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Chapter Sixteen

Michele

T he training room is warm with the kind of low-level chaos that always follows a hard practice. There are damp towels draped over benches, and the sharp tang of liniment fills the air as the low, rhythmic thud of weights hitting mats or discs clanging against each other echoes around the room.

It's warm, too warm for the sweatshirt I have on, but I don’t dare remove it. The last time I did, I got blamed for being a distraction and being the reason a certain someone had to restart his reps. But I don’t know how much of this I can take. Sweat clings to my skin as I lift my hair, waving my tablet back and forth in an attempt to cool off.

“You should just take it off, you know.” Sammy slides up beside me, resting his elbows on the bench in front of us.

“You just want to cause trouble. Cole hasn’t had an explosion in the last few days, and you’re bored.”

“You know me too well, my friend, but I think he’s more worried about you overheating than anything else.”

Sammy and I have spent a little more time together than necessary, mostly because he has become Cole’s and my unofficial lookout whenever we want some time alone together. Dad has increased the number of practices each day from two to three in anticipation of the veterans starting camp next week.

“Go away so I can get these reports finished and turned in, or you won’t be doing anything but speed drills next week.”

Sammy raises his hands in surrender as I pull my sweatshirt off my shoulder, laying it on the table with a wink.

“ Thank you ,” he mouths as I try and fail to focus on reviewing the injury logs and monitoring recovery progress. Instead, my gaze keeps betraying me, drifting to where Cole is doing lateral shuffles like he’s starring in a slow-mo fitness ad.

Cole is focused and moving quickly across the small piece of turf we have tucked into the corner for these drills. Every movement is fluid. His shirt clings to every inch of muscle, and there’s a glint of sweat on his neck that makes me forget how to blink.

It’s entirely unfair how fucking delicious Cole looks doing such a simple drill. I may never be able to watch him in all his glory on the ice at the threat of a potential heart attack. How can someone be that annoyingly beautiful while also being the exact person I should not be thinking about? But I am in fact thinking about him. Nonstop.

Ever since the locker room incident—the kiss, the moment —I haven’t been able to get my bearings. It didn’t just rattle me. It detonated something inside me. But I haven’t figured out how to put it back together yet, and to be honest, I’m not 100 percent sure I want to either. Unfortunately, we’ve barely had a chance to have a meaningful conversation. Although that might be because we can’t seem to keep our hands off each other.

He starts toward me now, towel draped around his neck, eyes locked on mine like he’s got something to prove. That same damn smug, devastatingly handsome smirk tugs at his mouth. “Where’s your sweatshirt?” he growls, grabbing it off the table and trying to discreetly wrap it around my waist.

The moment his fingers touch the bare skin of my waist below my crop top, my knees buckle. I bite down hard on my bottom lip, swallowing the loud moan bubbling in my throat. “You did that shit on purpose.”

“I did,” he whispers, nibbling down the curve of my neck before knotting the sleeves in front of me. “No one gets to look at what’s mine.”

He plants a kiss below my ear before walking back around the table, putting some much-needed space between us. Cole winks at me, wiping sweat from his neck, a cocky smirk tugging at his lips. “Besides, you were staring, Doc.”

I scoff, trying harder to focus on the screen in front of me. “I’m assessing your form. That’s literally my job.”

“Yeah?” His voice dips, smooth and dangerous. “How’s mine?”

“Sloppy footwork. You’re favoring your left knee again.”

He leans close enough for his scent to short-circuit my brain, causing my pulse to skip and my breath to stutter. He smells like cedar and salt and sweat and him —like trouble wrapped in a smile. “There’s nothing wrong with my knee, Trouble. It was just fine when you were grinding your pussy on it when I pinned you against the wall.”

I whip my head toward him, my cheeks heating at the idea of him saying something so scandalous. “Cole.”

He just grins, eyes sparkling with pride. “What? Too soon?”

“You’re fucking impossible.”

“Persistent,” he corrects, dropping his voice to that soft, growly place that makes my pulse trip. “And I’m not sorry. Not for any of it.”

God help me, I’m not sorry either. I keep telling myself this is reckless, dangerous, career-ending, even—but when he’s this close, when his voice dips and his eyes darken like that? Logic doesn’t stand a chance. Thankfully, most of the room has cleared out. There are only a few people still in the weight area, loitering around the squat racks, and Sammy is stretching in the far corner with his earbuds in and the situational awareness of a rock.

“So much for a spotter,” Cole whispers as he steps closer. Our bodies don’t touch, but the air between us turns electric. Just him being near me is making it harder to concentrate. I’d love nothing more than to drag him to the nearest janitor's closet, but I have work to do.

“You know you’re driving me crazy, right?”

“You’re not exactly making it easy to stay professional.”

“What if I don’t want easy?” He leans in, brushing his lips lightly along the edge of my ear, sending a shiver of pleasure through my entire body. I lean toward him, consequences be damned, as my phone vibrates in my pocket.

I pull it out and notice Kyle is calling, and quickly pocket the phone, hoping that Cole didn’t see the caller ID. I already told Kyle about running into his brother at the therapy center, but I’ve yet to call to fill him in on the recent change in Cole’s and my relationship. In my defense, I haven’t even told Stacey yet, and for the sake of my sanity, I prefer to tell both of them at the same time.

“Who was that?” His arm reaches around my body for the phone I tucked into my sweatshirt pocket.

I step slightly out of his grasp, not wanting him to do something crazy like call the number back. “Oh, no one, just someone from back in college.”

That sounds completely feasible and not a lie. I just need time to explain what is happening to both brothers separately, and preferably not right now.

“A friend from college you have saved in your phone as Playboy?” Cole growls, sliding his hand down my ass and making a grab for my sweatshirt pocket, but misses entirely. Instead, he gets a handful of my ass and gives it a hard squeeze.

“Am I interrupting something?” We fly apart like we’ve been caught committing a felony, only to find Sammy standing there, wide-eyed and awkward. His headphones dangle from his hand like they betrayed him.

I clear my throat, frantically straightening my shirt. “Just discussing training protocol.”

“Yeah, lateral movement drills. Super important.”

Sammy nods slowly, his eyes flicking between Cole and me. A knowing smirk spreads across his face. “I already know what’s going on, so I won’t pry, but you two need to come up with some better lies, or someone is going to figure out what’s going on.”

Dread pools in the pit of my stomach at his words, my heart hammering in my chest, and my face is on fire. I’m about two seconds from dying from mortification, but I can’t seem to stop the laughter bubbling from my throat.

I grab my tablet, ready to bolt into the hallway as Cole hisses from behind me, “Sammy. You didn’t see anything.”

“Not a thing. My lips are sealed,” Sammy says cheerfully. “Kind of. Mostly.”

I duck into the hallway and lean against the wall, finally letting the laughter escape. We are so bad at being subtle. I pull out my phone, still grinning, and check the missed call from a minute ago.

Missed Call: Playboy

I quickly glance over my shoulder to make sure the coast is clear before hitting redial and pressing the phone to my ear. The line clicks and a voice comes through, loud and unmistakably cocky.

“What’s up?” I try my best not to spill the beans right at the start of our conversation.

“What’s up? All you have to say to me is what’s up ?”

“Yes. That’s usually what people say when someone calls them.” I snicker, bouncing on the balls of my feet, waiting for him to ask me about Cole. “Did you call for something in particular?”

“Can’t I just call to talk to my best friend?”

Oh, Kyle is in the mood to play games. I want nothing more than to play this game, waiting to see who will get impatient and break first, but I glance at my watch. I personally don’t have time for a long, drawn-out conversation, plus I need to tell him before Cole gets out here.

“Kyle, I have maybe five minutes to chat before I run the risk of getting fired. What did you want?” I may not be able to play our little game, but I won’t be the first to break.

“I was calling to see how your favorite Timberwolf is doing,” he teases. “I heard from my big bro that Cole has been stomping around, roaring at anyone who gets too close to him. At least until a few days ago. I’m wondering if you two have been playing doctor and tamed his moody attitude.”

“You’re a menace, but I may have had something to do with it.” I snort, but suddenly remember what else he said. I can hear thundering footsteps coming down the hall in my direction. I don’t need to turn around to know who it is.

“Did Cole tell you?” I whisper, wanting to know the answer before Cole gets any closer, but I’m too late.

Cole’s voice is sharp with something that sounds a lot like jealousy. “Who am I telling what to? And who the fuck is ‘Playboy’?”

I turn, phone still to my ear, watching his expression morph from suspicion to low-grade fury. He looks like he’s ready to rip someone’s head off, and it’s hot as fuck. I bite my lip, trying so hard not to jump him right here in the hallway.

I hold the phone up, deciding to poke the bear a little. “You’re jealous.”

“I’m not jealous,” Cole says a little too quickly. His eyes shoot death glares at the phone clutched in my hand. “I’m just wondering why a guy calling himself Playboy is blowing up your phone during practice.”

I put the call on speaker. “Kyle, are you still there?”

“Yeah. Why do you sound like—wait? Oh, shit. Is he there?”

“Yes. I’m here, Playboy. Who the fuck are you?”

Kyle lets out a bark of laughter. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me. I can’t wait to call Beau and tell him all about this.”

“No!” I shout, chancing a glance at Cole, but his face is completely blank. “No one knows. Well, Sammy, but that’s because he somehow keeps walking in on us.”

“Someone is walking in on you? Mish, I didn’t know you had it in you, girl. Bravo. Big bro, you’ve done me proud.”

“Big bro?” I can see the wheels turning in Cole’s head, trying to piece together what is happening, but he doesn’t seem to get it. Not that I blame him. I don’t think there’s anyone on this planet who would randomly meet one of their baby brother’s best friends and start a relationship with them without the other knowing. But these two probably haven’t spoken in well over a decade. There is bound to be some information about their lives missing.

“Did you think she replaced you already? I’m honored, bro. But she is more like my personal Alise.”

Cole just stares at the phone like it personally betrayed him. I double over, full-on laughing now. “Playboy is Kyle’s nickname.”

“You say that like that name it’s supposed to mean something to me.”

“Damn, that one hurts, big bro. Even Cooper and Beau remember I exist, even though it’s definitely more often than you.”

“Kyle?”

“Ding, ding. We have a winner.”

“Oh, my God,” I wheeze. “You were so ready to punch someone.”

Cole mutters something under his breath and takes the phone, narrowing his eyes at it. “I guess I need to do a better job of staying in touch, huh?”

“Ya think? Ten plus years is a long time to go without speaking to one of your big brothers,” Kyle responds in a hushed tone, a hint of genuine sadness in his voice.

I know from speaking with Kyle that he doesn’t have the closest relationship with his brothers because they are so far apart in age. Cooper and Beau call him occasionally to check to ensure nothing is going on, but even that’s not regular.

“Well, that’s all going to change from now on,” I chirp, snatching the phone from Cole’s hand. “Okay, Kyle, I need to get back to work and soothe this one's ego. I’ll call you later.”

“You better, or I’m going to call and tell Stacey.”

“No fair! We’ve all been so busy, and I wanted to tell you both at the same time.”

“Fine. Whatever, but I want all the juicy details tonight. Love you, Mish,” Kyle says, smug as ever.

“Love you, too, Play—” My eyes flick to Cole before changing my mind. “Kyle. I’ll call you later.”

Cole reaches forward and hits the end button on the phone, his jaw tight. “You could’ve warned me.”

I smile, wondering if it would’ve made a difference, but knowing it wouldn’t. Cole doesn’t even want me to walk around wearing my leggings in the training room. Jealous is his middle name. I usually hate when guys try to go all caveman on me, but for some reason, when it’s Cole, it's fucking hot.

“But then I’d miss that adorable little tantrum.” I brush past him with a grin. “Admit it. You were jealous.”

He growls softly and follows me down the hall. “You’re going to pay for that.”

“Promises, promises.”

Cole’s footsteps echo behind me—sharp, quick, too controlled to be casual. Like he's trying not to look like he's chasing me, even though we both know he is.

Don’t need to. His presence thrums like static against my spine, thickening the air between us. The echoing sounds of the training room fade as I head deeper into the arena. I have no idea where I’m going, just the need to find a space to be alone with Cole. The air is almost too warm. My skin is already prickling, not from the heat, but from him .

I don’t need to turn around to know he’s there. I can feel him getting closer to me, his body radiating heat as his presence wraps around me like a cloud of smoke. A moment later, his warm breath brushes the back of my neck. It’s hot, uneven, and smells faintly of mint and Gatorade and something inherently him —something that short-circuits my brain every damn time.

“You’re in a mood today,” I murmur, my fingers curled around a doorknob, and open the door to a nondescript room, pretending to be unfazed. I don’t enter, just remain standing over the threshold, waiting for Cole to make his next move.

His voice is low, rough, and just barely restrained. “Yeah? Wonder why.”

I turn my head just enough to catch him in my peripheral—jaw set, lips pressed into a line, eyes full of fire and something dangerous. He’s standing so close, almost too close, as I turn around.

My shoulder grazes the solid plane of his chest, and I feel it—his heart thudding a fraction too fast. The tension coils between us, thick and electric, the spark that makes the tiny hairs on my arms stand on end. His lips part like he wants to speak but doesn’t trust what will come out.

His gaze drops to my mouth, then lower, dragging heat across my skin like a match held just close enough to threaten.

“You really thought I was seeing someone else?” I ask, the question barely a whisper.

His eyes flick down—lips, throat, chest—and his whole body stiffens. “You were laughing with him. Sounded like he knows you.”

The wall of the room is at my back before I realize I’ve been maneuvered inside, his body bracketing mine like a secret. One hand rests against it above my head, while the other hovers near my hip, not quite touching. I feel the warmth of it, every hair on my arms lifting like my body’s preparing for contact that hasn’t even happened yet.

“You don’t get it,” he says, voice pitched low enough to vibrate in my bones. “I’ve been trying not to cross the line. But hearing his voice? On your phone? While you’re standing there, flushed and laughing like he means something to you?”

My breath catches. That pulse of jealousy running through him shouldn’t make my stomach dip the way it does, but God, it does . He’s not even touching me, and I feel owned. Branded.

“It was your brother, Cole,” I say, managing to string the words together as a frustrated, sound—something like a growl and a sigh mixed—bubble up his throat, making matters even worse.

Suddenly, I’m against the wall, his body caging mine like a secret he refuses to share. The cool plaster presses against my back, but the heat of his body melts everything else around us. “Doesn’t matter,” he murmurs, voice ragged. “The second I heard his voice and saw your smile? I wanted to tear the damn phone out of your hands.”

“Cole…”

His head dips until our foreheads touch, sweat-damp skin brushing mine, and the scent of him—cedar, salt, something dark and dizzying—floods my lungs. His hand finally lands on my waist, warm and firm, fingers flexing like he’s trying to stay in control. He’s not shaking, but he’s close .

“Tell me to stop,” he whispers, breath fanning over my lips. It smells like spearmint and trouble.

I should.

But I don’t.

Instead, I lean in, brushing my mouth against his, just enough to taste the tension on his lips. “Close the door.”

The lock clicks behind me like a sealed promise, and then he kisses me— really kisses me—and my brain goes white.

His mouth crashes into mine, lips parted, tongue bold and possessive. He tastes like heat and adrenaline and leftover cinnamon gum. The kiss is messy, unfiltered, and starving . Like he’s been dying of thirst, and I’m the only thing that’ll quench him. His hands slide around my waist, toying with the bottom of my crop top before splaying across the bare skin.

I gasp into his mouth, my back arching, chest pressing into his. His hand cups the nape of my neck, thumb stroking that spot just below my ear that makes my knees buckle.

“You don’t get what you do to me,” he says into the curve of my jaw, voice rough as gravel.

My hands slide under the hem of his shirt, greedily mapping the lines of his back, damp and burning beneath my palms. He groans into the kiss, hips pushing forward, the pressure between us electric and undeniable.

“I think I do now.”

He presses his hips against mine again, and I feel it—every hard line, every unspoken thing. My fingers find the hem of his shirt and push up, palms sliding over slick skin and tracing the taut muscles beneath.

“You make one more sound like that,” he growls, burying his face into my neck like he might lose control if he looks at me, his lips brushing my collarbone, “and I swear to God?—”

Then, a knock. A freaking loud, jarring knock echoes through the tiny space.

“Hey—uh, Doc?” Sammy’s voice slices through the haze, sounding sheepish and unfortunately real . “You left your tablet. It's… making noises?”

Cole goes completely still. His body is still flush against mine, but his head drops forward, forehead pressing into my shoulder like he’s mourning our interrupted moment.

“I swear to God,” he growls, sounding dangerously close to homicidal. “That kid has a death wish.”

I snort, breathless and boneless and vaguely lightheaded. “How did you find us, anyway?”

“I followed the noises,” he responds matter-of-factly, causing my cheeks to heat in embarrassment.

“We need to get back in there before someone notices we’re missing.”

“You go first. I’m going to need a minute.” His mouth brushes my ear, teasing and dark. “But this isn’t over. Not by a long shot.”

“Didn’t think it was.” I push my fingers through his hair and gently tug before untangling myself from his arms and peeking out the door.

Thankfully, Sammy went back to the training room instead of waiting for us to emerge from our hiding spot.