9. Xander
XANDER
The sting of her slap burned on my cheek as I pushed through the crowd.
Bodies parted before me like water, their whispers trailing in my wake.
I kept my head down, jaw clenched so tight my teeth ached, my only focus on getting the fuck out of this club before I did something even more stupid than kissing Dr. Tara Swanson in front of half the Miami Pirates organization.
I shouldered past the bouncer and burst into the humid Miami night. I gulped down air that tasted of ocean salt, trying to steady myself.
What the fuck was I thinking?
I wasn’t. That was the problem. One moment I’d been watching her across the bar, all cool confidence in that dress red as sin that wiped every warning from my head.
Next, I was pulling her against me, claiming her mouth with mine, consequences be damned.
And for that one perfect moment, she’d kissed me back. Her lips had parted, her body had melted into mine, her hands had clutched at my shirt like she was drowning and I was air.
Then she shoved me off her and slapped me. Hell of a hit—she didn’t hold back.
“You are a player. I am your doctor. Don’t you ever forget that again.”
Her words echoed in my head, each syllable another twist of the knife. I’d misread everything. The tension between us, the loaded glances, the almost-kiss at dinner—all of it meaningless.
I paced in front of the club entrance. My car was with the valet, but I couldn’t face dealing with that right now. I needed to walk, to move, to do something with this restless energy coursing through my veins.
Idiot. Fucking idiot. You’ve just torched your career. Again.
I’d violated every professional boundary. Forced myself on the team doctor. In public. With witnesses. With fucking camera phones .
By morning, the video would be all over social media. By afternoon, Hank would have me in his office. By evening, I’d be back on the transfer list, my reputation somehow even more tarnished than before.
Chelsea would laugh their asses off. Told you so. Once a liability, always a liability.
“Xander!”
I turned to see Leo pushing through the crowd leaving the club, his face a mask of concern.
“If you’re here to say ‘I told you so,’ save it,” I snapped.
Leo ignored me, grabbing the valet ticket from my numb fingers. “I’m driving,” he said. He handed the ticket to the valet and stood beside me, the silence between us heavy.
When the Audi was brought around, Leo opened the passenger door for me. “Get in.”
I hesitated, then slumped into the seat, the familiar scent of the leather doing nothing to soothe me. Leo got behind the wheel, the engine purring to life as he pulled away from the curb and merged into the steady flow of Miami nightlife traffic.
We drove in silence for several blocks. I stared out the window, watching the blur of South Beach slide past. I expected a lecture. A reminder of all the ways I’d fucked up. A rundown of the damage control we’d need to do. The contracts we’d need to review. The lawyers we’d need to call.
Instead, Leo reached over and turned up the radio. A pop song I didn’t recognize filled the car.
“Well,” he finally said, glancing at me with a hint of his usual sardonic humor, “that’s one way to make an impression on your new teammates.”
I let out a surprised bark of laughter. “Yeah. Not exactly the first impression I was going for.”
“I don’t know. That kid Ben looked pretty impressed. I think you just became his hero.”
I snorted. “Great. The only person in my corner is the one guy on the team who’s too young to know better.”
Leo navigated through a yellow light, his profile illuminated briefly by the passing streetlamps. “Not the only one.”
The simple statement lingered. I glanced at him, but his eyes were fixed on the road ahead, his expression unreadable.
We drove the rest of the way to the penthouse in companionable silence. Leo handed the keys to the valet and followed me into the lobby, his presence steady and grounding at my side. In the elevator, he leaned against the wall, arms crossed over his chest.
“You want to talk about it?” he asked as we ascended.
I stared at my reflection in the polished doors. The red mark on my cheek had faded, but I could still feel the ghost of her touch. “Not really.”
“Fair enough.”
The elevator dinged, and we stepped out into the private foyer of the penthouse.
I fumbled with the keys, suddenly exhausted, the adrenaline crash hitting me all at once.
Leo took them from my hand without comment and unlocked the door, pushing it open.
Slinging an arm around my shoulders, he steered me inside like he’d done a hundred times before.
I headed straight for the bar, but Leo intercepted me, steering me toward the kitchen instead.
“Water first,” he said. “You can drink yourself stupid after you’re hydrated.”
I slumped onto a barstool at the kitchen island, watching as Leo filled a glass from the filtered tap and set it in front of me. I drained it in one long swallow, not realizing until that moment how thirsty I was.
Leo refilled it without being asked, then leaned against the counter, studying me. “For what it’s worth, I don’t think you’re going to get fired.”
I raised an eyebrow. “No? You got a direct line to Hank Swanson I don’t know about?”
“No, but I’ve got eyes. And a brain.” Leo crossed his arms. “If he wanted you gone, he wouldn’t have brought you here in the first place. Whatever game he’s playing, it’s not over yet.”
“Maybe not,” I conceded. “But he warned me off Tara specifically. Said there was a morality clause in my contract that could get me sacked if I crossed any lines with any of the staff.” I laughed bitterly. “Pretty sure making out with her in a club counts as crossing a line.”
“She kissed you back,” Leo pointed out. “Before the slap, I mean. I saw it. Half the fuckin’ club saw it.”
I rubbed a hand over my face, remembering the feel of her lips, soft and yielding, before they turned hard and unyielding. “Doesn’t matter. She made her position pretty clear afterward.”
Leo was quiet for a moment, his expression thoughtful before he pushed away from the counter. “You should get some sleep. Tomorrow’s going to be a long day.”
I nodded, suddenly too tired to argue. Leo was right. Whatever fallout was coming, I’d face it better with a clear head.
He walked me to my bedroom door, pausing with his hand on the knob. “For what it’s worth...” he said, his voice unusually serious, “I’ve got your back. Always.”
“I know,” I said, the words inadequate but sincere. “Thanks.”
He nodded once, then turned and headed down the hall to his own room, leaving me alone with my thoughts.
I stripped off my clothes and fell into bed, every muscle aching with tension. The ceiling fan whirred softly overhead, stirring the cool air-conditioned breeze across my bare chest. I closed my eyes, but all I could see was Tara’s face—first soft with desire, then hard with rejection.
I’d been so sure I wasn’t imagining the connection between us. The electricity that crackled whenever we were in the same room. The way her breath caught when I said her name. The heat in her eyes when she’d worked on my shoulder in the therapy room.
Had I manufactured all of it? Projected my own twisted obsession onto her professional detachment?
No. She’d kissed me back. For that one perfect moment, she’d wanted me as much as I wanted her.
Fuck it. Whatever happens tomorrow, the kiss was worth it.
A knock on my bedroom door jolted me awake. I blinked in the darkness, disoriented. The digital clock on the nightstand read 2:37 AM. I’d been asleep for less than an hour.
The knock came again, more insistent this time. I switched on the bedside lamp and swung my legs over the side of the bed, pulling on a pair of sweatpants before crossing to the door.
Leo stood in the hallway, looking uncomfortable. His hair was mussed, like he’d been sleeping too. “You, uh... you have a visitor.”
I frowned, still foggy with sleep. “What? Who?”
Leo stepped aside, gesturing toward the living room. “See for yourself.”
I pushed past him, confused and wary. The penthouse was dark except for a single lamp in the living room, casting long shadows across the polished floor. And there, silhouetted against the Miami skyline, stood Tara.
She was still wearing the red dress from the club, though her hair was looser now, falling in soft waves around her shoulders. She turned as I entered the room, and the breath caught in my throat. Her eyes were wild, her expression a storm of emotions I couldn’t decipher.
“What are you doing here?” I asked, my voice rough with sleep and surprise.
She didn’t answer immediately, her gaze traveling slowly down my bare chest before returning to my face. The intensity in those dark eyes made my skin prickle with awareness.
“I’ll, uh... I’ll give you two some privacy,” Leo muttered, retreating down the hallway. I heard his bedroom door close with a soft click.
Tara took a step forward, then another, closing the distance between us with deliberate grace. “I shouldn’t be here.”
“No,” I agreed, not moving. “You shouldn’t.”
“This is a mistake.”
“Probably.”
We stared at each other, the air between us charged with the same electricity I’d felt at the club, and in every moment we’d been alone together since I’d arrived in Miami.
“How did you know where I was staying?” I asked, breaking the tense silence.
She laughed, a soft, breathless sound that sent a shiver down my spine. “I’ve been running past this building every morning.”
“I knew it was you,” I said, the pieces clicking into place. The figure on the beach that morning, the one I’d dismissed as paranoia. “I saw you. I thought I was losing my mind.”
“You’re not,” she said, taking another step closer. We were almost touching now, close enough that I could smell her perfume. “Not about that, anyway.”