13. Weston
WESTON
H arbor tastes like vanilla and sunshine. I know I shouldn’t be kissing her—it’s a terrible fucking idea. But now that I’ve broken through that barrier, I can’t stop.
Don’t want to stop.
She’s a magnetic forcefield drawing me in, invisible beams of desire pulling me toward her.
I need to touch her, taste her.
Make her fucking mine.
Sliding into her mouth, I swirl my tongue around and get lost in the moment. I’m done fighting my instincts. My self-control’s shattered and there’s no going back.
Her body melts into mine, our breathing ragged as we finally give into temptation. I palm her firm ass and she sways a little, off-balance.
She’s not the only one.
I’ve been off-balance from the moment we met.
I’ve tried to fight this—fight her—but it’s useless. I’m losing this battle. And I don’t even care .
Her arms wrap around my neck and I breathe her in. Her shampoo mixes with the floral scent of her perfume and I’m a fucking goner. I’m gonna have an instant boner the next time I catch a whiff of rose petals.
Every muscle in my body’s tense and needy, my dick throbbing in my pants.
I want this woman.
More than I’ve ever wanted anyone, and that thought freaks me the fuck out. But now’s not the time to reflect on anything other than what’s happening right now.
A tiny moan slips from low in Harbor’s throat, and I know this thing’s not one-sided. She feels it too.
“Whoa. Sorry to interrupt the strategy meeting.” Bennett’s voice barrels through the empty locker room.
Harbor stiffens in my arms and shoves away with a force that knocks me backward.
“I…I’m…I have to go.” Red-faced, she spins on her heels and jets out of the locker room before I can say a word.
I glower at a smug-as-fuck Bennett leaning against a locker.
“Nice one, bro. Didn’t think we’d be circling back here so soon.” Bennett raises a brow, smirking. “Can’t blame you, though. She’s hot.”
I blow out a long, steady breath, aggravation brewing in my gut. “Fuck off, Bennett. Anyone ever tell you your timing’s fucking terrible?”
“Nah. Haven’t heard any complaints.” He folds his brawny arms over his stomach.
“Well, now you fucking have.” I rake a hand through my hair, my mind spinning.
The last thing I need is anyone else finding out about this.
I don’t even know what this is. And I don’t want Harbor to lose her credibility—or even worse, her job.
Not when she’s already fighting to prove herself as the daughter of the great Coach Hayes.
The hockey world will be watching and waiting for any slip-up, any chance to scream about nepotism hires.
Plus, the team needs a strong start here, and she’s already proven herself to be the best person for the job.
“Listen—please keep what you just saw to yourself.” I raise my eyes to his in a level gaze, stopping just short of pleading. “I don’t want the guys questioning Harbor and the rebrand. This move is tough enough. We don’t need more complications.”
Bennett shrugs, one broad shoulder lifting. “Whatever, bro. I won’t go spreading news about your little affair around.”
I grimace. “It’s not an affair , Bennett.”
“Hook up, fling, whatever you’re calling it. Your secret’s safe with me.” He shoots me an exaggerated wink and I wonder what I’m going to owe him for keeping the juicy gossip to himself.
“You know people are gonna figure it out, right? It’s pretty obvious the two of you have a thing for each other.”
“What? No, it’s not.” I scrunch my brow and frown at him.
“Bro. I figured it out in less than an hour.”
“You’re different, though. You’re my brother.”
“So you know Callum’s gonna see through your little charade.”
He does have a point there.
“If Callum asks, I’ll tell him the truth. But other than him, I’d rather not have anyone else know about what you just walked in on. ”
“Fine.” Bennett holds up his palms. “But you’re not as slick as you think you are. And PR Barbie isn’t either.”
“Her name’s Harbor…” I grit through my teeth, scrubbing my hand over my jaw. I’d love to punch him in his smug face for calling her that again, but figure now’s not a great time to fight with my brother. Not when I need him to keep what he just saw to himself.
“My advice?”
“Not that I asked…”
But Bennett forges ahead with his words of wisdom. “The two of you need to stay away from each other as much as possible or figure out how to break it to Prince and the team that you’re an item.”
“We’re not ‘an item.’ We kissed one time.”
“It was a helluva kiss, though. Like, you’re not going back for seconds? Or thirds? I’m betting you’re not going to walk away from that.”
I hate to admit it, but my brother’s right. It was a helluva kiss and the touch of Harbor’s lips on mine didn’t scratch the itch that’s been tickling at me since we met.
No, that kiss did nothing but make me want her more.
Dammit.
Bennett slaps me on the shoulder. “It’s fine, Wes. She’s single, right? You’re single. The two of you did nothing wrong, really, except maybe violate some HR office fraternization policy. Shouldn’t be a big deal.”
Except I have a sinking feeling it is a big deal.
I’m certain it is to Harbor, given the fifty-yard dash I saw her sprint in stilettos a few seconds ago.
And now that I know who her father is, I understand why.
She’s not just worried about the professional fallout—she’s terrified of proving her dad right about her career choices.
I saw the flicker of panic in her eyes, felt the tension in her body when she mentioned her father.
Fuck . No wonder she bolted.
We definitely have to talk about what just happened and go from there. For all I know, she’s going to call it quits before anything gets started.
“She’s cute, dude. You should go for it.” Bennett chucks my biceps.
“Glad I have your blessing,” I grumble, opening my locker and grabbing my T-shirt.
Bennett has the worst track record out of all of us. He’s the last person I’m taking relationship advice from. Pretty sure his longest relationship was a few months, tops.
"You going to have a chat with your gal pal right now or do you want a quick tour of the short list of houses Gia found? That’s what I was coming in here to talk to you about anyway.”
“Oh.” I glance at my watch. We have a few hours before the team dinner, and I’d love to get settled in a house sooner rather than later. “Let’s take the tour.”
Shrugging into my T-shirt, I slam my locker shut and follow Bennett out of the locker room. I’ll tackle the Harbor issue later.
Spoiler alert: I run out of time to tackle the Harbor issue before the team dinner. The housing tour takes longer than expected, leaving us only about twenty minutes to change before heading over to the restaurant.
I shoot Harbor a quick text while I wait for my brothers in the lobby of the Driftwood Inn.
Weston: We need to talk about what happened this afternoon
But she never responds.
That silence feels louder than anything she could’ve said.
Now I’m pulling up to The Rusty Anchor with Callum, Bennett, and a truckload of anxiety.
At least I’ll be able to pin it on the move and the coaching changes. In reality, though, most of the gut-churning is due to a certain blonde PR consultant.
“Wow, this place is…special.” Bennett lets out a low whistle as we take in the weathered facade of the local bar.
The siding’s a chipped and faded brown, with salt-crusted windows flanked by shutters still mostly attached.
A wraparound porch holds a few old wooden rocking chairs—you’d be risking a splinter in your ass if you sat in one.
The place is aptly named, the sign sporting an actual rusty anchor.
“Gia said this restaurant’s a Driftwood Cove landmark. Best burger in town.” Callum grips the hook of the anchor serving as a handle, holding the wooden door open for us.
“They must have something going for them. Otherwise, I imagine this place would’ve closed down a long time ago.” I blink, eyes adjusting to the darkness of the bar as I step inside.
The air’s only semi-cool and musty, with lingering hints of stale beer and fried food. The wood-paneled walls are covered with black-and-white photographs, a tribute to Driftwood Cove’s past.
“You boys here for the hockey dinner?” A hostess in a tight, white Rusty Anchor T-shirt tips her head at us.
“Yes, ma’am,” I say .
“Of course they are. Look at them.” A man in a white Rusty Anchor T-shirt and khaki shorts sporting a reddish beard strolls over and extends his hand. “Beau Lawson. Owner of the Rusty Anchor. Welcome to Driftwood Cove.”
I shake his hand, and so do Bennett and Callum.
“Happy to have you boys here. Rachel, take them to the private room?” Beau cuts his eyes at her and she blushes.
“Absolutely. Follow me.” She spins and guides us through the main dining room. A few families sit in booths around the edges of the space, with larger tables filling the center. A long wooden bar takes up the back wall, a large fishing net hanging behind.
“Here ya go.” She waves her hand at a smaller second room, already filled with several players and Prince.
“Thanks.” Bennett smiles, giving her a quick once over, and she blushes.
“Anytime.” She spins and struts away, and I elbow Bennett.
“Remember—we’re not just visitors. We’re living here, at minimum for one season. Don’t hook up with every local. It’ll make things real awkward around town. This isn’t Manhattan.”
Bennett shoves a hand in his pocket, glancing around the dingy room. “Don’t I know it.”
“Boys, glad you could join us. Where’s Harbor?” Prince smacks Callum on the back but directs the question at me.
“Uh…she’s coming. She was finishing things up at the office.” I purposely keep things vague. Now’s not the time to tell Prince anything about the two of us and what happened in the locker room.