I step into the hallway, chilly air hitting my burning cheeks.
I’m already fucking this up.
Because I’m not picturing the game, the slick ice, the puck.
All I see is Tori — and a wall I don’t know hownotto climb.
CHAPTER 29
TORI
Iavoid Bennett all day.
Don’t text him, call him. Skip breakfast and lunch for fear of running into him.
I’m cutting exposure, limiting contact before I do something I can’t unwind.
Now my head’s pounding, and I don’t know if it’s from hunger, tension, or an aching need I don’t dare admit out loud.
I want him.
Every reckless, gorgeous inch — and that thought scares me more than a run on the fund. Because once it starts, you can’t stop it.
And there’s no way we’re going to work.
One slip and he’s benched — and I’m suddenly the liability.
But I can’t let him go.
He’s taken control of me, mind and body.
I flash my badge at the arena door, the security guard stepping aside and waving me through.
I shouldn’t go near him. Not before the game.
Instead of making the left toward the players’ area, I take the stairs and head straight to the rink. The corridor’s packed as I shove my way through the crush of people and make my way into the owner’s suite. Warmups have started, players out on the ice. I scan for Bennett, immediately spotting him as he stretches.
“Tori — how’s the intervention plan going?” My dad slides up next to me, drink in hand. He’s watching every movement, silently calculating each player’s worth.
Fizzy nervousness bubbles up and I grab a glass of champagne from the server as she passes.
“Good.” One word, clipped and flat. Careful not to give anything away.
“Is Steele under control? I need sponsors to see that in New York.”
My heart sinks.
New York.
Our next stop is the world’s biggest fishbowl. Nowhere to hide and all eyes will be on the team in our former hometown. Most of whom are probably still pissed we left.
I tip the flute back, slugging down half the champagne before nodding.
“Yeah. He’s good.”
I glance out at the ice, catch Bennett mid-hip opener. His hand on the dasher, sinking down and rolling his hips forward in short, deliberate pulses. Controlled, shameless. Like he’s humping the ice on purpose.
My entire body heats, flashing back to last night. Those same thrusts, different location.
