26. Chapter Twenty-Six #2
“I can’t risk it. And like you said, you have a lot going on, too.
It just doesn’t make any sense to start something up when we both have so much going on.
” But I didn’t pull away. I didn’t untangle myself from the fortress of Shep’s embrace.
I closed my eyes and breathed him in and listened to his heart thump beneath my cheek.
The warmth of his body, the steady strength of him against me, sent a wave of yearning through me.
But I’d be crazy to throw away my future on maybe.
Finally, with a last deep breath, I pushed away from the comfort of his chest and made my way back to work.
The hum of the arena filled the video room later that night, as I played back game footage during a commercial break. Wilson sat at his end of the desk, hunched over a plate of smelly wings, his fingers wrapped around a cup of coffee like he expected someone to make off with it at any moment.
As if. I’d been here long enough to know that was probably the same cup he’d been nursing since morning. Maybe even yesterday morning. Blech.
In the weeks since I’d arrived, I’d learned plenty of details about the players and my coworkers, too. Props to Sellers for wanting to be a stay-at-home dad, but he’d be leaving behind an awesome workplace.
With another minute left in the commercial break, I stood, angling up to the window to see the bench below.
The players sat on the bench, their big bodies decked out with all the protective gear and the glorious blue and pewter uniforms, the raging Renegade stallion emblem front and center of the jersey.
Even after weeks of seeing it, the sight hadn’t lost its power to thrill.
As if drawn by magic, my gaze landed on Shep. With his smiles and jokes, he typically spent every break firing up the others. Not tonight, though. Tonight he leaned down, his elbows braced across his thighs, his head hanging down, his expression hidden.
He’d played the first two periods perfectly. Already had a goal and an assist on his tally.
He could be a bit of a perfectionist when it came to his game, but with the way my heart clenched, I didn’t think his play was the reason for his hangdog look tonight.
The scene from the parking garage played out in my head. Shep’s words echoing in my ears. “I want to know all those stupid little details about you.”
I shoved away from the window and slumped back into the century-old desk chair. Shep Landon sure had a romantic way with words. “Stupid little details”, indeed.
I jiggled the mouse, centering the array of views on my main screen, even as a shiver coursed down my back. It was a bad idea. Being with Shep was a bad, dangerous idea.
But I couldn’t deny the pull. He pulled at my heart in a way that terrified me.
He could be the best thing that’d ever happened to me. Or the worst.
And now, the thought of becoming a permanent fixture with the team, of being a constant part of Shep’s world, felt like both a dream and a nightmare. How long would I be able to resist his charm? Would I even have a chance at keeping my distance, keeping a professional relationship?
Because I’d felt his touch. I knew what it felt like to be with him, under him. Knew the pleasure he could deliver. A wave of want washed over me, his demanding hands a phantom sensation etched into my skin.
I shook off the memory of our night together only to have it replaced by the intensity of his expression in the parking garage. The wild attraction between us crackled, an undeniable two-way current. And something told me that attraction wasn’t going anywhere anytime soon.
But the glint in his eye? It wasn’t just mischief anymore. It was fierce, ravenous determination. His words echoed in my mind, a promise and a threat: he wanted more, more than a single night, more than fun and games. A shiver shot down my spine even as warmth filled my chest.
Down on the ice, the game resumed. Shep stepped out onto the ice with a powerful stride and the crowd in the seats roared. His signature quick-release shot, the way he anticipated plays three steps ahead of anyone else on the ice—he was a spectacle to witness.
And it hit me then. The same qualities that made him lethal on ice drew me to him off it.
Always moving, always thinking, always hungry for more.
He lined up in position for the first face-off of the last period.
Even his stance broadcasted confidence. Weight balanced perfectly, stick angled just so. A study in controlled power.
For an instant, the arena held its breath.
How could I hope to resist when he enthralled an entire arena on a regular basis?
My breath caught. How could I be expected to stay away? But how could I possibly navigate the dangers of a relationship with him?
I straightened my spine, zeroed in on the game video streams, and pushed through the chaos of my thoughts to do my job.
But even as I marked plays for future review, the image of Shep, his eyes burning with longing, his touch etched into my skin, haunted me.
The wave of excitement at the potential of achieving my dream job in the NHL swirled together with the danger of my feelings for Shep to create a chaotic cocktail of emotions.
And below, the Renegades battled on. We were on track to make the playoffs again this year, barring a catastrophic breakdown in these last few weeks.
I focused on the players, their motions a blur of grace and power.
I focused on the puck, its trajectory, its speed, the way the little bugger glided across the ice.
I focused on the plays, the strategies, the tactics.
But in my head, emotion ruled. The possibility of a permanent position with the Renegades, of working alongside Shep far into the future, filled me with a dizzying mixture of excitement and trepidation.
With Cale, I’d been young and naive. Thrown myself into the relationship without considering the professional consequences.
And learned the hard way how quickly a personal disaster could become public spectacle, how gossip could poison a career.
But Shep? He crashed through my defenses with the same intensity he brought to the ice, making me want things I shouldn’t.
Making me consider risks I’d sworn never to take again.
I forced my attention back to the monitors, searching for the clarity numbers and stats usually brought.
The same way I snuck Joonie into his locker before games, pretending not to notice when he returned the Pop to my office.
That silent dance between us said everything about the impossibility of our situation—wanting connection but unable to acknowledge it, trapped between professional boundaries and personal desires.