“Night.”
Scowling, I slam the door shut without returning the sentiment.
“Fuck my life,” I moan into the barren apartment.
Buzz, buzz.
My shattered screen lights up on the sofa and I skulk over to read the text.
Ice Queen: Almost time for lights out
I chuck the phone down on the cushions, blood still pounding in my ears. My entire body’s wound tight, adrenaline rushing through my system.
This is what happens when someone backs me into a corner. I come out swinging.
Except the Ice Queen’s not some player in a jersey onthe ice or another bar bro asshole. No, she’s all scarlet lips and curves, sharp edges and soft floral perfume. And the way she gazed at me, like I was something she can control, someone to tame?
My cock hardens despite my anger and I curse under my breath.
Fucking perfect. Now I’m getting hard for my warden. The uptight princess in her power suit who’s probably never broken a rule in her entire charmed life.
The Ice Queen thinks she’s got me locked down?
Let her think that.
I’ll play nice for a minute, let her think she’s got this under control. Then she’s going to find out exactly how well I follow orders.
She wants a bad boy? I’ll give her one she’ll never forget.
CHAPTER 2
TORI
Bennett Steele is ruining my perfectly curated life. One suspended game at a time.
And it’s low-key pissing me off.
I’ve spent the last decade clawing my way up in the financial world, proving myself to every finance bro on Wall Street. And now my dad’s sidelining me for who knows how long in this tiny beach town, tasking me with babysitting an overgrown, cocky man-child who thinks he’s God’s gift to women.
Well, he’s not. Not to me at least.
I want absolutely nothing to do with him. Not his swagger, not his smirk. Not the way he’s treating this entire situation, like it’s a game he’s already winning.
No thank you.
He’s not my type at all. Give me a clean-shaven man in a well-cut Armani suit any day of the week. Someone who respects boundaries and understands professional consequences.
Sure, they’re time-pressed, stressed-out workaholicswith egos the size of the Empire State building. And historically have never worked out for me.
Still better than a pro athlete.
I don’t do athletes. Never have, never will.
My family’s owned a professional hockey team as long as I’ve been alive and if there’s one thing I learned early, it’s avoid getting involved with the players. No matter how good-looking they are.
Hockey players are nothing but handsome liabilities.
Full fucking stop.
