Page 65 of Pucking My Grumpy Accidental Husband

The walk back to the main conference room feels like a death march. My phone is buzzing nonstop with texts from Jamie, but I can't bring myself to look at them. All I can think about is Tessa somewhere in this building, probably having the same panic attack I'm having.

"Dude, there you are." Jamie appears at my elbow like a concerned mother hen. "You look like you're about to throw up. What did Martinez want?"

"Nothing. Just checking in."

"Right. And I'm the fucking pope." Jamie grabs my arm, forcing me to stop walking. "Something's wrong."

I can see other players filing into the conference room ahead of us, but Jamie's not moving until he gets answers.

"It's personal stuff, okay? Nothing that affects the team."

"Bullshit."

"We should get inside," I say instead of confirming what we both know.

"Whatever's going on," Jamie says as we walk toward the conference room, "you know I've got your back, right? Even if you're being a complete fucking idiot about it."

"Thanks. That's very supportive."

"I'm serious. You saved my ass when I had that gambling problem sophomore year. You've covered for me more times than I can count. If you need something—anything—you just ask."

"I know, man. I know."

The conference room is packed when we enter, every player and staff member squeezed around the large table or standing along the walls. I find a spot near the back and immediately scan the room for Tessa.

She's sitting with the other coaching staff, her face carefully neutral, but I can see the tension in her shoulders. When our eyes meet for a brief second, I see my own fear reflected back at me.

CHAPTER 15

TESSA

The conference room feels like a fucking tribunal, and I'm pretty sure I'm about to be burned at the stake for the crime of wanting to jump my secret husband's bones on a regular basis.

Harrison stands at the head of the table like some kind of corporate dictator, his silver hair perfectly styled and his expensive suit pressed to within an inch of its life. He's got that look.

"Thank you all for gathering on short notice," he begins, his voice carrying that false warmth that immediately puts everyone on edge. "I want to discuss some important updates to our professional standards and organizational policies."

I'm sitting with the coaching staff, trying to look like I give a shit about organizational policies while my heart pounds against my ribs like it's trying to escape. Three seats down, Dax is stone-faced, but I can see the tension in his shoulders, the way his jaw is clenched tight enough to crack teeth.

"Recently, it's come to my attention that we need to strengthen our commitment to maintaining appropriate professional boundaries," Harrison continues, and I swear he glances directly at me when he says it.

Son of a bitch.

"Effective immediately, we're implementing enhanced protocols to ensure all staff and player relationships remain strictly professional."

Jamie Torres raises his hand. "What kind of protocols, exactly?"

"Excellent question." Harrison clicks to his first PowerPoint slide, because of course he has a goddamn presentation about ruining my life. "First, mandatory reporting of any potential boundary violations observed by staff or players."

A murmur runs through the room. I catch Ethan Chen's eye, and he looks as confused as I feel. This feels extreme even for Harrison.

"Second, immediate termination for any staff member found to be in violation of our no-fraternization policy. No exceptions, no appeals, no second chances."

My mouth goes dry. No appeals. Which means if he decides I've violated policy, I'm fucked with no recourse.

"Third, regular surveillance and monitoring of all team facilities, including video review of areas previously considered private."

"Surveillance?" Martinez speaks up, his voice sharp with irritation. "Tom, these are grown men, not children. We don't need to spy on them."