21. Weston
WESTON
I t’s been three days since Harbor and I had sex in the media room. Three days of silence fucking with my head worse than any hit I’ve taken. No call, no text. Like nothing happened between us.
And the quiet is killing me.
I can’t stop thinking about her. The way she took control, locked the door and straddled me.
Honestly, she’s hot as hell.
Every single thing about her.
The way we fit together, her pussy tight and slick as she rode my cock. Hard and fast, begging for more.
I’d love to give her more. Right the fuck now.
Unfortunately, she’s avoiding me. It appears she’s going to stick to the whole one-time thing .
“You done warming up there, Cap? Or do you need more groin stretching? You know, to be on the safe side?” Bennett snickers down at me as I move through my pre-workout stretch routine .
“Fuck off, Bennett. And yeah, I’m done.” Gripping my stick, I ease off the ice as Coach Keller waves us over.
“Welcome to pre-season conditioning, boys. We’re going to run drills and sprints old-school style today, so I hope you’re nice and warm.”
Bennett elbows me and I hold back an eye roll. I want to make a good first impression on Keller—I don’t need any trouble with the new coach.
Digging my blade into the ice, I carve a small groove.
A nervous habit I’ve had since youth hockey league.
This is the first practice with a coach who doesn’t know shit about my leadership style, and I’m already off-balance.
Keller’s the type who’ll strip that ‘C’ right off my jersey without a second thought. No need to give him a reason.
“We’ll start with blue line to blue line sprints. Captain, why don’t you lead us off? Take Bennett and Morrison with you. Line two, be ready. You’re up next.” Coach pulls out his stopwatch, and my nerves fire up as I skate over to the line.
Which is stupid because this is pre-season conditioning. I’ve been skating since I was two years old and these are my teammates, not rivals.
Still, tension’s thick, my muscles tightly coiled as I crouch down into position. Instinctively, I know I need to prove myself to Keller, and now’s as good a time as any.
The whistle blows and I take off, ice flurrying around the blades of my skates as I sail across the smooth surface. Bennett and Morrison stay with me, all of us needing to impress the new coach, none of us wanting to come across the line last.
Chest heaving and arms pumping, I fly across the line a split second after my brother.
“Bennett, 3.04 seconds, Weston 3.12 seconds, Morrison, 3.22 seconds. Next.” Keller calls out the times but doesn’t offer any further commentary.
I skate around to the back of the group, trying to catch my breath and prepare for round two, ignoring Bennett’s victorious smirk.
Little shit.
Rolling my shoulders, I suck in oxygen and focus on staying loose. Not letting my brother into my head.
It’s crowded enough in there as is, what with Harbor’s voice echoing through my mind every time I close my eyes.
Her laugh, her moans, the way she called my name when she came apart on my lap.
Offense line two takes off, the scratching of blades on the ice bringing me back to reality. Line three’s up, then the defensemen, followed by the goalies, Callum and Klein.
“You ready, Cap?” Bennett shoots me a sideways glance and my jaw tightens.
“Of course I am.”
Coach blows the whistle and we take off, my quads firing. The swoosh of blades digging into the ice ricochets around the rink as we turn. Bennett’s right next to me, half an inch in the lead. I push harder, but he still outskates me.
“Fuck,” I hiss under my breath, lungs burning.
In ten years of competitive hockey, no woman’s made me lose my focus during practice. Not even Bee.
Dammit.
Harbor Hayes is rewiring my motherfucking brain.
“What’s got you twisted, Cap? Usually takes a playoff loss to throw you off this bad,” Bennett mocks, and my gut clenches.
I don’t need my brother pointing out every tiny victory he manages to score .
“Letting you win.” I scowl over at him, arms above my head to increase lung capacity.
“Uh-huh. Right.” He skates away, seemingly unphased, and I squeeze my eyes shut.
Focus, Steele. You have to beat him this time.
Sucking in a deep breath, I visualize my blade crossing the finish line first.
I’ve totally got this.
Spinning around, I head to the back of the line. That’s when I spot her.
Harbor, in dark jeans that hug every curve and a navy blazer, looking as fuckable as ever. She’s standing behind the glass talking to Prince and a group of people, most likely community sponsors.
My chest tightens, and I square my shoulders, standing up taller. Not that it matters—she doesn’t even glance this way.
“Line one, ready?” Keller’s thumb hovers over his stopwatch and I hustle to the line, trying to get my head on straight.
I need to beat my brother. Now more than ever.
“And…go!”
I accelerate off the line, faster than the last two times. Body down, grinding, ice flying. Bennett’s a blur in the corner of my eye, but I try to forget about him. My only goal is coming across that blue line first.
No matter what.
“Bennett, 3.01, Weston, 3.03, Morrison, 3.1 flat.”
Fuck me.
I still didn’t beat my brother.
Sneaking a peek over my shoulder, I’m bolstered by the fact that Harbor’s not paying any attention to the ice .
“Cap, you gonna beat me today? Even once?” Bennett’s voice tips up and I’m beyond irritated.
“Letting you have this one, Puck Bunny,” I shoot back, although that’s not the truth of the matter.
I’m off my game and I know it.
“Aww, where’s the fun in that?” he taunts, ice spraying off his blades.
Doubling down, I suck in a deep breath.
You’ve got this, Steele.
Callum and Klein race and now I’m back on the blue line in position.
“And go!” Keller hits the stopwatch and I take off like a shot, wind cold on my face.
Arms pumping, I pivot and race back to the line.
“Bennett, 3 flat, Weston, 3.01, Morrison, 3.1.”
Son of a bitch.
Shaking the sweat from my hair, I sneak another peek at Harbor. She’s in her element, yapping with the sponsors and ignoring everything around her.
Thank god. Because right now, I’m a big fucking disappointment.
“One more shot, Cap.” Bennett bends down, making a big show of stretching, and I push down all my feelings.
Now or never.
“Last round. Line One—” Keller hits the stopwatch, and I shove off the line a split second behind Bennett.
Not ideal.
I push as hard as I can, quads burning as I make the turn.
“Weston, 3 flat, Bennett 3.02, Morrison, 3.1. Good job, boys.” Keller nods his approval as I suck in oxygen like it’s my motherfucking job.
“Weston.” Coach’s voice stops me as I start to skate away. “Nice finish. But you were sloppy on the first four. Whatever’s going on in your head, get it sorted by tomorrow.”
My heart thuds harder and ice runs through my veins.
Shit. I’m that fucking obvious.
“Yes, sir.”
“Good. Because I need my captain locked in, not scattered.” He moves away, leaving me with the clear message that I’m on thin ice.
Harbor’s not just threatening my job. Now she’s threatening my captaincy.
Bennett circles around me. “About fucking time, Cap. I was beginning to think you needed performance coaching off the ice too.” Bennett slaps me on the back as I spin, arms resting on my head.
“Saved the best for last, Benny.” I huff out the words, but Bennett’s not buying it.
“Bullshit. You’ve been off for three days straight. Callum noticed too.” He glances around, making sure Coach isn’t listening. “Whatever’s happening with PR Barbie’s fucking with your game.”
My jaw clenches. “Stop with that nickname, Bennett. It’s derogatory and you know it. She deserves respect, like every other member of the team. Also, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Sure you don’t. When’s the last time I beat you in four straight sprints? Never, that’s when.” He leans closer, voice dropping. “Look, I don’t care who you’re banging. But if it’s affecting your leadership, the team’s gonna notice.”
Fuck.
Because he’s right. If Bennett can see it, everyone can.
“It’s handled,” I mutter.
“Is it? Because you just lost to me four times, bro. And now you’re eye-fucking the PR consultant during practice.”
“Harbor?” Callum glides up next to us, water bottle in hand. He looks from me to Bennett, then back to me again. “That explains the shitty skating.”
“Not you too,” I growl.
“You know I don’t get involved in your business, Wes. But when the distraction affects practice…” Callum shrugs. “Maybe talk to her instead of pretending she doesn’t exist.”
“She’s the one avoiding me.”
“Then stop letting her,” Bennett says in a matter-of-fact tone. “You’re the captain of a professional hockey team. Act like it.”
With that advice drop, my brothers skate away, leaving me alone. Hands on my knees, I take in a deep breath and try to shake off my uneasiness. I glance around the rink, checking on the team. My gaze sweeps past the boards toward the sponsor area.
And there she is.
We lock eyes for a split second, her cheeks turning the same pink as when she was riding my cock. She tucks her hair behind her ear—her nervous tell—and for a quick moment, the rink disappears. Our connection’s like a low magnetic hum across the ice, something only the two of us can sense.
Her lips part slightly, and I remember exactly how they felt on mine. Soft, warm. Perfect. How she tasted. How she whispered my name when she came.
For a heartbeat, the mask slips and I see her—the real her. Beautiful, vulnerable.
But then she straightens her blazer and the shield comes flying up, locking into place .
One-time thing.
Like hell.
I saw the look in her eyes, even from across the rink. Hunger. Desire.
Jaw tense, I press my lips together and skate back to practice.
Game on, Hurricane.
Because Harbor Hayes is about to find out just how persistent a captain can be.