I can’t be sure if it’s disappointment or frustration that flashes through Will’s eyes. Either way, he knows that I’m making sense.
I refuse to risk everything I’ve worked for just to find out how well he would rock my world in bed.
My thighs clench, and I bite on the inside of my cheek.
“As of the day after tomorrow, I’ll be away in Pittsburg for a week.”
I nod once. “I know. I keep a close eye on your game schedule.”
Will closes his eyes and puffs out another breath. “If respecting professional boundaries is what you want, then I’ll comply with that.”
I can’t help it when I say in a shocked voice, “You, comply with the rules? All right, who are you, and what have you done with my client?”
So much of me wants him to laugh, if only to alleviate the unbearable sexual tension between us.
I set one hand on the door handle, ready to leave, like I should’ve done ten minutes ago.
“Where are you going?”
I tip my chin at the restaurant entrance. “I’m going back inside to order another plate of waffles and finish up on some emails I need to send. They have free Wi-Fi, and I’m still hungry.”
Will dips a hand into his right pocket, and I stop him with a palm on his thigh.
He freezes in place as soon as I touch him.
“If you’re reaching for your wallet, then I won’t accept your money. Technically, our breakfast should’ve been put through business expenses.”
I feel sure that he understands the true meaning behind my statement—everything we do from now on has to be purely by the book.
No more sociable work meetings at his place or in a bar.
No more banter back and forth by text.
No more showing up at my apartment so we can travel to events together.
“When will we see each other again?” Will asks when I push the passenger door open and swing one leg out of the car.
I turn back to him and grab my bag from the floorboard.
“When we next meet at the office for the routine catch-ups that we should be having every two weeks. I’ll send you a calendar invite.”
17
. . .
Will
“Goddamn, man. Goal fucking machine!”
Silas collides with my chest and wraps an arm around my neck as we both turn and face the away crowd.
It feels like our support on the road is slowly increasing, and even if Tristan doesn’t want to acknowledge my existence or the fact that I’m now ahead of him on goals scored so far this season, I know it has everything to do with the instant impact I’ve had on the team.
Silas knocks his helmet against mine. “No, seriously, you’re on fire, and the W is definitely in the bag.”
“Shh!” I hush him, bringing a finger to my lips, which kicks up noise from our fans. “Don’t jinx us before the final buzzer.”
He deadpans at me as we skate toward center ice. “We’re two goals up, and there’s fifteen seconds left on the timer.”
