Chapter 12
CHAPTER
TWELVE
WILDER
What the fuck am I doing?
Losing my goddamn mind, that’s what. Asking to see her in my office in front of all of my players as if it’s fucking normal to meet a student in my office after hours? After a game?
Fucking dangerous.
Fortunately, I covered quickly and said it was in reference to the upcoming event that I’ve been working with her on. That somehow makes it less suspicious, or at least that’s what I’m telling myself.
Good thing Devereaux is too busy lusting after his girlfriend to notice, and as we’ve established, Legros is an idiot.
I can tell by the look in Maisie’s eyes though, the way they narrow, then suddenly flare, as if she’s throwing something physical directly at me, that she wants to tell me no.
But I know she won’t.
Because then she’d have to explain to her friends why she’s telling me no. So I guess my lapse in judgment is going to work in my favor this time.
“Sure,” she finally says cautiously before glancing over at Devereaux and his girl with a smile. “I’ll, uh… meet you guys there? This shouldn’t take long.”
But of fucking course, Legros interjects. “I can wait for you, Mais. No big deal.”
This fucking guy. For someone she’s labeling as just a “friend,” he sure as hell is pushy as shit. My jaw tenses and fists tighten, thinking about how easily it would be to get him to fuck all the way off.
“That’s okay. I can just meet you there. Just text me where you end up, and y’all go ahead.” She gives him a pat on the shoulder before quickly hugging the girl.
They exchange goodbyes, and she turns toward me, her smile dropping and her lips tightening into a scowl, crossing her arms over her chest.
I don’t say a word. Not a single fucking word as I turn on my heel, my hands shoved deep in the pockets of my suit, and walk through the dispersing crowd in the lobby toward the athletic building, silently commanding her to follow me.
I still say nothing as I unlock the door to my office and swing it open, waiting for her to step inside, refusing to make eye contact with her.
I don’t bother with the light switch.
The small lamp at the edge of my desk bathes the room in enough light.
With a huff, Maisie brushes past me and walks inside. The tension feels thick in the air, and I have to clench my fist by my side to keep from slamming the door shut behind her like I want to. Instead, I close it slowly and emphatically flip the lock before turning to her.
“Got my email, did you?” she says snarkily, a hint of a sassy little grin pulling at those plump lips, pleased with herself.
I don’t immediately answer her. Instead, I undo the front of my suit jacket, watching as her eyes drop down to where it hangs open and then move back up to where I’m slowly working my tie loose.
My eyes never leave hers, watching as she shifts beneath the weight of my gaze, while I’m trying to do something I rarely do.
Thinking before reacting.
Maisie’s throat bobs as she swallows, the tip of her tongue darting out to wet her bottom lip in a deliberate, unhurried motion that doesn’t help what I’m already fucking fighting.
I blow out a slow, steady breath. “I shouldn’t have said what I did.”
It’s not exactly an apology, but it’s the closest to one she’s going to get from me.
She just blinks back at me, her eyes widening the smallest amount, like she, too, is surprised by my admission, but then her chin lifts, and she retorts, “Yeah? Which part? The part where you basically called me a slut for ‘distracting your players’.” She steps closer, those pretty blue eyes alight with fire.
“Or the part where you assumed that I was flirting with him simply because we were having a conversation. Or, oh… the fact that even if I was flirting with him, it is none of your business. What I do and who I do it with is none. of. your. business, Coach Hawthorne.”
Her chest is rising and falling rapidly, her fists clenched tightly at her sides. She looks pissed, like she wants to poke my chest with each one of those words, but she’s not close enough for that.
I know I was a dick, and I had no right to act the way that I did. But she can’t find out that it’s because my restraint is hanging by a thread whenever I’m near her, and I’ve barely known her for two goddamn weeks.
If you don’t include that first night…
Which we aren’t because we’re pretending it never happened.
She can’t know that I want to bend her over my fucking desk and fuck her so motherfucking hard that she feels me inside of her for days.
Or that I can’t seem to stop thinking about her despite all the reasons I shouldn’t.
None of that can happen, and she can’t ever know that I feel that way.
So, I deflect.
I push her away. Further this time.
Because when I’m the asshole I know I can be, I’m putting distance between us, where we’re both safe.
“I was not implying that you were a slut,” I manage through clenched teeth.
She scoffs. “Oh, so what were you implying, then? You insinuated that I’m distracting them based on the way I’m dressed.
That a woman can’t wear a dress because it’s too ‘distracting’ for men.
How about they don’t look, huh? How about that?
It’s not my job to teach a man how to act or how to have respect.
Which you obviously have none for me if that’s what you think. ”
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
I didn’t mean for what I said to be taken that way.
“Jesus, Wil—Coach Hawthorne. I get that you think I’m some naive, stupid little girl. You’ve made that abundantly clear. I get it. You made a mistake that night by involving yourself with me, but you do not get to treat me like that. Ever. No matter how much you regret me.”
Fuck this.
I don’t want her assuming that’s what I think of her.
I stalk forward, erasing all of the remaining distance between us, and she instinctively steps back, running into the desk behind her. I stop in front of her, so close that the tips of her shoes are touching mine, and she’s nearly flush to me.
Only an inch separates us, and Jesus, fuck, my head’s swimming from the sweet scent of her surrounding me.
My hands bracket the desk behind her, fingers curling around the edge.
“I was not fucking implying that you were a slut.”
Her breath hitches before breezing out in short spurts that fan against my lips because I’ve bent forward, invaded her space, and given her nowhere to run.
“I might be a piece of shit, an asshole, whatever it is you’d like to label me with, but I don’t disrespect women that way.”
My gaze drops down to her lips, watching as she pulls the bottom between her teeth. When I look back up at her, our eyes catch, and her pupils darken.
“I meant exactly what I fucking said. You are a distraction.” I’m not thinking clearly.
There’s not a moment of rational thought as I move my hand to her thigh, right below where the hem of her frilly little dress falls, and slowly drag my knuckles along her soft, bare skin. “Not for them, but for me.”
If I had any sense, any at fucking all, I wouldn’t be this close to her. I wouldn’t be placing myself so close to temptation, touching her, wondering if she tastes as good as she smells.
But I left every bit of reason on the ice.
Generally, after playing a game, I’m amped up, adrenaline coursing through my body, making me crawl out of my skin. I’m unable to sit still, unable to focus on anything until I start to come down, and everything inside of me calms.
Yeah, tonight was a bit different because I was on the other side of the box. I wasn’t on the ice; I was coaching, but still… that buzz, the vibrating energy remains.
So I tell myself that it’s because of that. Because of the game, because we won 2-1 with seconds left on the clock, but I know it’s not just that.
It’s her.
She’s so fucking beautiful and so goddamn perfect that it makes my head spin.
“You are a distraction that I cannot afford. A distraction that would require a sacrifice I do not want to make,” I murmur. “But I am only so fucking strong.”
Maisie’s chest rises and falls in rapid succession, her fingers curling tightly around the desk beside mine, blue eyes holding mine so intently that it feels physical.
The electric connection between us, it’s never felt more tangible. Never has it felt more forbidden.
Straightening, I stare down at her, drinking in the flushed cheeks, the parted lips that I want to capture and kiss the fuck out of. That I want to bruise from the force of that kiss.
With one last lingering brush of my knuckles on her smooth skin, I step back and exhale.
It’s ragged and forced. The distance is to clear my head, to refocus on what I came back here to do.
“Have a good night, Miss Delacroix.”
She stares up at me for a moment in confusion, her eyes the darkest shade of blue I’ve ever seen them, opening her mouth as if she wants to say something but then shutting it like she’s thought better of it.
But then she’s gone, rushing out of my office, slamming the door behind her, leaving me completely alone.
And hard as fuck for a woman I can’t have.
Again.