Chapter 4
Oliver
I’m still tasting her on my lips.
God, what have I done?
I stand in the now-empty VIP suite, my hand splayed against the door Lacey just walked through minutes ago.
The thundering echoes of the hockey game still pound in my chest, but not as hard as the realization of that kiss.
Our kiss. Her eyes, wide and vulnerable, the way her breath hitched against my mouth—every detail replays in my mind like a highlight reel I can’t shut off.
I run a hand through my hair, trying to rein in the surge of conflicting emotions.
Lacey Poppins is off-limits. She’s my daughter’s best friend.
I’ve known her since she was, what, twelve?
My heart clenches at the memory of a scrawny kid in pigtails, sitting at our kitchen table, sneaking cookies when Fiona and I weren’t looking.
And now she’s twenty-one and so impossibly beautiful it hurts to look directly at her.
But she’s not a child. Not even close. She’s grown into this vibrant woman—passionate, kind, brilliant.
Every time she speaks, I see sparks of ambition and warmth that make me want to know her more deeply.
She’s… I don’t want to say she’s perfect, because nobody is, but damn, she might be perfect for me in ways that tear my carefully curated life apart.
I push off the door, letting my hand drop to my side. Focus, Oliver. There’s still a whole celebration going on downstairs—my team just notched an important victory. I can’t just mope around in an empty suite, replaying the taste of Lacey’s lips or the heat of her body pressed to mine.
You need to do something. Move.
I straighten my jacket, slip my phone into my pocket, and leave the suite.
As I stride down the private corridor, I catch glimpses of my reflection in the polished metal panels along the wall.
My jaw is set, my eyes are darker than usual, and there’s this tension in my shoulders I can’t seem to shake. I look like a man on the edge.
Because I am.