Chapter 4
Cole
I stand under the scalding spray of my shower, trying to wash away the tension that's been building in my shoulders all evening. But it's not just stress from practice or the upcoming season that has me wound tight.
It's Harper.
Christ, when did Brett's awkward little sister turn into... that? The way she looked earlier, padding around my apartment in those tiny shorts and a tank top that left nothing to the imagination. I'd tried not to stare, but my body had other ideas.
Every fucking curve was on display. And that mouth. That defiant, smart mouth that called me an asshole.
My cock is already painfully hard, and I’m furious. First, she fucking invaded my space, and now I can’t stop thinking about her body. But more than that, I’m furious at myself for my reaction to her. She’s Brett’s little sister.
But she’s not little anymore.
My hand moves down my body almost without conscious thought, and I hate myself for it even as I wrap my fingers around my length.
But the rational part of my brain shuts down as I stroke myself, imagining those green eyes looking up at me with want instead of irritation. I imagine what it would feel like to have those curves pressed against me.
My eyes squeeze shut, and she’s there. Behind my eyelids, it’s her hand on me. I imagine pushing her against the wet tile, her back slick, her head tipped back.
That smirk on her face wiped clean, replaced by a gasp as I slide my hands up her thighs, under those shorts. I picture her legs wrapping around my waist, her nails digging into my shoulders.
Her wet tank top would cling to her, plastered to her breasts. I imagine sucking one of those tight nipples into my mouth through the fabric. Her breathy little moans echo in my head, mingling with the sound of the shower, and my strokes get faster, rougher.
I chase my release, imagining that it’s Harper’s pussy clenching around my cock, milking every last drop from me.
The orgasm hits me like a freight train, a blinding, white-hot burst that wrings a ragged groan from me. My knees nearly buckle as I come, painting the shower floor with streaks of cum as my entire body shudders with the force of it.
For a second, there’s just the water and the ragged sound of my own breathing. Then the reality crashes down.
What the hell is wrong with me?
I just jerked off to the thought of my best friend’s little sister while she’s in the room next door. I feel like a fucking predator.
I finish washing quickly, trying to ignore the shame burning in my chest. This is exactly why housing Harper Hayes was not a good idea. One day in my space, and I'm jerking off in the shower like a teenager.
When I get out, I notice a missed call from Brett. Perfect timing. I debate ignoring it, but knowing Brett, he'll just keep calling until I answer.
“Hey,” I say, toweling off my hair.
“Hey. How's it going with Harper? Is she settling in okay?”
Guilt swarms me. “Yeah, she's fine.”
Brett laughs. “I can only imagine. She can be mouthy, but she’s got a good heart under all that attitude.”
“She’s also untidy,” I grumble, grabbing onto the complaint like a lifeline. It’s something normal to say about his sister.
He barks out a laugh. “God, yes. I don’t get it. We grew up in the same house. How is she such a slob and I’m not?” He laughs some more. “Honestly, I wish I were a fly on the wall to see you two clash. Mr. Perfect Order and Hurricane Harper.”
“Yeah,” I mutter. “A real comedy.” If only he knew what I was really clashing with. “She's your sister. I can handle a few days.”
“You're the best, Cole. Seriously. I owe you big time.”
We hang up, and the shame morphs into a restless agitation. I try to sleep, but it’s a long time coming. Every time I close my eyes, I see her.
Every sound from the apartment makes me wonder what Harper is doing. Is she still working? Has she gone to bed? Is she thinking about our encounter in the hallway?
The next morning, I'm in the film room an hour before the rest of the team arrives. I have a few Nashville game footages from last season queued up, along with detailed statistical breakdowns I've prepared.
When the guys start filtering in, I'm already at the whiteboard with my analysis.
“Morning, sunshine,” Nova says, strolling in with a swagger. “Jesus, Cap, do you ever sleep?”
I ignore the comment and start the projector. “Nashville's primary setup involves their defenseman, Quinn, moving to the high slot for the one-timer.”
I wait for the guys to settle down before continuing. “Here's what we're going to do. Ethan, when they set up, I need you to put pressure on Quinn immediately. Force him to make a quick decision.”
“Got it,” Ethan grunts.
“Nova, you're going to shadow their top-line center. His face-off percentage drops twelve points when pressured from the right side.”
“Twelve points exactly?” Nova grins. “Did you measure that with a ruler, Robot?”
A few guys chuckle, but I continue without acknowledging the joke. “Their goalie, Peterson, has a tell when he's about to play the puck behind the net. He taps his stick twice on the ice first. Ryan, I need you watching for that.”
Ryan nods. “You got it, Cap.”
“Logan, I've charted their goalie's five-hole coverage. It opens up by an average of two inches when he's been in the butterfly for more than four seconds.”
Logan blinks. “Two inches. You measured their goalie's five-hole?”
“Statistical analysis,” I correct. “Jake, their power play defenseman tends to hold the puck 0.3 seconds longer than optimal when there's pressure from his blind side.”
Jake looks around at our teammates as if I might be insane. “Point-three seconds?”
“Does anyone have questions about the tactical approach?” I ask, ignoring the fact that half the team is staring at me like I'm some kind of android.
“Yeah,” Nova says. “Do you have this same level of detail about what we should have for lunch?”
The room erupts in laughter. Even Logan's mouth twitches slightly.
“Nutrition is important for performance,” I say, countering his joke with a serious response. “I can recommend optimal pre-game meals based on your metabolic needs if you'd like.”
That last part was extra, but I like messing with them. If they think I’m a robot, then I’ll fucking act like it.
“Oh my God,” Ethan mutters. “He's serious.”
“Captain Robot strikes again,” Nova laughs. “I bet you have spreadsheets for everything.”
“Organization leads to success,” I say. “Practice starts in twenty minutes. I expect everyone on the ice at exactly nine AM.”
As they file out, I hear Nova whisper to Ethan, “I swear he probably has a spreadsheet tracking how many times we blink during games.”
“Probably color-coded,” Ethan mutters back.
I don't see what's wrong with being thorough. That's what separates winning teams from losing ones.
When practice is done, I mentally review the rest of my day. Strength training at noon, then a medical appointment at three. It’s just a routine check-up with the team physician to make sure my shoulder is holding up after last season's injury.
After a quick shower, I'm heading toward the weight room when Jennifer McCall appears at my side. “Cole, got a minute? I need you to meet our new events coordinator.”
I follow her to the PR offices, only half listening as she talks about the importance of team cooperation and making sure the events run smoothly. My mind is still on the power play formations we worked on this morning.
“She'll be coordinating several events that will require your participation,” Jennifer continues as we approach her office. “Charity auctions, sponsor meet-and-greets, that sort of thing. I thought it would be good for you two to meet face to face.”
Jennifer opens her office door and gestures for me to enter first.
I step into the office and see a woman rising from the chair across from Jennifer's desk. When she turns to face me, I nearly choke on my own saliva.
What the fuck is Harper doing here?
“Harper, I'd like you to meet our captain, Cole Maddox. Cole, this is Harper Hayes from Hayes & Company Events.”
She's wearing a navy blazer and a matching pencil skirt, and her hair is pulled back into her professional bun.
“Mr. Maddox,” she says, standing to shake my hand. Her expression is perfectly neutral, with no sign that we know each other. “It's a pleasure to meet you.”
Two can play this game. “Ms. Hayes,” I reply, taking her hand. As soon as our hands come into contact, an electric current sizzles through me. “I’m looking forward to working with you.”
Jennifer beams at us. “Excellent. Let me grab the event schedules so we can go over the timeline.”
As soon as Jennifer turns away to rifle through her files, Harper's professional mask slips, and a smirk appears at the corners of her mouth. She deliberately kept this from me, and she's enjoying every second of my discomfort.
“Here we go,” Jennifer says, spreading papers across the table. “The season kickoff gala is in two and a half weeks. Cole, you'll be doing the welcome speech and mingling with sponsors. Harper, I assume you'll need his input on timing and logistics?”
“Absolutely,” Harper says smoothly. “We should probably exchange contact information to coordinate schedules.”
My jaw clenches as Jennifer nods enthusiastically. “Great idea. You two will be working closely together all season.”
We go through the motions of exchanging phone numbers, Harper reciting hers in that cool tone while I pretend to input it into my phone with shaky fingers.
The meeting drags on for another twenty minutes, covering charity events and sponsor obligations, but I barely hear any of it. All I can focus on is Harper sitting across from me, looking perfectly composed while I feel like I'm about to combust.
Finally, Jennifer dismisses me, and I bolt from the room. As soon as I shut the door, I pull out my phone and call Brett.
“What's up?” he answers on the second ring.
“Why didn't you tell me Harper was the new events coordinator for the Renegades?”
There's a pause. “What? What are you talking about?”
“Your sister, Brett. Harper. She's planning our team events. I just got out of a meeting with her and our PR director.”
“Holy shit, really? She didn't tell me that.” He sounds genuinely shocked. “When did this happen?”
The anger in my chest deflates slightly. If Brett doesn't know, then Harper kept this from him, too. “I have no idea.”
Brett whistles. “That's crazy. Harper doesn't usually keep things from me.”
After we hang up, I find myself staring at Harper's contact information in my phone. I’m furious that she blindsided me, but I'm also grudgingly impressed.
Most women try to impress me or get my attention. Harper clearly couldn't care less what I think.
I head home that evening with every intention of confronting her about withholding information, but by midnight, she still hasn't come back. I lie in bed, listening for the sound of her key in the door, but eventually exhaustion wins and I drift off.
When my alarm goes off at six, the apartment is quiet. I check the guest room, but the bed is made, and there's no sign that she slept here.
Harper Hayes, it seems, is full of surprises.
And even though I don’t want to, I'm looking forward to finding out what she'll do next.