Page 12

CHAPTER 12

DIXON

E lle’s lips taste like trouble mixed with cotton candy. It’s the kind of sweetness that sticks in your head and leaves you addicted, wanting more. My hands stay firmly on her hips, not wanting to let go. Even though we’ve pulled apart, the air between us pulsates with something heavy, dangerous, and irresistible.

Elle stares at me, her chest rising and falling like she’s sprinted to the rink and back ten times in two minutes. Her eyes are bright, sharp, and searching, and they pin me to the spot.

“This…” she finally breathes, her voice shaky but firm. “No, no. We can’t do this. It’s wrong, I’m your coach.”

I smirk because she sounds like she’s trying to convince herself more than me. “ Temporary coach,” I remind her, my thumb absently brushing against her waist. “And I think you kissed me first, anyway. Is that an issue for HR?”

“Stop it.” She shakes her head a little more vigorously, like she’s trying to shake me out of her hair. Elle takes a step back, putting a chasm of space between us that I immediately hate, her warmth leaving a polar blast of emptiness where I was holding her only a moment ago. “No. I just got here, literally, and I’m still unpacking boxes. What am I doing?”

Her hands fly up in the air as she talks, but all I can focus on is the way her lips are still flushed from our kiss. How they glisten, and how delicious they tasted. How her hair is slightly mussed, probably from my hand threading through it a moment ago. She’s all kinds of contradictions; this one—my favorite—is that she’s tough as nails and somehow enchantingly vulnerable in the same breath.

She turns like she’s about to leave, prompting me to reach for her wrist before I can stop myself. Her skin is warm under my fingers, and she freezes, icy blue eyes darting to mine. There’s a hitch inside when she looks at me so intensely. The connection, the pull. Can’t lie—it’s like she sees into my soul.

“Elle,” I murmur, and before I even know what I’m doing, I’m pulling her back. She doesn’t try to resist. She moves toward me like she’s as lost in this as I am, and before either of us knows what’s happening, my mouth is on hers and we’re kissing again, only deeper and more frantic this time.

Her lips part, and she lets out this soft, almost hesitant sound, and it’s my undoing. My hands slide into her hair, and I angle her closer, desperate, like I’ve been fasting and I’m starving for this. For her. For this kiss.

It’s everything. It’s too much and not enough, like the most perfect day.

She pushes against my chest suddenly, breaking the spell. Her lips are swollen, her breathing ragged, but her gaze cuts through the haze in my head.

“No,” she says, shaking her head even as her hands linger on me. “We’re not these people. We shouldn’t…”

Her words falter, but I hear the conflict in her voice, see it written all over her face.

“We shouldn’t,” she repeats, but then her fingers curl into my shirt and she pulls me in for another kiss. It’s messy, urgent, like she’s trying to prove something to herself or maybe forget everything else.

Her hands slide up to my shoulders, and my pulse kicks into overdrive. My thoughts are a tangle of her touch, her taste, the way her body fits against mine like it’s meant to be there. I waver between wanting to throw her against the wall and bury my face in her hair to gently holding her against me and treating her with such tenderness she’ll never want to walk away.

Then she breaks away again, her forehead resting against mine. “Stop kissing me so good so I can walk away and forget you,” she mutters, her breath warm against my lips.

I let out a low laugh, still trying to catch my breath. “Maybe I don’t want to be forgotten this time.”

Her head tilts, her eyes narrowing. “You’re impossible, you know that?”

“And yet, you kissed me,” I say, smirking as I lean back against the shelf, giving her a little space.

“Don’t remind me,” she groans, running a hand through her hair. “I’m your coach, Dixon. Your coach . You don’t think this is wildly inappropriate?”

“Temporary coach,” I point out again, folding my arms and watching the way her cheeks flush.

“That doesn’t make it better!” she snaps, throwing her hands in the air.

I shrug, trying to look casual even though my heart’s still pounding. “This is happening because you wanted it to, same as me.”

Her glare sharpens. “You’re not helping.”

“Wasn’t trying to,” I say, grinning now. “You’re cute when you’re flustered, though.”

She groans again, turning away and pacing a few steps. “This is bad. This is so bad. You know what? Let’s pretend it didn’t happen. Forget it. Wipe the slate clean.”

“No can do, Heels,” I say, stepping closer. “That’s not something I’m forgetting anytime soon.”

She spins back to face me, jabbing a finger at my chest. “You’re trouble. You’ve always been trouble.”

I catch her hand before she can pull it back, holding it lightly but firmly. “And yet, here you are, not walking away.”

Her lips part like she’s about to argue, but then she snaps her mouth shut, her gaze darting to where my hand still holds hers. “I need you to trust me that I didn’t leak your secret,” she says suddenly, her voice quieter now but steady.

The shift in tone catches me off guard, and I blink at her. “Okay.”

“Okay?”

“I believe you.”

Her eyes widen slightly. “You do?”

“Yes,” I say, squeezing her hand gently before letting it go. “I’ve known you long enough that if you’re standing in front of me, and still insisting you didn't do it, then you didn’t.”

For a second, she just stares at me, like she’s trying to figure out if I’m serious. Then she exhales, her shoulders sagging in relief. “I wish I knew who the person was behind the whole thing.”

“You and me both, but it’s in the past, Elle.” I reach out and take her hand again, stroking her fingers gently. “It’s taken me some time, experience, and therapy, believe it or not, to understand that I’m not what others think of me. Was I mad that it upended my whole world?”

“I’d be shocked if you weren’t,” she acknowledges.

“Of course I was mad,” I say with a chuckle. “I was traded down immediately after that and the team was able to say it was because they were worried about my mental health. But it wouldn’t take a rocket scientist to figure that out. More than likely, they wanted me gone. One article about a player doesn’t provoke a cause to trade them, and not only trade them but take them down a league.”

“Do you think there was more to it?”

“I do, but that was years ago and now I’m here. I care about that time in my life because it was hard, but I learned from it, too, so…there’s an element of not caring because what happened then has led me here. To River City. The Renegades.” I lean down and kiss her forehead. “To this closet with you.”

I want to tell her more. Everything, really. All the things. Tell her how I’ve watched her career as she’s risen, cheering for her the whole way and wondering if things had been different when we met at that camp, where would we be now? I let go of her hand and press my back against the wall, still tasting her on my lips, and I can’t stop the memories from crashing over me. That camp a few years ago, that’s when everything changed for me. Watching her on the ice, the way she moved with this quiet confidence, like she belonged there, like nothing could touch her.

She wasn’t just talented; she had this way of making it look effortless, like skating and stickhandling were second nature. But what got me wasn’t her skill. It was the way she treated everyone, even the guys she didn’t owe a second glance. She’d laugh with us, tease us when we blew a drill, but there was something softer underneath it all. The way she helped a rookie with his edges, the way she stayed late to practice when no one was looking. I saw her kindness, her grit, her heart. I knew she had a boyfriend, but that didn’t stop me from wanting to be the one she leaned on. And now, standing here with her so close, it feels like everything I felt back then has been waiting for this moment.

“So,” I say, my grin returning, “about that kiss…”

She holds up a hand, stopping me in my tracks. “No. Absolutely not. That was a mistake, a really fun one, but it’s not happening again.”

“Pretty sure you said that the first time,” I tease, taking a small step closer.

“Dixon,” she warns, her voice low and threatening, but there’s no real heat behind it.

“What? Just pointing out facts,” I say, leaning in slightly.

Her breath hitches, and for a moment, we’re caught in the tension again, the air between us snapping and crackling from the current of electricity. I can tell she feels it, too, her breath uneven as her eyes flick over my lips. Then she shakes her head, breaking the spell.

“You really are impossible,” she mutters, stepping back toward the door. “I know I already said it, but this time I mean it.”

“And you’re adorable when you’re trying to resist me,” I shoot back, wanting to get the last word in.

She turns at the door, her hand on the knob, and gives me a look that’s equal parts exasperation and something else—maybe something she’s not ready to admit yet. “This is never happening again,” she says firmly.

“We’ll see,” I say, leaning casually against the shelf.

She shakes her head, a small, reluctant smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. Then she’s gone, leaving me alone in the storage room, grinning like an idiot.