Chapter Nine
Presley
Everything feels a little lighter today, which makes absolutely no sense.
Maybe it’s because Christmas Eve is tomorrow.
Training was voluntary today, though, so that’s part of it.
The guys have been filtering in and out throughout the day, so it’s been quiet overall.
But we’re in the middle of playoff training, and the vibe should be more intense than it is today.
It could also be the undercurrent of energy humming through the building.
Happiness.
My sister and Liam got engaged last night. He took her and Sera to Wollman Rink in Central Park, which holds special meaning to them, and proposed.
After their rough start, I couldn’t be happier for them.
I lean against the wall in the training room, watching Liam announce the engagement to the team, grinning. Not only because he’s excited, but because my sister’s old best friend, who caused problems between Alie and Liam, is present, and I find joy in making him uncomfortable.
Petty? Maybe, but I really don’t give a fuck after everything he put them through.
“Whatcha looking at, Doc?”
I turn to see Brody leaning against the wall next to me, arms crossed, smirking.
“I’m just observing,” I say.
He nods and turns his gaze to Liam.
“You happy for them?”
A smile breaks across my face. “The happiest.”
“Me too. Maybe you’ll be next.”
I tilt my head back and laugh. “You’re funny, Vaughn.”
“Hey, you never know. I think these things happen in threes.”
My smile drops, and I look at him dryly. “That’s death.”
He shrugs. “Eh, same thing.”
“Nice.” I roll my eyes and shake my head. “Don’t you have something productive to do?”
“I am being productive. I’m talking to you.”
I step back and push him off the wall playfully, toward the weights. “Get to work.”
He laughs and disappears into the land of metal, leaving me alone with my thoughts.
Which is … a little frustrating for multiple reasons.
Mostly because my thoughts are all over the place. And doing the opposite of behaving.
I huff out a breath and head back to my office, closing the door behind me and leaning against it.
Okay. I just need to focus.
Work. That’s what I need to do. Work.
I move to my desk and pull up treatment notes. Hamstring tightness, shoulder strains, recovery timelines—everything normal, routine.
But I quickly realize that all I’m doing is glazing over the details. Nothing sticking.
My brain keeps circling back to my sister and Liam. The way they look at each other. The way they seem so confident and secure in their relationship.
And then … Saint slips into my mind. Because of course he does.
My stupid decision last night.
Daredevil.
I close my eyes briefly. We said we’d only watch one episode, even though we both knew we wouldn’t stop at one.
But last night felt … different.
We sat a little too close, and everything felt more charged than usual. It was in the way the air seemed to shift when he moved closer to me on the couch. And the way my pulse jumped every time his arm brushed mine, or his hand rested against my leg.
They way neither of us said anything about it because I think we both knew if we did, it would tip everything over the edge.
And good God, I can’t deny the way I wanted him to touch me.
I exhale slowly, pressing my fingers into the edge of my desk, trying to justify my feelings because of all the excitement today with my sister’s engagement.
But also the reminder of what it looks like when something is real. When it’s something … more.
Except, it didn’t explain everything. Like this burning I feel inside.
It didn’t explain why my body reacts to Saint the way I do. Nor does it explain why I haven’t even considered being with anyone else since …
I stop.
Nope. I can’t go there.
Except I do. Because the truth is sitting right in front of me. It’s unavoidable at this point.
I haven’t been with anyone else since him. Not even close. And not because I couldn’t have. It was because I had no interest in looking.
My stomach tightens.
This isn’t just timing or stress.
It’s something else. Something I don’t think either one of us wants to name.
I push back from the desk. I can’t sit here like this. I need to move and clear my head. Reset.
I step out into the hallway and back to the training room without really thinking about where I’m going.
And the second I walk in, I forget how to breathe.
I knew he was here. I just saw him not long ago. But my mind is a hot mess at the moment. Literally.
Saint stands at the far end of the room, mid-set. His shirt is damp from sweat, and I can see his back muscles flexing as he drives the weight up with slow, controlled precision.
Everything about him is focused and disciplined. He’s strong in a way that isn’t just physical. It’s ingrained and intentional.
And I … stand here, watching him.
I can feel my pulse tick up. This isn’t just appreciation. It’s an awareness of him. The way his body moves. And the way I remember exactly how it felt under my fingers.
Crossing my arms, I shift my weight, like it would somehow ground me.
It doesn’t.
Because as he finishes the set and racks the weights, he looks up. Right. At. Me.
My stomach flutters because it was like he knew I was watching him.
The look on his face, the tilt of his mouth … yeah, he knew what I was doing.
Heat rushes up my neck, and I step back out into the hallway quickly, before he comes closer. Before he can see the way my body is reacting to him.
As soon as I get to my office, I shut the door and lean against it, closing my eyes.
Fuck. I need to get it together.
Act like a goddamn professional.
I inhale sharply and push away from the door, pacing the room.
Okay. Fine. I’ll just call it what it is.
I’m turned on from watching him, from my memories of us together the day we fucked.
I’m turned on by everything that’s been building, especially over the past few weeks.
Or really, since he came back from his sister’s in November.
It’s in the little things, like when his leg always seems to brush mine, and his hands seem to touch me more freely.
A graze of the cheek. A tuck of hair behind my ear. A hand sliding around my waist.
I drag a hand through my hair and remove the elastic from my wrist to put my hair in a ponytail.
I pace again, trying to convince myself that it’s just because it’s been a while. Like I did the last time we had sex.
Except I don’t think it’s that at all.
It’s because it’s him. He turns me on.
I walk over to my desk and sit down slowly. My hands rest on my legs, and I take in a few deep breaths.
Maybe I should just take the edge off.
Probably not a great idea at work, but neither was fucking Saint in an office off the practice field.
My fingers curl into the fabric at my waist, but I stop myself.
What am I thinking? I can’t get myself off at work.
My mind wanders, though, thinking about Saint’s thick cock and how he slammed into me. And I picture him taking me like that right here on my desk, and my pussy clenches.
Maybe I should just leave work now. I’m not really doing anything anyway. I could go home, get my trusty lemon out, and get myself off.
Then … there’s a knock.
Almost perfectly timed.
“Presley?”
I freeze.
Saint. Like I summoned him with my filthy thoughts.
I stand from my desk quickly, bumping my knee on the edge, like I’ve been caught doing something illegal.
My heart feels like it’s slamming against my ribs.
“Yes,” I say quickly, forcing my voice to sound steady.
The door opens, and there he is.
His gaze sweeps over me, slow and assessing. Lingering long enough to make my pulse spike. He closes the door behind him and leans against it.
“Am I interrupting?” he asks.
My stomach flips.
Because the real answer is yes. Yes, he’s interrupting my fantasy about his dick being inside me.
I sit back down and cross my legs, then lean back in my chair, acting like I have complete control over everything right now.
“Depends,” I say evenly. “On what you think you’re interrupting.”
His mouth curves like he already knows the answer.
And that just makes everything worse because now … I don’t want him to leave.
SAINT
I could feel it the second I stepped into her office.
Not a bad feeling. More like there’s an electrical current in the room.
Presley sits behind her desk, her posture a little too straight. Her hair is slightly mussed, like she just gathered it and wrapped the band around it, without even trying to straighten out the pieces. And her puffy pink lips are parted just enough to give her away.
But it’s her eyes that confirm my suspicion. They’re dark and focused on me. Almost like she’s deciding whether I’m a problem or a solution.
Yeah. I have a pretty good guess it’s a mix of both.
And the tone in her voice tells me she’s trying hard to stay in control.
I watch her, taking in the small details. The way her fingers tap on the arms of the chair. The way her breathing is uneven.
But still, I hold my stare.
I push off the door and walk toward her slowly.
“Okay,” I say. “Then I’ll ask a different question.”
Her brows raise.
“Do you want me to leave?” I stop walking.
Her throat moves as she swallows, and her answer comes fast. “No.”
I take another step closer. And another.
“Did you have a rough day?” I ask, my voice quieter now.
She lets out a small breath that sounds like a laugh. “Rough? Not really.”
I tilt my head and stop in front of her desk, close enough for me to see the faint flush across her cheeks. Close enough to see the way her eyes flick to my mouth.
“Okay,” I say lowly. “Then it’s something else.”
Her eyes narrow. “Are you always this nosy?”
“Only when it comes to you.”
She doesn’t respond.
“You’re flushed. Your breathing is off.”
Still nothing.
“And,” I add, dropping my voice, “you can’t seem to sit still. Your fingers have been tapping on the arms of your chair since I came in here.”
That gets a subtle reaction.