Page 50 of Pucking My Grumpy Accidental Husband

"Of course. Two o'clock in my office."

As Jamie heads toward the locker room, I catch sight of Dax near the tunnel. He's looking directly at me with an expression that's supposed to be professional but somehow manages to convey exactly what he's thinking about. Which appears to be the same thing I'm thinking about, judging by the heat in those gray eyes.

I force myself to look away before anyone notices, but not before I see him smile—that slow, devastating smile that makes my insides do acrobatics.

This is going to be the death of me.

I'm about to head back when my phone buzzes with a text from an unknown number.

Saw you leaving Kingston’s apartment building last week. Interesting relationship for a team psychologist. Might be worth a story.

No, no no.

Fuck me sideways.

CHAPTER 12

DAX

I'm staring at Tessa's phone like it just grew teeth and threatened to bite me. The threatening text message glares back at me with all the subtlety of a hockey puck to the face, and I can feel my protective instincts kicking into overdrive like a power play with blood in the water.

"Okay," I say, setting the phone down carefully before I crush it in my bare hands. "We need to figure out who sent this."

"It could be anyone," Tessa says, pacing around her living room like a caged panther. "Sports reporter looking for a scoop, gossip blogger, some random asshole with a camera phone?—"

"Or someone with a personal vendetta," I interrupt, my mind already running through possibilities. "Someone who wants to hurt one of us specifically."

She stops pacing and looks at me. For an instant she looks terrified, but quickly recovers. "What kind of personal vendetta?"

"Could be someone from Seattle."

"Jesus Christ." She runs both hands through her hair. "I never even thought about that."

"What about building security? Anyone suspicious hanging around your apartment complex lately?"

"You mean besides you sneaking out at dawn like some kind of hockey-playing vampire?"

Despite everything, I almost smile. "I prefer 'devastatingly handsome dawn departure specialist,' thank you very much."

"Right. Well, there was this guy last week who claimed to be doing maintenance but seemed more interested in asking questions about residents. Mrs. Buckley chased him off with her walking stick."

"Mrs. Buckley is a goddamn hero and should be protected at all costs."

"Agreed."

"Screenshot the message, note the number, check if there are any other threatening contacts. Then we call building security and alert them to watch for suspicious activity."

"And what about us? Do we stop seeing each other?"

"Is that what you want?"

"No. But maybe we should consider it. Temporarily. Until this blows over or we figure out who's behind it."

I stand up and walk over to her, needing to touch her, to reassure myself she's real and safe and mine. "Tessa, look at me."

She does, and I can see the fear she's trying so hard to hide.

"We're not stopping anything. We're not giving some coward with a burner phone the power to control our lives. We're going to be smarter, more careful, but we're not running away from this."