up together as assistants at Michigan before we were offered positions elsewhere. He's one of the few people in this industry I can tolerate for more than five minutes.
The hairs on the back of my neck suddenly stand at attention. My body knows she's here before my mind does, like some primal radar that only responds to her.
I casually shift my position, angling myself toward the entrance while maintaining my conversation with Roman. “The committee's full of shit if they think?—”
The gold sweater is gone, replaced by a deep red dress that clings to every curve as if it was painted on her skin. It dips low in the front, revealing the delicate gold chain I noticed earlier now nestled between the soft swells of her breasts. Her hair is swept to one side, exposing the elegant line of her neck.
She's surrounded by a group of men—assistant coaches from Northern Tech and that prick from Eastwood who was suspended last season for recruiting violations. One of them leans in close, whispering something in her ear.
My fingers tighten around my glass so hard I'm surprisedit doesn't shatter.
“Careful there, Beck,” Roman says, eyeing my white-knuckled grip. “What did that drink ever do to you?”
“Nothing at all, Rome. You know much I hate these fucking things.”
Roman follows my gaze across the room, his eyes narrowing as they land on Hennessy. “Uh-huh. And I'm the fucking tooth fairy.”
“Drop it, Roman.”
“Vega's daughter, right? She's grown up since the last time I saw her.”
“She's a fucking menace,” I mutter, taking a long swallow of water.
She laughs then; the sound carries across the room like music. Her head tips back, exposing her throat as she places a hand on the arm of the Eastwood coach. The smug bastard preens under her attention, straightening his ugly paisley tie.
I imagine wrapping that tie around his throat and pulling until his eyes bulge.
