17. Weston
WESTON
I can’t get out of the media room fast enough. My tie’s choking me out, and I’m way too fucking hot.
I’d love to blame it on the pressure from the interview, but I know it’s not that.
It’s her.
Harbor.
The way the golden flecks in her eyes sparkle when she laughs, the tinkly lilt of her voice, that damn freckle behind her earlobe taunting me.
I have to get away from her before I do something I can’t undo.
I’m so amped up, I head straight to the locker room and change into gym clothes, then hit the treadmill. I’ll run her out of my system, get back to where I was two weeks ago.
Focused.
On hockey, the game I’m getting paid to play. The game I love.
Not on the beautiful blonde PR consultant who’s making me question everything I thought I knew about priorities.
My entire identity’s built around being the guy who puts the team first. The captain who never lets personal wants compromise professional responsibilities.
But Harbor Hayes is unraveling that discipline one dazzling smile at a time.
My head’s all fucked up.
I crank the speed on the treadmill and sprint until my chest heaves and my shirt’s ringed with sweat.
Still, her words echo in my head.
That was perfect.
Not just the interview. Me.
She saw something in me I don’t let most people see.
I can’t erase her smile, the way she lit up and fucking glowed after the interview.
And I ran away.
Again.
Bennett’s annoying voice rolls through my mind: You gonna shoot your shot, Cap?
But I can’t. We can’t. We both have too much to lose.
It’s a terrible idea.
I hit the locker room showers and try to wash away the jumpy agitation. Hot water streams around me, but it’s not enough to rinse away the ghost of her touch when she adjusted my tie. The way her fingers trembled at my throat, the hitch of her breath.
I can’t escape her, no matter what I do, where I go.
Finally, I give up and cut the water, towel off. Throwing on my last clean set of gym clothes, I head out for the day.
The building’s empty now, my teammates, the coaches and staff, all the reporters and media crew long gone. My footsteps echo down the long hallway as I trudge toward the lobby. I’m almost at the main entrance when I spot an open door, black-and-white shadows dancing on the linoleum floor.
Intrigued, I move toward the flashing light.
Hovering outside the dark room, I watch as Harbor studies video footage from the interview.
Headphones over her ears, her fingers fly across the remote, pausing and restarting the film as she takes notes.
Light reflects from the monitor, highlighting the apples of her cheeks, the slight curve of her full lips.
She’s beautiful and I can’t stop staring, every muscle in my body tight.
So much for working off the tension.
Every bit of it comes back full force, my heart pounding hard. She must feel my eyes on her because she swivels toward the door, her hand flying to her chest.
“Weston! You scared me.”
“Sorry. I didn’t mean to creep up on you.”
She laughs, the sound drifting around me and lighting me up inside.
“It’s fine. I was reviewing the film from this afternoon. You looked great out there.”
“Thanks.”
“You want to watch with me?” She tips her head, a golden wave of hair cascading over her shoulder.
I should walk away. Maybe run.
“Sure.”
Instead, I step into the dark room, drawn to the glow of the monitor.
To her.
Moving in the exact opposite direction of common sense.
She scrolls through the footage, freezing the screen and pointing. “Here. The way you handled the gambling question? Fantastic. Authoritative, but not defensive.”
How she’s talking about my performance, her professional insight—it’s a better compliment than anything I’ve heard before. I’m not just a good-looking face, another player to her.
She sees me. Really sees me—not just the captain everyone expects me to be, but the man I am.
And it’s terrifying how much that means to me. How much she means to me.
Shit, Steele. You’re skating back into dangerous territory again.
“Here.” She hands me a set of headphones and I slide down next to her, our legs brushing. Lightning shoots up my thigh, straight to my dick, and I’m grateful it’s dark in this room. Otherwise she’d see the way she’s affecting me—there’s certainly no hiding it.
Staring straight ahead at the monitor, I place the headphones over my ears as she rewinds the film.
We watch in silence for a few minutes, and I try to focus on the interview—something, anything—other than the heat radiating off her body, her vanilla scent wrapping around me.
Blood roars loud in my ears and I can’t hear what I’m saying on the film, nor do I care.
My entire body’s humming, on high alert.
Harbor shifts in her chair and her knee falls against mine and that slight movement has my dick at full mast.
Fuck me.
She pulls her headphones down around her neck, smiling in the dark. “Fantastic, right? You were great, Weston.”
I can’t tear my gaze from her mouth, the pretty pink bow of her lips. I remember what she tastes like, feels like, and I want more .
Need more.
This is the moment. Deciding between what the team needs and the man wants.
I’ve spent my entire career making the right call, the safe play, the decision that protects everyone else.
Maybe it’s time to make a decision just for me, just this once.
“Harbor…” My voice is gruff as her eyes flick to mine.
“Yes?”
The way she gazes up at me through that thick fringe of lashes tips me over the edge. I’m untethered, the rope that’s been holding me together unraveling. I give into temptation, bending down and pressing my lips to hers.
Heaven.
She doesn’t pull away. Instead, she leans in, her soft sigh a whisper in the darkness. Like she’s giving in right along with me.
We’re both surrendering and it feels so damn good.
I slip my tongue into her mouth and taste her. She’s sweet, and warm, and slightly minty, and I don’t think I’ll ever get enough.
“Weston…” she moans, but she doesn’t stop kissing me. She tangles her tongue with mine and slides closer, our bodies inches apart.
Taking the chance, I grip her hips and pull her onto my lap. She answers by winding her hands around my neck, her delicate fingers caressing the hairline and sending a delicious shiver rolling down my spine.
I want this woman.
Right the fuck now.
I don’t want to waste another second. No more analyzing and second-guessing.
Moving my hand from her waist, I caress the round peach of her ass, the fabric of her skirt silky smooth beneath my calloused palm. I want to feel her skin, the heat radiating from her body onto mine like rays from the sun.
“Harbor…”
She pauses and pulls away slightly. “Mmm…”
I run my thumb over her bottom lip, taking all of her in. “I want you. But I know there’s a lot on the line?—”
The tip of her tongue darts out, brushing the rough skin of my thumb.
Fuck me.
She gazes up at me, her pupils dark and wide, hair tousled and messy. No longer the composed PR professional, she’s the picture of sultry innocence.
“I know. I want you too.” Her voice is low and quiet as her palm flutters to my chest, resting over my stuttering heart. “I haven’t stopped thinking about what happened in the locker room. About you.”
We’re really doing this. Crossing every line we set to keep things professional.
Risking everything we’ve both worked for.
“So what do we do about it?”
She hops up, plucking her heels off her feet. Hurrying over to the door, she shuts and locks it before spinning back around to face me, determination blazing in her eyes.
Game on.
We’re past the point of no return now. And I don’t want to go back anyway.
She smiles at me. “What happens in the film room, stays in the film room.”