Chapter Fourteen
Leo
“Dammit, the Pioneers defense is a sieve tonight,” Sadie calls in disgust. “Holes, holes, holes. They’re so much better than this, especially Dimitri.
He’s either injured or distracted. And it doesn’t help that Lamont from the Brawlers top line is exploiting his weakness on the outside edge—those two used to play together two years ago, so Lamont would know to target this.
Oh—there! See that?” She explodes out of her seat.
I steady her for the tenth time in an hour with my hand on her back, guiding her down.
“Brawlers’ left defender was ready before the puck even moved.
Their D-men are anticipating, not reacting. That is key.”
“Stop defending them!” Harry bellows.
“I’m not defending those asshats! I’m just explaining!” Sadie bellows back, right as the Pioneers goalie seems to freeze, letting the puck whiz past him. Groans erupt in the bar.
Harry’s is the loudest. “Well, maybe you can call them and explain to their goalie how not to choke like a little—”
“Easy,” I warn, bellowing louder than him. I’ve heard enough.
Harry cowers.
I thought focusing on the game would be a good distraction from how badly I want to bend Sadie over this bar or haul her back to my truck.
Turns out I traded one problem for another.
I have never been so stressed in all my fucking days. I’ve got a stranger with too many opinions on my left, and my coach with too many opinions on my right, who continues to incite violence every time she (correctly) cites what the Pioneers are doing wrong, down to the very snap of a stick.
She knows this game better than anyone in this bar, though that much was obvious when she—arguably the most famous and recognizable coach in the NHL right now—told them she was just a sports journalist named Ellie and the drunk idiots didn’t question it.
Doesn’t mean they believe it, but they didn’t question it further.
They’re too busy hanging on her every word, and not just because she’s pure sex in that outfit—a leather skirt that rides up her thighs, knee-high boots, fishnets, and a tee with an old Texaco logo that barely reaches the top of her skirt.
No, they’re listening to her because she’s so fucking smart. Observant. Sharp as a blade.
And it’s testing my patience beyond all reason. I turn on my stool to face her, leaning in so our neighbors can’t hear us.
“Ellie,” I say, dragging out the ridiculous lie of a name for emphasis, “I beg of you, stop baiting Harry.”
“I’m not. I’m talking about the game. You know everything I’ve said is accurate. It’s not my fault the Brawlers are playing better.”
“No one is doubting your accuracy. But he’s reactionary. We know this kind of fan.”
“So I should just keep my mouth shut?”
“That’s not—”
I mean, it’s kind of what I said. But not what I meant.
She hits me with an angelic stare, the portrait of innocence.
I huff out a breath. “I never want you to stop talking. I just don’t want you talking to unpredictable hockey fans who want to bitch and bicker, all right? It makes me nervous.”
Those pretty eyes widen in surprise.
“What?” I snap. “What’s that look?”
“I didn’t know you were capable of being nervous.”
She has no idea. Or she does, and she’s baiting me, too.
It’s all I can do not to put my hands on her hips and drag her stool even closer, seating her fully between my thighs.
That so many people can see us right now, maybe even snap a picture if they’re inclined, does nothing to cool me down.
“The prospect of having to punch a man square in the jaw for mouthing off to you makes me nervous, because then my coach would have to give me a stern talking to.”
Her gaze falls to my mouth as her lips gently part. Jesus Christ, why did I come here with her, sit next to her, inhale her sweet perfume all night? Why would I dip myself in gasoline when I know she sets me on fire?
“I’d call you into my office,” she murmurs, almost breathless. “Really let you have it.”
“Yeah?” I’m damn near ogling her lips now, imagining them anywhere on my body. Everywhere. “Is that a promise?”
A force of magnetism draws her face closer to mine. My fingers skim her thigh, catching on the pattern of her tights.
Her gaze meets mine for three long breaths. She hops out of her chair again, but instead of using the foot bar to push herself up to yell at the television, she hits the ground between my legs. My hand finds her hip just as hers lands on my thigh. “I think I need some air?”
Was that a question? An invitation?
She weaves through tables, straight for the dingy back hallway. How much air does she intend to get back there?
I push my stool backward.
She turns left down the empty hall and I’m behind her in a flash, probably because she takes short strides in those high-heeled boots. The tops flirt with the back of her knees, leather against skin and tights.
Much like the hem of her short skirt flirts with my self-control.
As she closes in on the bathrooms, she glimpses me over her shoulder.
I should use the five or so feet left between us to talk myself out of making a mistake. But maybe the mistake was already made long ago, and now I’m just living the consequences.
Her eyes and skin glow in the low, warm light. She stops just shy of the women’s restroom, wringing her hands in front of her.
I close the gap between us, backing her into the wall without so much as touching her. She melts against it, letting it hold her up. A few inches stand between us.
I breathe slowly through my nose. “You want to be alone?”
The moment pulls tight.
She shakes her head.
Blood rushes through my veins as I take her chin between my fingers, lifting her face so I can soak in the sight.
She’s breathing fast. My heartbeat thunders in my ears as I run my thumb along her bottom lip. She moves just enough to slip the tip inside and get it wet.
Sweet fucking agony. She is the most enticing woman I have ever known, and I will never have her in all the ways I want her.
“You followed me down here just to look at me?” Her voice is barely a whisper. It’s warm against my hand.
“I don’t know who you want me to be anymore,” I grit out. “Your player? A man who pretends he’s not?”
“Be yourself, Leo.” Her eyes are brazenly glued to my mouth. “Do what you want.”
I check over my shoulder to make sure no one is coming. “I’m trying very hard not to cross a line. And you looking at me like that isn’t helping.”
“What would you do if you could? Because one minute you’re looking at me like you want to tear my clothes off, then days pass where you act indifferent, and I’ve been going out of my mind wondering if I’m the only one who wants—”
I slant my mouth over hers, stealing the rest of her rant. The press of our lips ignites a firework dead center in my chest.
Indifferent?
As if I don’t think about her constantly, replay her stories in my head, count the seconds until practice because I’m so fucking ready to see her.
Linger in the arena longer than I have to just to hear her voice as she jokes around with Vivi or whoever else.
Let her perfume and her laugh and that lingering eye contact we seem to find in every room get me so hard I have to fuck my own fist just to tolerate it, fantasizing about her all the while.
Indifferent my ass.
She tilts her head, inviting me to take the kiss deeper. I do not hesitate. Holy shit, I could write a fucking song about these lips. A poem. Every other word would be fuck.
My pulse pounds in my ears. She feeds me a sigh of relief, spurring me on, melting into my kiss. She’s as skilled at this as she is at everything else she does, which is to say, world class.
I groan into the warm haven of her mouth, disbelief coursing through me that something so gentle could hit me so hard.
My hands slide behind her thigh and I lift her, hoisting her against the squeaky door, using our momentum to push it open. She is pliant, her arms hooking around my neck as we shove our way inside.
“Anyone in here?” I bark.
No answer.
Our relieved exhales meet as we tangle in a brutal kiss.
I kick the door shut and lift her against it to keep the world out.
The brittle wood rattles on its hinges as I crowd her space, pressing into her.
The door may be hard, but she is all sweet softness, curves, and warmth as her legs curl tighter around me.
She whimpers as I trace my tongue against hers. This is even better than I dreamed—and fuck have I dreamed about it. Her.
“Believe me”—I rock my hips forward, grinding against her—“you are not the only one who wants. If I act indifferent it’s because I keep a leash on myself, especially when we’re at work. But not one part of me is indifferent to you, Sadie.”
That’s the fucking problem—how much I want her.
I want her company. I want her around. I want to rip these clothes off her body.
She already rules my days, and I think about her every night.
But she has a long, bright future ahead of her in the NHL, and I’ll be damned if she’s going to risk any part of it by sneaking around with one of her players. I wouldn’t be able to live with myself.
Not to mention I barely got on this team in the first place, and I don’t want the scrutiny this would bring. Even if I were willing to risk it on my end, I’d never ask her to do the same for me.
But I’m not ready to let go, either. Because once I do, I might never know this kind of bliss again.
How can I be so scared to lose something I don’t even have?
My hands slide toward her ass. The slight shift in my hold twinges my shoulder, but the second my palms find their softly rounded landing place, I’m immediately too distracted to care.
My fingertips stretch for warmth. As much as I love the look of these tights, I want to tear them off and get them out of my way.
Her tone is frantic as she snakes a hand between us, fumbling for my belt. “Lock the door.”
I reach for—fuck. “There is no lock.”
She tugs on my belt. “Then we better be fast.”
“Sadie…” I groan. “I want to. Trust me. But we can’t. Someone could walk in.”
Her hand goes still against my belt buckle. The reminder that other people exist seems to get her attention. “You’re right.” She takes her lip between her teeth, her eyelids still heavy as she stares at my mouth. “Vivi’s out of town—”
Her body lurches forward as a voice slides through the crack beneath the door. “What the—hold on, Paula, I think there’s someone in the way.”
Fuck. Me.
Sadie goes stark white.
“Uh—one second!” she cries.
I steady her as she lowers to her feet. She shoves me toward one of two stalls, still holding the door shut with the back of her foot. “Wait it out in there,” she hisses. “Meet me in the parking lot after.”
“I can’t hide in here, I’m a man.”
“Crap, you’re right. Okay, I’ll hide, you go.” She launches toward the stall and snaps the door shut.
One advantage to being tall is that I stare straight over the two women’s heads as I walk out.
I cash out with Cleo, grab Sadie’s jacket, and pull down the brim of my hat—the one I’m now grateful for—as I walk out into the cold night.
Speaking of risking things…that was far too close a call.