Page 36

Finally.

“Griff,” I mutter, already standing. “Gotta go. My favorite late arrival just wandered in.”

“Yeah. Good luck with that.”

Click.

I shove my phone aside and fix Liam with a look that could slice through Kevlar.

“Nice of you to join us, superstar. Hope I didn’t interrupt your ego-maintenance routine.”

He smirks. “Miss me?”

My smile’s blade-sharp. “Like a rash.”

He laughs, low and slow. “Sorry I’m late.” He drops his gym bag beside the chair, muscles shifting under his shirt as he moves. “Coach had us running extra drills, and I didn’t want to come in here reeking like a locker room.” Then sprawls into the chair, legs wide, eyes locked on mine.

I study his face for signs of bullshit but find only exhaustion. The tension in my shoulders eases—slightly.

“It’s fine. I was about to give you a lecture on time management, but if it was practice-related, I get it.”

“Yeah.” He glances at my chair, then back up. “Did you get my food log?”

I hand him the printed sheets with my notes scribbled in the margins. “Your choices weren’t terrible, but we need to talk about your protein timing.”

While he reads, I prep for the physical assessment. It’s routine—checking muscle mass, body fat percentage, overall conditioning. I’ve done this dozens of times.

So why does the air feel so damn charged?

“All right,” I say, pinching the bridge of my mask into place. “Strip down to your shorts. I need to take measurements.”

This is just another day at the office. I’ve seen most of this team half-naked at some point. I’m a professional.

But when Liam stands and grips the hem of his shirt, something shifts.

“I’m surprised your notes are so diplomatic,” he says, pulling the shirt over his head in one smooth motion.

The cotton whispers against skin, and suddenly the room feels five degrees hotter.

My mouth goes dry. His arms are a goddamn blueprint of trouble—sculpted, inked, and dangerous. I force myself to focus on my clipboard.

“I’m always professional in my notes,” I say, voice steady by some miracle.

“Your notes, maybe.” His eyes flick to my mouth. “But your mouth’s got bite. I like that.”

I roll my eyes, fighting a smile. “I call it honesty. You should try it sometime.”

He drops his sweatpants. Stands straight.

And that’s when my world tilts.

The moment I see his bare chest, the past and present collide. My hands remember before my brain catches up. My pulse slams to a halt, then jolts forward, like it's trying to outrun the memory.

A heart-shaped lock. Dark ink over golden skin. I know every curve. I've traced it with my fingers. My tongue.

That night. The one I haven’t stopped replaying.

The one I tried—and failed—to forget.