12. Chapter Twelve
Chapter Twelve
The Renegades Locker Room: A deeper look at the Team’s Internal Dynamics—It’s All About Chemistry. ~Renegades Rinkside
Merri
He filled the doorway, all broad shoulders and slim hips.
He’d already changed into a pair of jeans that hugged his thick, hockey thighs like a second skin.
His golden hair slicked back from his face.
A hint of woodsy cologne wafted through the stale arena air, mingling with the lingering stench of Wilson’s sriracha wings.
I shoved back from the monitoring station, my red and white Mary Janes sliding on the industrial carpet as I stood.
But somehow, I felt safer on my feet. He hovered in the doorway, sucking up all the oxygen and putting me on the defensive.
Wilson’s mess forgotten, Shep consumed every inch of my brain space.
My lips burned with the memory of the kiss in the corridor.
I leapt at the first feasible thought that popped into my brain.
“You came to bring me my Pop, then?”
As he prowled closer, his muscles rolled like someone’d hit the slow-mo button on a replay. I backed up, molasses filling my brain. The window glass pressed cold against my spine.
“Why’d I do that? We won three-to-one. Two of those were mine.”
I pressed my lips together, channeling my inner statistician.
“When I studied the Renegades roster, I cross-referenced every coach’s note, every season exit interview, every scout report.
Never once saw Shep Landon listed as superstitious.
Novak and his English dictionary made the cut.
But you? No lucky charms in your history. ”
“I never was.” He turned, swept the door closed with a soft click, and crossed the small room in two long strides.
The video room walls squeezed inward, packed with two tables and a bajillion monitors and not enough room for everything that was Shepherd Landon. I smoothed my hands over the red satin bow at my waist. No emergency exit in sight, unless I planned to crash through the window behind me.
“Things change.”
His voice came out rough, tired. Not the after-game kind of tired. And not the honey-sweet Southern charm I’d come to expect, either. My fingers itched to fix his crooked collar, to smooth away whatever put those shadows under his eyes.
When he stood in front of me, his usual smirk wavered. He pressed his palm against the window beside my head, boxing me in just like he had for our corridor kiss. But the golden boy’s shine had dulled, replaced by something raw and real that made my heart skip.
I caught my lips between my teeth and spoke before I could stop myself. “What’s wrong?”
“Life’s messy.” He scrubbed his hand over his jaw. “One minute you’re cruising along, next minute everything shifts sideways. Could use a distraction.”
A distraction. Right. Because being reduced to a convenient diversion worked out so well with Cale.
My fingers twisted in my skirt as old hurts rose up.
But before the sting could fully register, exhaustion lined his face, dragging at his usual cockiness.
Whatever haunted those blue eyes looked an awful lot like my own late-night demons.
I smoothed my skirt, ducking my gaze from the intensity in his eyes. “Join the club. Three days without my Pop, and I’m practically climbing the walls.”
“Missing your lucky charm?” His thumb traced circles on the window by my temple.
“Not about luck.” My voice dropped to barely a whisper.
“I got him for my Mom in Vegas. Something to bring a smile to her lips. The whole city lit up purple for some K-pop band’s shows.
We’d never heard their music, but…” The words tangled as the memory of her smile in the neon glow of Vegas washed over me.
“Sounds like something special.” His voice softened, matching my tone.
“She was the master of making every day an adventure.” My fingers found the hem of my dress. “Even the small stuff.”
“Sounds nothing like my parents.” A muscle ticked in his jaw. “Masters of the disappearing act.”
“Is that what’s got you looking like you lost a playoff game?”
“More like discovering a whole new playbook.” Blue eyes locked onto mine. “Ever wish your brain came with an off switch?”
Every damn day. “Is that even possible?”
“Could be. Could be we could switch it off if we indulge in a little distraction.”
That word again. Distraction. It scraped along my skin like barbed wire, even as his honey voice soothed the raw spots.
“I’m not keen on being anyone’s ‘distraction’. Especially a superstitious hockey player.” I squared my shoulders against the cold glass behind me, lifted my chin to meet his gaze. “Because technically, this is a workplace, and—”
“And you’re all about following the rules.” No judgment colored his voice, just an understanding that squeezed my heart. He stepped closer, flooding my senses with that woodsy-citrus scent. “Does picking apart every moment protect you, Merri-love?”
I fisted my fingers in the folds of my dress. Without Joonie’s steady presence, I was wrecking my wardrobe. Mom’s voice echoed in my head: what happened to my fearless girl? “Analysis keeps me employed.” I swallowed, my mouth dry, then added in a whisper. “Safe.”
“Safe from what?” He leaned closer, his warmth penetrating my clothes, right to the heart of me.
I pushed my lips together, mind racing through possibilities, percentages, probabilities.
The statistics of workplace relationships failing.
The career implications. I’d been down this path before, still had the scars to chronicle that particular adventure.
So distraction or relationship, neither made me jump for joy.
“Safe from making mistakes.” My voice came out breathier than intended. “From risking everything I’ve worked for on—”
“On what?” He was close enough now that I had to tip my head back to maintain eye contact.
I finished his sentence. “On someone who looks at me like he wants to devour me whole.” The words slipped out before my brain could evaluate them.
His hand came up, fingers ghosting along my jaw. The corner of his mouth ticked up in a half-smile. “Like what?”
“Like you’re about to kiss me again.”
“What if I am?” His thumb traced my lower lip, and my careful analysis dissolved into pure sensation. “Would that be such a mistake?”
The professional part of my brain screamed yes. The part currently short-circuiting from his proximity wasn’t so sure. I smoothed my skirt with trembling fingers. “We’re in the Thunder video room.”
“That’s not an answer.” He trailed his fingers down my neck, lighting up nerve endings. “That’s your brain trying to logic its way into an evasion.”
“So what if it is? You’re just seeking a distraction from whatever’s got you twisted up.”
“Maybe.” He clenched his eyes closed and when they opened again, vulnerability tinted the blue.
And that vulnerability, so at odds with the cocky player I was coming to know, cracked my defenses more than any charm could have.
I swayed toward him, professional boundaries blurring like the edges of my vision.
His forehead touched mine, his breath mingling with my shaky exhale. “Tell me to stop.”
A thousand reasons to stop him raced through my head—workplace dynamics, career implications, past heartbreaks. But for once, my analytical brain lost the vote. Maybe we both needed to stop thinking.
I curled my fingers into his shirt and pulled.
He dipped his head to the curve of my neck, his warm breath fanning across my skin. Sensible thoughts scattered like game footage in a power outage. No going back now. I’d analyze the implications later.
His tongue traced my pulse point and heat flooded my system, pooling low in my belly. When his teeth grazed sensitive skin, my knees threatened to buckle. Sweet heaven, this was a terrible idea for an entirely new set of reasons.
“Shep.” His name came out half-plea, half-warning.
His grip tightened on my waist, pressing me against the window. The chill of the glass bit through my thin dress, grounding me in reality. A reality where I stood in Thunder’s video room, letting Shepherd Landon demolish my carefully constructed walls.
“Still analyzing?” His words vibrated against my throat.
“Trying not to.” I threaded my fingers through his hair, tugging him closer. “You’re making it difficult to think at all.”
A chuckle rumbled through his chest. “Good.”
He flattened his tongue against me, then licked a long, hot path up my neck to the edge of my jaw.
I parted my lips, ready to give him back every ounce of the fervor he’d built in me, but he tilted up to my temple and whispered in my ear.
“Let me be your distraction tonight, Merri-love. Just tonight.”
I caught his face between my palms and drew him down to my mouth. He took control, sucking my lower lip between his, tasting and teasing until I swayed into him.
I was lost in his kiss, dizzy with the want building inside me, but he broke free and kissed a line along my jaw and back to my throat, dipping to my collarbone. He flicked his tongue, scraped his teeth, then laved my skin.
I closed my eyes and relished the sensation coursing through my system. His thumb smoothed the skin just above the edge of my dress and I shivered. Then his big, strong hand cupped my breast through my dress. I gasped, lifting up on my toes, arching away from the window and pushing into his touch.
His warmth surrounded me but I still wanted more.
“I was right.” He murmured the words against the sensitive spot beneath my ear, and sensation overloaded my circuits. Light sparkled behind my eyelids.
But I didn’t want him to stop, so I whispered, “You were?”
“You’re one hell of a distraction. I want you.”
I pressed closer as he stroked his thumb over the tip of my breast through the armor of my dress. I wanted him, too.
Unlike our corridor kiss, suspicion didn’t poison the moment. He’d laid out his cards—distraction sought and offered. The word still scraped against my pride, but his raw honesty threaded into my psyche like warm honey.
I fisted his shirt in my hands. He felt rock hard under my fingers. Solid. All powerful muscle and fluid strength. Safe. Like a fortress against my spiraling thoughts.
He pulled me tight against him, drawing me away from the window and into his warmth. When he claimed my mouth again, he kissed me with a tenderness that stole my breath.
Protected. Cherished. For these precious moments, my world narrowed to nothing but sensation and safety.
“Just breaking down the video room—”
The voice shattered our bubble. One of the Renegades’ assistant equipment managers—right outside the door—coming to collect our team’s gear.
My laptops and specialized video equipment still sat unpacked, waiting to be stored for tomorrow’s flight.
Shep stiffened, his attention snapping to the closed door.
I started to untangle my fingers from his hair, but he gripped my hips, holding me in place.
Footsteps approached, accompanied by the squeak of equipment cart wheels against polished concrete.
Reality crashed in with each approaching step. My laptop still sat open on the table. My drink, the half-eaten bag of pretzels. Evidence of how I’d abandoned my responsibilities to make out with the star player like some rookie intern.
Like I hadn’t learned my lesson with Cale.
What was I thinking?
I backed away from Shep, pressed the heel of my hands to my eyes until spots danced in the darkness.
Private Discord conversations with female colleagues flooded my thoughts.
Women working in male spaces. Workplace relationship failures, the plummeting trajectory of women working in male dominated fields who crossed lines.
My analytical brain kicked into overdrive, spinning through every possible consequence of the last ten minutes.
But that didn’t change the fact that my skin still tingled where he’d touched me.
Every brush of his fingers echoed like evidence against me.
In the Thunder’s crappy video room, for the love of all things holy.
Wilson would hear about this. Coach would know.
I’d be back to battling the “one of his girlfriends” whispers, watching my hard-won reputation dissolve into snickers and knowing looks.
Years of proving myself demolished by ten minutes of weakness.
All my careful analysis, my game-winning calls, my professional armor—shredded by Shepherd Landon’s woodsy scent and honey-sweet words.
“This is bad. This is terrible. I am an idiot.”
He exhaled, slow and long, little more than a hand’s breadth between us. “No.”
“Yes. A bonafide moron.”
“No. Stop it.”
“This—” I waved my hand in the tiny space between us. “Cannot happen. I can’t let it happen. Not again. I want to work here, Landon. I want a career. I don’t need locker room talk or issues with management.”
“No one needs to know.”
I laughed. “Sure, yeah. That always works out, doesn’t it? Secrets always stay secrets forever.”
I smoothed my shaky hands over my dress and side-stepped away from Shep and the window. “Been there, got the t-shirt, Landon. Boys always talk.”
“I don’t know about your past experiences—”
“Experience. Singular.” I tipped my chin up and sucked in a breath.
My legs steadied and my heart didn’t feel like it wanted to catapult out of my chest any longer, so I counted it as a win.
“I learned my lesson. Give me my Pop, pretend this didn’t happen, and let’s just move forward like two professionals. We can do it. I know we can.”
He drew Joonie from his pocket, placing him in my palm with a gentleness that twisted my heart. Then he slipped through the door past the startled equipment manager without a word.
I clutched Joonie to my chest, his familiar shape failing to ground me for the first time. Because despite my brave words about moving forward, one truth screamed through my carefully ordered world—I didn’t want to pretend this hadn’t happened at all.