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Her.

That masked little minx with her parted lips and fuck-me eyes.

Sandy blonde hair, glossy like some retro pin-up from a dirty dream. Tits I could lose myself in. Body soft and perfect and trembling under mine like she was made to be wrecked—by me, for me.

She gave it up without question. Gave me every inch of her. Let me take control, own her, ruin her.

And fuck, I did.

Had her bent and breathless, soaking the sheets, begging with those pretty gasps and scratching down my back like she needed me in her bones.

No games. No drama. Just raw, filthy need.

And for the first time in a long time, I wasn’t the problem.

I was the fix.

I want that feeling back.

Not because of a mentor.

Not because of a fucking contract.

But because for one night, I got to be the version of me I actually liked.

And I’ll claw my way back to that—even if I have to bleed for it.

Chapter seven

Katarina

Griffin’sparanoiaisrubbingoff on me.

I’ve been staring at my ceiling since 3 AM, replaying his voice—tight, cracked, and too intense for a casual warning.

He didn’t just tell me to stay away from that Liam asshole—he made it sound like crossing paths with the guy would flip some kind of switch.

Now I’m in the arena parking lot, parked way too early for my meeting with the Cyclones’ head coach and head athletic trainer. It’s a dry run for my team introduction, nutrition protocols, and access to the medical team.

Totally routine.

My pulse skitters, fingers white-knuckled around the wheel like I’m prepping for liftoff.

The black sports car from yesterday’s disaster sits three spaces away, angled slightly like it’s posing for a photo shoot. Of course he drives something sleek, dramatic, and faster than necessary—something that probably came with a warning label and a matching ego.

I blow out a breath. “Get a grip, Kat.”I give myself a pep talk.

You are competent. You are calm. You are in control.Also,you’re not going to let agrumpy, recklesshockey player rattle you into a sweat before a meeting.I square my shoulders. I can do this.He’s just a guy.

A hot guy.

A hot guy who looked at me like he wanted to ruin my whole month.

Nope. Stop it.

You’re a professional who doesn’t let random jerks dictate where she parks.

I open the door. Step out into the heat. Lock the car with a double click.