Chapter 14
Chapter fourteen
Colby
“Look who’s making a grand entrance,” Dex says, pointing his fork at me like it’s a weapon. “We already ordered without you.”
“I can see that,” I say, pulling out the chair for Sloane and sitting only once she does. “Clearly my absence was devastating.”
“It was,” Mason adds. “Gregory ordered something green. I don’t trust it.”
“It’s called a vegetable,” Gregory says calmly. “You should try one.”
“I refuse on principle,” Dex says. “All my vegetables are either blended into protein shakes or hidden inside the good stuff. Pasta. Sauce. Cheese. They’re never alone.
” He swivels fully toward Sloane then, grin turning charming, voice smoothing out like he’s trying to impress without admitting it.
“But seriously, welcome to the zoo. You already know me, Mason, and Gregory from the game show.”
He gestures around the table. “That handsome menace over there is Bryce. Don’t encourage him. Eli’s the goalie and Mia’s his wife, the only one who can shut him up with a look. Bobby’s here because he wandered in hungry, and that’s Janie, who absolutely keeps him in line.”
He jerks his chin toward the end of the table where Gabriel sits, relaxed and observant.
“And that’s Gabriel. Actual dad of the group.
Moral compass. Snack provider.” Dex tips his glass toward me.
“And you already know Captain Responsible.” He looks back at Sloane, his smile easy and inviting.
“Now that you’ve been properly introduced…
tell us more about you when you’re not bravely surviving dinner with us. ”
Sloane smiles, warm and genuine, eyes gazing briefly around the table. “I’ve already met Annabelle and Mia,” she says, nodding toward them. “It’s really nice to officially meet the rest of you.”
She doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t laugh nervously. She folds her hands on the table and looks at him like he’s mildly entertaining.
“I manage music artists,” she continues. “Which means I organize concerts, translate feelings into contracts, and occasionally stop grown adults from lighting their careers on fire.”
Dex blinks. “Oh. So… witchcraft.”
“Absolutely,” she says. “Unionized.”
Mason claps once. “She’s funny. I already trust her.”
Gregory’s chimes in. “She knows what she’s doing,” he says. “That’s… objectively attractive. Not for Dex. But in general.”
Sloane lifts one shoulder. “I pay attention,” she says lightly. “And I tend to finish what I start.”
Dex lets out a low laugh, eyes glancing over her with open appreciation. “Cool. Cool. Strong woman.” He nods once, impressed. “That’s kind of sexy.”
Sloane smiles politely and redirects without missing a beat. “It’s functional,” she says. “Very different category.”
I lean back, arms stretched around her chair, watching the way she handles them. She doesn’t try to impress. She doesn’t retreat. She listens, responds, and redirects when necessary. That alone earns points.
“So,” Bryce says, grin firmly in place, “you do PR. You’re here to rebrand our fearless leader?”
“I don’t do miracles,” Sloane replies. “But I admire your optimism.”
Dex slaps the table. “I knew it. Captain needs a glow-up.”
“I glow plenty,” I say.
Bryce nods his head. “Debatable.”
“And you should talk?” I say mildly, looking his way. “You’ve had our PR team on sedatives for two straight years.”
Bryce grins, unapologetic. “Hey. I’ve turned over a new leaf.” He lifts his glass. “I’m a very good boy now. Mostly.”
Sloane laughs and something in me shifts. The guys clock it instantly. Teasing turns warmer. Questions soften.
Dex points a fry at her. “Okay, follow-up question. Can you fix me?”
She studies him thoughtfully. “Define fix.”
“Make me charming,” he says.
She smiles sweetly. “I’m good, but I’m not divine.”
She turns her head upward, considering him again. “And, I only manage musicians,” she adds. “Can you sing?”
Dex straightens immediately, one hand to his chest. “Absolutely.” He clears his throat and launches into an off-key, overly dramatic two seconds of something that might once have been a pop song. “?? Yessss I can… ??”
She holds up a hand, stopping him without effort. “Okay, but can you be managed?”
The table explodes.
Laughter, groans, Bryce nearly choking on his drink. Even Gregory looks impressed.
“Barely,” I say, deadpan, before Dex can recover.
Mason lifts his glass. “She’s brave. I like her.”
“That was fast,” I say.
“No,” Mason corrects. “That was decisive.”
Dinner rolls on like that with noise, laughter, and overlapping conversations. Dex reenacts a goal celebration so aggressively, the server threatens to cut him off. He slides halfway out of his chair, nearly knocks over a water glass, and insists it’s part of the story arc.
Gregory explains why plus-minus is misunderstood like he’s defending a dissertation, complete with hand gestures and a brief attempt to draw a diagram on a napkin.
Mason tells a story about a rookie prank that ends with a napkin pyramid, a confused hotel manager, and a solemn apology delivered in full gear.
Sloane keeps up. She asks questions that sharpen the punchlines, calls Dex out when he exaggerates, and meets Gregory’s statistics with an amused hum and a thoughtful, “That’s interesting, how did you track that?”
Dex stares at her for a minute, then breaks into a grin. “Okay, I like her. She asks the scary follow-up questions.”
Eli chuckles, lifting his beer in her direction. “That’s a skill. Most people just nod and pretend.”
Mia smiles, eyes warm and approving. “It’s refreshing. And honestly? Brave, walking into this group and holding your own.”
Annabelle nods, studying Sloane with open approval. “She’s got presence,” she says simply. “That kind of confidence usually comes from knowing your value.”
I glance around the table, then back to Sloane. “See? You ask one smart question and they’re all suddenly on their best behavior. Watch out though, it’s probably temporary.”
At some point, she leans forward to pass Annabelle the bread basket. Her knee brushes mine under the table.
It’s unintentional.
We both notice.
Neither of us moves away.
It’s not charged. Okay, maybe it's charged.
And it’s comfortable.
That might be worse.
When the plates are cleared and the guys immediately launch into a loud debate about whether ordering dessert means you’re still hungry or just emotionally committed to cheesecake, Sloane exhales and smiles at me.
“Your team is… a lot,” she says.
“They’re worse if they like you,” I tell her.
She chuckles. “Is that what this is?”
“Yeah,” I say honestly. “You’re surviving. That’s basically an endorsement.”
Dex slings an arm around Colby. “She passed initiation. Someone give her a jersey.”
Mason nods solemnly. “No, scratch that. A pin. Something subtle like I Survived Dinner With The Outlaws.”
Eli raises his glass toward Sloane. “Congratulations. It’s well deserved.”
***
Outside, the night air is cooler. Quieter. The guys peel off in clusters, still chirping, still laughing, promising to see each other at practice in six hours like that’s reasonable. Dex yells something about brunch that nobody agrees to.
Sloane and I linger on the sidewalk.
“There’s something I wanted to show you,” I say, keeping my tone casual. “Might actually help with your artist. Arena engagement footage with crowd reactions, timing stuff, and logistics of events there. My place is two blocks that way, if it's not too late.”
She studies me. Really looks. Not assessing. Deciding.
Then she nods. “Okay.”
My place is neat in the way of someone who doesn’t spend much time there.
Clean counters. Clear surfaces. Intentional.
We drop coats. I pull up the clips, explaining what I notice during games and other Outlaws events there.
For example, when attention spikes, when it dips, and what moments people respond to music, lighting, announcements, without realizing why.
She listens. Asks smart questions. Takes mental notes. Moves closer without thinking.
At some point, the conversation slows. Not because we run out of things to say. Because we stop needing to fill the space.
She glances at my mouth like she’s checking a thought she’s already had. Then she looks back up at me. “So,” she says quietly, “are we going to keep pretending we’re focused on analytics… or are you going to repeat that kiss from the other night?”
The decision clicks into place.
When I kiss her, it’s slow and intentional, like we’re both aware this moment matters.
Her lips are warm, soft at first, fitting against mine like we’re finding the right pace together.
I taste her and it’s something faintly sweet, unmistakably her, as the kiss deepens.
She sighs quietly and opens to me, tongue brushing mine in a way that’s exploratory, careful, then more sure.
The kiss softens again, a gentle press, a lingering pull, before it deepens once more…
slow, deliberate, and full of promise, like this was always the choice, because it was.
The rest unfolds slowly, but not cautiously.
It starts with her fingers sliding into the front of my shirt like it’s the most natural thing in the world, warm skin against my ribs, a quiet exhale against my mouth that tells me she wants this, even though I didn’t see it coming.
I make a low sound before I can stop myself, and she smiles into the kiss, knowing that she surprised me.
“Hey,” I murmur, more breath than word.
“I know,” she says, soft and steady, lips brushing mine again. “I want this.”
That’s all it takes.
Hands find their way with purpose now, my palms settling at her waist, thumbs tracing slow, unhurried lines like I’m memorizing her.
Her mouth learns mine, gentle at first, then deeper, surer, her tongue meeting mine with a confidence that makes my pants tighten.
She kisses like she means it, like she’s already decided and sees no reason to hesitate.
We’re already on the couch, close enough that moving feels unnecessary.
She shifts first, turning toward me, her knee sliding over my thigh like she’s claiming the space.
There’s quiet laughter when we fumble a cushion and sink back into it, her forehead resting against mine for a second as if we’re sharing a private joke.
We kiss again and her hands slide over my chest before drifting lower, curious, confident.
And when my fingers brush over her sweater-covered breasts my pants get even tighter. My body reacts, heat pooling, a very real, very immediate problem making itself known between us.
I huff out a quiet laugh, forehead dropping to hers. “Okay,” I murmur. “If we don’t move to the bedroom in the next ten seconds, I’m not going to be able to think straight.”
She smiles like she knew that would happen. “Then we should probably move.”
I take her hand, tugging her gently up with me. Halfway down the hall, my hand slides to her ass, squeezing without thinking. She lets out a soft laugh and swats my hand away.
“Behave,” she says.
“Not a strength of mine in this situation,” I admit.
In the bedroom, I don’t slow down. I kiss her again, deeper this time, backing her toward the bed until she sinks onto it with a soft sound. I tug my shirt over my head immediately, tossing it aside, and she doesn’t hesitate, her hands are on me right away, warm palms sliding over my chest and abs.
“Well,” she murmurs, fingers tracing slowly, “that feels unfair.”
I grin and lean over her, bracing my weight on my forearms. “Occupational hazard.”
I hook my fingers into the hem of her sweater and pull it up and over her head, tossing it aside just as quickly. My gaze drops and sticks. Black lace. Delicate. Intentional.
“Wow,” I say quietly. “You came prepared.”
She arches slightly beneath me, eyes bright. “The panties match.”
I unhook her bra. Fuck, she’s hot. I begin to kiss her breasts, cupping one with my hand and taking the other nipple in my mouth, teasing it with my tongue. She shudders and moans, as she slips her fingers through my hair, holding my mouth on her.
I am so turned on right now, I might just explode. "Sloane, you are so sexy." I growl in her ear.
"Is that so, Captain?" she says as she traces her hand toward my pants and touches my cock over my jeans.
My mouth moves downward over her other breast, stomach, hips, to the waist of her pants. Time to remove them.
"Let's get these off," I say, as she slips out of her jeans and lays back down. What a sight...Sloane in nothing but black lace skimpy panties that already look wet with her excitement.
"Wow, you came prepared. These are gonna kill me." I say.
"Then, you better take them off. I wouldn't want to be accused of murdering anyone."
I slowly pull down her panties, brushing her clit on the way. She giggles.
Quickly, I pull off my pants and boxers, grab a condom, and lay back on top of her.
"I guess you're happy to see me," she says as she grabs my length and strokes it.
"Jesus, Sloane, you better stop before the fun is over before it starts."
I hop up to a sitting position, spread her legs but before entering, I touch her clit, making circles, soft and harder, while she starts to squirm. Then I insert one finger, then two with the other hand.
"You’re so wet for me, aren't you?
"Colby, keep going. Don't stop."
I continue, harder, faster, than slower and softer, teasing her on and off.
"I am so close."
“Come for me, baby. I want to feel you spasm on me.”
In an effort to stay quiet, she moans into my pillow as she moves her hips up and down and contracts on my fingers.
"Did that feel good?"
"Yes, and I need you inside of me...now, please."
I slip on the condom and enter her, slowly at first. I feel her walls surround me and it's so damn hot. Her body is writhing up and down to meet my thrusts. We find a rhythm and I thrust in and out until she orgasms again.
"Oh my God, Colby!" She is trembling and it gets me so hot that I immediately climax with her.
After I pull out, I feel wrecked in the best way.
"That was amazing," I say, breathless.
"You have talents off the ice."
I grab her close, kiss her again and we lay there recovering from what just happened.
She rests her head on my chest, fingers tracing idle patterns like she’s mapping something she might want to remember. I don’t rush to fill the silence.
She fits here.
With me.
And that realization is more dangerous than chemistry.
I wasn’t looking for this. I didn’t expect it to knock the air out of my lungs or rearrange something I keep carefully locked down.
And the fact that it did?
Now what?