Page 13

Chapter Thirteen

Natalie

B ig Mike's mansion pulses with victory and vodka-soaked celebration. The marble floors vibrate with bass as " Mr. Brightside " blasts through speakers.

I perch on a leather armchair, sipping my wine and taking in the sweet taste of victory in Game One of the playoffs.

"That's not how you do it!" Blake laughs as Connor fumbles another beer can, foam spraying across his playoff beard. "Here, watch the master."

Blake punctures the can with ease, shot-gunning it in seconds while the team chants his name.

"Weak sauce, Walsh!" Logan calls from across the room. "Almost as weak as Ryder's taste in music."

"You take that back!" Ryder points an accusatory finger, nearly falling off his barstool. "'All Star' is the greatest playoff anthem of all time and I will die on this hill!"

"Smash Mouth?" Logan winces and grabs at his ribcage, trying his best to ignore the injury he's sustained tonight. "Mia? Where are you? Come smack Ryder around the head for me, would ya?"

I laugh and watch as Mia strides in with a fresh drink, followed by Sophia who immediately dances over to Blake and leans on her toes to kiss him. Lucy slides into the seat next to me, her curls bouncing as Mia takes up the stool beside Ryder.

"Awww. Leave Ryder alone," Mia says, her eyes sparkling at her best friend. "His music taste might be questionable, but I happen to like the same stuff."

A collective groan and eyeroll passes through the entire room.

The victory over Vancouver has transformed these professional athletes into overgrown teenagers, sprawled across Big Mike's designer furniture like they're at a high school house party.

Someone's started a dart tournament in the corner, though their aim gets progressively worse with each round.

"Sweet Caroline" comes on and the entire room erupts, everyone belting out " BAH BAH BAH " with more enthusiasm than skill.

And across the room, I can't help but notice that even Mr. Grumpy himself can't stop his lips from twitching into a reluctant smile.

Hunter's tie hangs loose around his neck, top buttons undone, sleeves rolled to his elbows. Those forearms flex every time he lifts the bottle to his lips, and I have to physically force myself to look away before I start drooling.

He leans against the wall near the fireplace, one ankle crossed over the other, shoulders relaxed in a way I've never seen before.

The usually hard, stern lines around his mouth have softened tonight.

He won. He won.

Logan attempts another terrible joke aimed at Ryder, and Hunter actually laughs.

No growling. No barking orders. No clenching his jaw so hard I worry for his dental work.

This isn't Coach Brody, terror of the ice and breaker of rookies' spirits. This is just... Hunter. A devastatingly attractive man, letting his guard down after finally getting a win over the team that's broken his heart for way too many years.

He catches me staring and raises his beer in a silent toast. The corner of his mouth quirks up, and heat floods my cheeks. I lift my wine glass in return, trying to ignore how my hand trembles slightly.

Lucy groans on the couch beside me, her recently re-filled glass already nearly gone. "God, Connor needs to stop doing that thing with his hips."

"What thing?"

I follow her gaze to where Connor's attempting to teach Ryder some complicated dance move as the 'BAH BAH BAH' part of the song comes on again.

"Oh. That thing."

"I hate him." Lucy takes a long sip of her cocktail. "Like, actually hate him."

"Wait. What?" I swivel on the sofa to face her. "You guys just met when you started working here, didn't you?"

Sophia suddenly appears on the armrest, waggling her eyebrows at Lucy. "Yeah. When I saw you guys last, you looked like you might hate him enough to push him against a wall and—"

"Do not finish that sentence." Lucy's cheeks flame red. "Turns out, he's my brother's best friend. Total jerk, in other words. It's not happening."

"That's what Sophia said about Blake, until he was-" I scan the room until I spot Blake doing an impressive keg stand while his teammates cheer. "Otherwise occupied."

"All Star" starts blasting through the speakers again, and Ryder whoops. Logan throws a handful of pretzels at him and changes the song to something we haven't already heard six times tonight.

"Speaking of occupied." Sophia nudges me with her knee. "You and Coach seem... friendly lately."

Before I can deflect, Connor materializes in front of us, all cocky smile and bedroom eyes.

"Ladies." He extends a hand to Lucy who gives him a look that could kill. "Dance with me, babygirl?"

"I don't—" Lucy starts, but he's already pulling her up. "And I told you to stop calling me that!"

"Come on, Luce. One dance won't kill you."

Sophia and I laugh as Connor leads her across in front of the speakers. The way he draws her against him, one hand sliding down to her hip, might actually kill her though. Lucy's eyes go wide and she slaps him on the chest and pretends to hate the way he grinds against her.

"They'll totally be making out in a corner within the hour," Sophia whispers.

I'm about to agree when I notice Hunter slipping away from his spot by the fireplace, heading toward the kitchen.

Seeing my chance, I'm on my feet, following him through the door.

"I'll be back in a minute."

I slip into the kitchen as Big Mike and Greg hold the door open for me, both too deep in conversation about how winning the playoffs will help profits and… blah blah blah to even acknowledge me.

The kitchen that greets me is straight out of an architectural magazine. All gleaming stainless steel and pristine marble countertops stretching for what feels like miles.

Coach Brody should look right at home in here… except he doesn't.

"Hey."

I look across the counter to see him all alone in the massive room. He's propped against the counter near a window by the sink, beer bottle loose in his grip. His other hand works at his knee - that knee - massaging slow circles into the joint through his dress pants.

I move closer, watching Hunter's face tighten as he works at his knee.

"It's been bothering you all night. Hasn't it?"

His attempt at a smile doesn't reach his eyes. "Yeah. Has been all day."

I move closer, close enough to get the strong whiff of his cologne. "You beat them tonight."

Hunter exhales sharply, tipping his head back against the cabinets as he keeps working his fingers over his knee.

"That was game one of seven." His carries the weight of a man who refuses to let himself feel relief. Not yet. "We still have a long way to go."

Jesus. Remember that fleeting moment where he enjoyed the win?

Yeah, that's gone.

I shake my head, crossing my arms as I lean against the counter beside him.

"You know, normal people celebrate when they accomplish something big. Maybe pop some champagne? Do a victory lap?"

Through the kitchen walls, we hear Ryder's voice boom followed by groans and cheers from the rest of the team. He's not playing Smash Mouth again, is he?

I nudge Hunter's shoulder. "See? Even Ryder knows how to celebrate."

Hunter's lips twitch, but he keeps working at his knee.

"I waved to the fans." Hunter lets out a short, humorless laugh and tilts his beer at me. "And I've had a few of these."

"Oh wow." I gasp, pressing a hand to my chest in mock surprise. "A whole beer? Somebody stop this madman."

Hunter huffs out a quiet laugh, shaking his head. "Watch it, Hayes. Keep that up and I’ll have to issue you a misconduct."

I step closer, my smile softening as I watch his face. The moonlight streaming through the window catches the silver at his temples. He looks handsome like this.

Calm. Casual. Relaxed.

"I'm proud of you, you know," I say softly. "Of what you did tonight."

His throat bobs, the hint of a real smile playing at the corners of his mouth.

"It feels good." His fingers press harder into his knee. "Now if only this damn knee would stop aching."

I glance down at his hand, at the way the fabric of his dress pants strains against thick, tense muscle.

I bite my lip.

"Hmmm. Maybe I can help with that."

Hunter stills.

His breath catches as I settle on my knees in front of him. The kitchen's marble floor is cold through my dress, but I barely notice as I watch his face.

His fingers still on his knee, knuckles white around his beer bottle.

"Natalie..."

My name comes out rough, a warning that lacks conviction.

"Relax, Coach." I gently move his hand aside. "This is literally my job, remember?"

He grunts as I feel the fabric of his dress pants. They're soft under my fingers as I probe the joint with my fingertips, feeling for any swelling. His muscles are tight - whether it's from the old injury or from my touch I'm not sure.

"You're carrying too much stress here." I work my thumb into a particularly tight spot, and he inhales sharply. "The cold weather probably isn't helping either."

My thumb works over that spot, and the groan that leaves his throat?

Lord help me.

My lips twitch. "Feel good?"

Hunter’s head drops forward slightly, his breath heavy as his grip tightens on the counter. "You know it does."

I hum in approval, smiling cheekily as I start working slow, methodical strokes up his leg.

Higher.

Higher.

My hand keeps moving up his leg, fingers brushing the smooth fabric of his pants. The kitchen seems to shrink around us, the air thick with the unspoken tension that’s been simmering between us.

My heart pounds as I slide my hand higher, testing him, teasing and feeling the solid muscle beneath.

“Nat,” Hunter’s voice is low, rough.

I ignore it, focusing on the way his body reacts to my rising touch. The way his muscles tense, the way his breath catches. The way his eyes darken as he watches me, but doesn't dare make a move to stop me.

I reach the top of his thigh, my fingers just grazing the edge of something harder.

Hunter stops breathing. A muscle jumps in his jaw.

He knows what I’m doing.

And you know what… he’s letting me do it.

A thrill shoots through me, a dangerously sexy mix of power and desire. My body flushes hot. This is breaking every rule we’ve set, but right now, I don’t care. I never cared.

I cup his cock through his pants, my palm pressing against the hard length of him. He grunts, a sound that sends shivers down my spine and makes my release my own involuntary noise.

And then… he lets go.

Hunter’s head drops back against the cabinets, a low groan escaping his lips as I roll my palm over his thick dick. His eyes close, his hips shift against my hand, and for a moment, he looks almost vulnerable.

I keep my hand steady, feeling him throb against my palm, rubbing up and down through his pants.

My own breathing quickens as I press harder, savoring the heat and hardness beneath my hand.

“Natalie…” His voice is strained with need, his hand moving to the back of my head.

“Relax, Coach,” I murmur, echoing my earlier words with a teasing lilt. “Let me take care of you.”

My thighs squeeze together. I swear I can feel the heat of his stare on my skin.

His cock throbs beneath my palm.

Slowly, so slowly , I press my fingers into him, feeling the hard outline of his zipper, the thick, pulsing weight of him straining against his slacks.

I need more, and I push on my feet to start ripping his belt buckle open, but before I even get the latch unhooked, his hands are on me.

"Fuck, baby. Come here."

Hunter's hands are hard against me, spinning and slamming me against the granite counter, knocking the breath from my lungs.

His warm mouth crashes into mine, hot and demanding. His lips devour me like a man starved, teeth grazing my bottom lip, drawing it in and sucking down on it hard.

"Christ, woman." He growls against my skin. "You know this breaks our rules."

I moan against him. "No."

He pulls back, eyes burning into me. "What did you say?"

"I said no. It doesn't." I swipe my tongue over my lips, tasting every last drop of him as his heavy breathing pauses. "This isn't your house. The rules don't apply here."

For a second, I see his mind ticking over. Then, he takes full advantage of the loop hole that seems to work for both of us right now.

His tongue sweeps into my mouth, those big, strong hands grip my hips, fingers digging in as he yanks me against him. The hard length I was just teasing now presses against my stomach, making me whimper with need.

His kiss is relentless, possessive.

No gentle exploration - just pure lust.

He tastes like whiskey and victory and everything I've been craving ever since he told me we had to stop. Thing is... I never want to stop. Not with him.

My hands fist in his shirt, pulling him impossibly closer.

A hand slides up my back, tangling in my hair to angle my head exactly how he wants it. The other grips my hip harder, grinding me against him as I raise my leg to hook over his body.

I'm drowning in him.

But then… Just as we start to let loose…

The kitchen door swings open with a whoosh, and I freeze mid-kiss.

Fuck.

Hunter's hands cast me aside and I swipe at my mouth, patting down at my dress all at the same time. Hunter clears his throat and I spin around to see Greg frozen at the door, eyes wider than a five-year-old on Christmas morning.

"Uhhhh…" Greg's eyes look anywhere but at us. "Beer bucket's low. I'll just… um, restock and—"

Shit. Hunter and I sprung apart. Too fast. Way too fast.

My lips burn. My chest heaves. My hair's a mess from Hunter's fingers. There's no hiding what we were doing.

Greg's still stopped dead in his tracks, one hand frozen on the door handle. His eyes dart between us, taking in my flushed face, Hunter's rumpled shirt where I grabbed it and the fridge loaded with beers.

Then, as realization hits him, a smirk that spreads across his face makes my stomach drop.

He says nothing. Not a single word.

Just walks to the fridge, grabs an armful of beer bottles, and backs out. The whole time wearing that knowing smile that makes me want to crawl under the counter and fucking die.

The door swings shut behind him.

Hunter drags a hand down his face, exhaling hard. "Fuck."

The heat is still there, simmering under the surface.

I lick my lips, ignoring the way his gaze tracks the movement. “So, uh… you wanna go ahead and fire me now, or should we wait until the rumors spread to ownership?”

Hunter doesn’t answer.

Just stares at me.

Like he’s deciding if he's just made the biggest mistake of his life.