8. Weston
WESTON
I don’t know what possessed me to offer Harbor a ride to the condos. Sure, heading over together is practical and efficient.
But spending more time with the woman responsible for uprooting my life and potentially tanking my hockey career?
Not my best idea.
Especially when she’s rapidly ascending to the top of the ‘highly fuckable’ list.
Blonde, petite, the perfect size to tuck beneath my arm. Add that razor-sharp wit and glittering smile, and she’s a force to be reckoned with.
A hurricane.
Blowing through and messing me up, screwing with every single aspect of my regimented life.
I don’t date. I’m not a casual kind of guy. Unlike Bennett, I don’t have the bandwidth to deal with distractions. I like to stay focused on what’s most important—hockey.
I don’t have time for relationships, making someone else happy.
But now, I can’t stop thinking about Harbor.
Not since our first run-in at the team meeting. The way she patted at my chest, blushing and stammering. Then on the plane ride when we hit the storm and she panicked. Gripping the armrest for dear life before I calmed her down.
Holding her close to me, I felt her heart pounding, heard her breath hitch when we touched.
There was something between us in that second—and I don’t think I can blame it all on the turbulence.
The woman does something to me. Much as I want to deny it, when she’s in the room, I can’t look away.
Which could be a very big problem.
The team’s in crisis, my career’s on the line. I’m the damn captain. I can’t go falling for the PR consultant behind every bad idea that’s rolled my way since Coach Evans was fired.
She’s enemy number one.
So why am I constantly thinking about crossing the line?
Fuck. This is all kinds of messed up.
Harbor waves as she hurries out of the arena, dashing across the parking lot. Bright sunlight catches the gold streaks in her hair, and I swipe my sweaty palms on my mesh shorts.
Must be the Florida humidity.
“Punctuality not your thing, Hurricane?” I open the car door for her, wait while she slides into the leather seat of the Porsche.
“Sorry.” She shoots me a sheepish look and tucks her legs into the car. “I got caught on the phone with a community sponsor. ”
I slam the door and hustle around, taking my spot behind the wheel and firing up the engine. The Porsche roars to life and I punch the directions to the condo into the GPS before pulling out of the lot.
Harbor fidgets with her bracelets, hands constantly in motion, like she’s nervous.
“I still have to run the idea by Mr. Prince, but the youth league’s interested in you guys working with the kids.
That would be a great photo op. A few key players—like you and your brothers—skating with the little ones.
Plus, it could help build the local fan base and stoke excitement for the upcoming season. ”
Her words tumble out in an excited rush. While I appreciate her enthusiasm for pumping up the team’s image and fanbase, I don’t particularly want to be used as a pawn in her little PR chess game.
“No.” I growl out the word, the harsh sound echoing in the enclosed chamber of the car.
“What? What do you mean ‘no’?” Her head swivels in my direction, her golden ponytail whipping over her shoulder.
“What part of the one syllable answer confused you?”
“All of it.” Glossy lips pressing together, her nostrils flare. “You’re going to have to work with me on this sort of thing, Captain.”
“I don’t recall ‘work with me’ being in my contract.”
“It’s implied in the fine print. Right between ‘don’t sabotage the PR consultant trying to save the team’ and ‘don’t act like an arrogant asshole.’”
I tighten my grip on the wheel, something hot flaring in my gut. “I know how to read a contract, Hurricane.”
“Then read the room. Your team needs help. And I’m here to do just that. ”
Aggravation shoots through me. “I don’t want to use neighborhood kids in a cheap bid to build goodwill. That’s not right.”
“We’re not using them. We’re connecting with the children in the community and building relationships.
” She puts heavy emphasis on the last part, community and relationships.
“You do know how to build relationships, right? Or am I overestimating you?” Her tone slips into snark and my dick twitches in my pants.
Not the time, boss. You twisted motherfucker .
“Of course I do,” I snarl back at her, my gaze pinned on the road.
“Would your last three girlfriends agree with that assessment?”
“I love that you gave me three, Hurricane. Considering how little you think of me.”
A tiny sigh escapes her lips and she sinks back against the seat. “I don’t think poorly of you.” Her voice is soft, almost gentle. “But you fight me at every turn. We’re on the same team. For now. How about we act like it?”
I huff out a heavy breath, gut rolling. From nerves, anxiety.
From her.
Sliding into the Visitor parking spot in the condo lot, I cut the engine and glance over at her.
“You’re a temporary member of this team. I’ve been here and I know what works and what doesn’t. Personally, and for the rest of the guys. None of them are going to like this idea. Guaranteed.”
She scrunches those full, pink lips up and stares me down.
“We’ll see about that. I’m pitching the idea to Prince this afternoon. If he gives me the green light, it’s likely a go. But tell you what—I’ll compromise. If it’s a yes from Prince, I’ll float the idea with the rest of the team. If everyone hates the idea, I’ll pivot.”
I frown, mulling over her negotiating strategy. “Still don’t like it. But fine.”
“Deal?” Her voice tips up, tinged with hope.
“Deal.” I force out the word through gritted teeth.
This woman’s maddening. I’m not sure I’ll survive an entire season with Little Miss Sunshine and all her bright ideas.
“We’re late. Let’s go.” I hit the unlock button and climb out of the driver’s seat, every inch of my body tense—and we were in the car less than ten minutes.
It’s gonna be a long damn season.
“Yoo-hoo!” Gia, a busty brunette, waves us over to the double glass doors of the light blue stucco condo building.
I stomp across the pavement, Harbor jogging to keep pace with me.
“There you two are. I thought maybe you got lost!” Gia chuckles at her own joke, holding the door open for us.
A blast of cold AC hits me in the face as we step into the lobby. The décor’s dated, lots of shiny gold and glass, a modern aesthetic leaning more toward retro now. A few beachy paintings hang on the wallpapered walls. A wood-paneled front desk sits empty.
“I have the keys to one of the vacant condos. The manager’s at lunch, but she said to go ahead and take a quick tour.
She understands our predicament and knows how busy you are, Weston.
” Gia shoots me an apologetic look, and Harbor’s mouth opens like she’s about to clap back with a comment about her own busy schedule.
She must think better of it, though, clamping her mouth shut tight. I can’t help but stare at her glossy pout, caught up in an image of Harbor on her knees with my dick sliding between those pretty pink lips.
Gia smashes the gold button for the elevator and I’m back to reality.
I shouldn’t have these wildly inappropriate fantasies about the PR consultant intent on trotting me and the team out like show ponies.
No matter how gorgeous she would be on her knees, begging for my cock.
“Weston, I know you and your brothers are thinking about renting a house. And that could be a great option. But at least take a quick tour here so you can report back to the guys.” Gia babbles on about the building as the doors to the elevator creak closed and we begin the achingly slow ascent to the fourth floor.
Ding, ding, ding, ding.
After a few long minutes, the doors slide open and we step out onto a sea of beige carpet. The same shell wallpaper from downstairs hangs on the walls, each door marked with a gold shell bearing a number.
“Here we are, 422.” Gia whips out a key and unlocks the door, letting us inside.
The condo’s small but airy, with a view of the ocean from the living room.
“Million-dollar view.” Gia flashes me a smile and I catch the slight tightening of Harbor’s lips, one side tipping up into a strained half-smile.
Almost as if she’s jealous.
I square my shoulders and puff out my chest a little before striding over to the kitchen, a small but adequate space directly next to the living room. White cabinets line the wall and the appliances are stainless steel, good enough to get the job done .
“How many available units are there?” Harbor asks, popping her head into a cabinet.
“In this building, I believe there are currently ten available units. There may be an eleventh, but it’s being renovated right now,” Gia says, checking the printout she’s holding.
“Besides these condos, I have a few single-family homes I can show you. Also, some cute townhomes only a few minutes from here.”
“That’s a nice thing about this location, though, right?” Harbor says. “Everything’s close because we’re in a small town. So convenient.”
“Uh-huh,” I mutter, stuffing my hand in my pocket. Always focusing on the bright side of things.
Annoying.
“Let’s take a quick look at the bedrooms. This is a two-bedroom unit, so you have one bedroom for guests or an office.” She leads us out of the kitchen and down a narrow hallway. “Here’s bedroom one.”
Gia flips on a light and reveals a small, boxy room with no window. “There’s an en suite bath.”
We peer into the bathroom, which has all the necessities. Shower, sink, toilet.
“Then on the other side of the hall’s the second bedroom, also with an en suite.”
This room’s the money room, significantly larger, brighter, and better, with a sweeping view of the Atlantic.
“You could fit a king-sized bed in here, no problem.” Gia’s eyes linger on me, flicking over my arms, my chest.
Harbor clears her throat. “The room dimensions are adequate for standard furniture. Although I’m sure most players prioritize function over aesthetics.”
“You’d be surprised what professional athletes prioritize. Right, Weston?” Gia shoots me a flirty smile, but I ignore her overture.
“Mostly just winning,” I say, Harbor’s knuckles whitening around the notepad she’s holding.
Gia’s phone trills and she holds up a finger. “Sorry, I have to get this. Take your time and I’ll meet you downstairs in a few minutes.”
She’s already walking away, chatting into her cell. A few seconds later, the door closes behind her and Harbor and I are alone in the condo.
“Well, she’s awfully friendly.” Harbor’s voice drips with sarcasm and my lips tip up slightly.
“Yeah, she was. Super nice.” I add the last bit just to fuck with her.
It works.
“Uh-huh. Surprised she didn’t ask what you’re doing later tonight.”
“Who said she didn’t?” I fire back, tipping my head and smirking.
Harbor rolls her eyes and changes the subject, waving her hand at the view.
“Think this will meet the team’s expectations?”
The ocean’s dark, the bright sun hidden behind fast-moving storm clouds. A deep rumble of thunder vibrates the windows.
“It’ll work. Most of the guys will be fine here.”
“But not you? You’re renting a house with your brothers?” Harbor bites at the edge of her lip, and I try not to stare.
“Correct. I want more privacy than a condo offers.”
“The captain needs his privacy,” she teases, a playful glint in her hazel eyes.
“Yeah. I have my routines. ”
“Wouldn’t want us peasants messing up your ‘routines.’” She air quotes the word, and a spark flickers low in my gut.
I want to fuck the sass right out of that mouth.
No. Uh-uh. Bad fucking idea.
Still, I take a step forward, edging closer to her. “My routines keep me focused.”
“On what?” Her voice drops slightly, those hazel eyes widening as she realizes how close we’re standing.
“On winning.” I hold her gaze for a long beat, longer than necessary, her pulse fluttering in the graceful column of her neck. “On not getting distracted.”
She swallows hard, taking a deliberate step back. “Well, consider me warned about disrupting your precious focus.”
“You’re already disrupting it.” I rake a hand through my hair, tearing my gaze from her mouth and breaking the tension. “You need to see anything else? Measure the closets or something?”
“No, I do not.”
Without another word, she spins on her heel and stalks away. I follow her to the elevator.
She smashes the button and the gold circle lights up. Another rumble of thunder shakes the building.
“We may be taking the rest of the tour in the rain.”
“Gia probably has an umbrella for you.” Harbor glances over at me, arms folded across her chest.
“Hope so. Because I didn’t bring one.”
Ding.
The elevator opens and Harbor swishes inside, jamming the L. I lean back against the gold railing as the doors slide closed .
“Where are you going to stay?” I ask under the guise of small talk, although part of me is genuinely interested.
I shouldn’t be, but I am.
She shrugs. “Not sure yet. Probably wherever’s left after the team arrives.”
“You should decide now. Get a jump. You were here first.”
“The athletes are more important. I’m fine wherever. You should have seen my apartment in the city. It was tiny. About half as big as the condo we just toured.”
“Wow. Did you at least have a good view?”
“If you count the building dumpster, yeah. It was great.”
“Oh.”
“I’m sure you can’t relate,” she fires back.
“I have lived in shitty places before, you know.”
“Like where?”
“My college dorm wasn’t amazing.”
“Are dorms anywhere amazing?”
Suddenly, the lights flicker and then cut out, the elevator lurching to an abrupt stop. Harbor loses her balance, falling into me. I grab her arm, catching her at the elbow as she stumbles up against my chest.
The car drops another inch with a sickening lurch. Harbor’s fingers dig into my biceps, her breath catching on a gasp.
Oh shit.
I’m stuck in a pitch-black elevator with Hurricane Harbor—and there’s nowhere to hide from what’s brewing between us.