Page 23 of Her Coach

And when my eyes met his, my heart whump-whumped against my chest again.

I am so fucked.

“Did Mom get you a set of keys to open up Caldwell Arena tomorrow morning?” I asked.

Colton nodded. “Yep. Got everything squared away. That mother of yours is very on top of things.”

I snickered. “She’s nothing if not efficient.”

“It’s a good trait for someone to have, especially in this kind of world we live in.”

I registered the compliment to my mother, but it didn’t make me feel giddy or excited. I figured I’d feel happy. Ready to get home and tell Mom all about the new hockey coach that’s said such nice things about her. But instead, all I felt was… jealousy.

I wanted his compliments.

All of them.

For myself.

“Well,” he grunted as he pushed himself up from his bar stool, “duty calls.” Then his voice bellowed over the patrons of the The Hideout. “Vipers!”

The entire team over at the pool tables snapped to attention. “Yes, Coach!?”

My heart surged with… something… as Colton turned toward the boys. “Evening’s done! We’ve got practice bright and early. Clean up the pool tables, pick up your trash, and let’s move out!”

And as the men rushed around, cleaning up after themselves in a blurred flurry of moving bodies and limbs, Colton’s mahogany stare returned to me. “Have a good night, Brynn.”

He slid that dark stare of his down my body one last time.

Leaving me breathless as him and the team exited the bar, making their way out into the night.

9

COLTON

I had planned to stay for one drink.

Three hours later I was pulling into the parking structure beneath my building.

The Strip was still going at full throttle outside the garage entrance. That was this city. It didn't wind down, didn't quiet, didn't give you a second to breathe. New York went to sleep eventually. Not Las Vegas. Las Vegas didn't know what sleep was.

I cut the engine and sat there for a second.

One drink.

She had that rag over her shoulder and those glasses and that particular way of laughing where she threw her head back before she caught herself doing it, and I had stayed for three hours without meaning to and without being able to make myself leave.

I was aware of what that meant.

I got out of the car.

The elevator opened into the penthouse and I walked straight to the window without turning any lights on. The Strip did the job. All that light pouring through the glass, painting everything gold and neon, nothing like anything I had in New York. I pressed my palm flat against the glass and looked out at the city.

First day. Less than twenty-four hours in Las Vegas.

Get your head straight.

I pushed off the glass. Went to the bedroom. Took off my shirt. Sat on the edge of the bed.