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I wake up to an empty bed.

Which should be a relief. Should make it easier to pretend last night never happened. But when I roll over and see the faint indent of his head on the pillow beside mine?

The air in my lungs turns thick. Heavy. Because Grant Maddox didn’t just sleep with me. He stayed.

And for a man who doesn’t do attachments, who doesn’t break his own rules—

That means something.

I push the covers off, moving fast, like I can outrun the weight settling in my chest.

Except the second I swing my legs over the edge of the bed—I catch the scent of coffee before my feet hit the floor. Bold. Fresh.

Then, a deep, familiar voice stops me dead.

“Morning, Flight.”

I freeze. Because he’s still here. Standing in the doorway to my bedroom, shirtless, casually drinking a cup of coffee like he’s done this a hundred times before.

Like he belongs here and is making himself at home. And maybe that’s what messes with my head the most.

Not the sex.

Not the way he completely owned me last night.

Not even the fact that I let him stay.

It’s the way he’s acting like this is normal. Like we’re something. Like I didn’t spend the last few weeks convincing myself this was nothing. I force a breath, raking a hand through my hair. Stay cool.

“Don’t you have a team to coach?” I mutter, pushing off the bed and heading straight for the kitchen.

He smirks, leaning against the counter.

“Practice doesn’t start for another two hours.”

Great.

Two whole hours of him standing in my kitchen, shirtless, looking way too at ease in my space. I pour myself a cup of coffee, deliberately keeping my back to him.

I need space. Distance. Something to get my head back on straight. But then I feel it. The slow, deliberate press of his presence behind me.

Not touching. Not crowding.

Just there.

And the worst part? I like it.

His voice drops lower. Rougher. “You always run this hard after a good night, Flight?”

I grip my mug tighter. “I’m not running.”

He chuckles, low and knowing. “Yeah? Then why won’t you look at me?”

Damn him. I turn. And immediately regret it. Because he’s too damn close.

Bare chest on full display. Dark pants slung low on his hips. A look in his eyes that tells me he knows exactly what he’s doing to me.

I swallow.

And Grant?

He sees it.

His smirk deepens, and I know—he’s winning this round.

I set my mug down and tilt my chin. “You sure you don’t have somewhere else to be?”

He lifts his own mug, takes a slow sip.

“Nope.”

I glare as I take a long drink from my mug.

Because he’s making a point. He’s not leaving. And suddenly, I have a very bad feeling I’m about to lose control of this whole damn situation.

I need out.

Out of this apartment.

Out of his orbit.

Out of the pull that’s making it impossible to think straight.

Because if I don’t leave now?

I won’t.

I step away from the kitchen counter, setting my coffee down with way too much force.

“I have plans.”

Grant lifts a brow. Unbothered. “That so?”

“Yes.”

“Let me guess.” He sets his mug down. Takes a step toward me. “One of those plans includes pretending last night didn’t happen?”

My pulse ticks up. He’s right. And I hate that he knows it.

I grab my phone off the counter and start texting Allie. Need a distraction.

Grant’s voice lowers. “Texting your escape plan?”

My thumbs hover over the screen. I don’t answer. Because I don’t have to. His smirk says he already knows.

Smug asshole.

I clear my throat. “I have brunch with Allie.”

He tilts his head. Studies me.

“You’re a terrible liar, Flight.”

I narrow my eyes. “And you have a team to coach. Shouldn’t you be scaring rookies and barking orders by now?”

He shrugs, stepping closer. “I’m taking the morning off.”

Of course he is. Because why wouldn’t he make my life more difficult?

I exhale sharply and move toward the bedroom. “Well, I don’t have the morning off. So, if you’ll excuse me—”

But before I can take another step, his hand brushes my waist. Just for a second. Just long enough to send a shiver straight down my spine.

I freeze.

His voice drops to a gravelly murmur.

"You in a hurry, Flight?"

My stomach tightens. Because he’s not asking. He’s challenging me.

I swallow hard and step away, pretending like I don’t feel off-balance now that he’s not touching me.

“I just think if I’m late, Allie will assume I’m tangled up in another bad decision.”

Grant lets out a low, rough chuckle.

“That what this is?” he asks, amusement threading through his tone.

I grab a hair tie from the counter, twisting it around my fingers. “What else would it be?”

Grant doesn’t answer right away.

And that silence? That silence is dangerous.

Then he takes a slow step forward.

And another. Until he’s so close, I can feel the heat of his skin radiating through the space between us.

He reaches past me, plucks my coffee mug off the counter.

Takes a sip.

Then—without breaking eye contact—he grins.

“I don’t do bad decisions, Flight.”

My pulse slams into my ribs.

"Enjoy brunch."

His smirk is there, but something else is in his eyes. Something unreadable.

And then? He grabs his things and slips a shirt on… then walks toward the door. Lets himself out.

I exhale slowly, releasing the tension in my shoulders.

Good.

I turn, stepping into the bathroom, cranking the shower to near-scalding. Even as I stand under the spray, I keep my eyes fixed straight ahead.

I won. I took control. I got what I wanted So why do I feel like I lost?

I squeeze my eyes shut, pressing my palms against the cool tile as steam swirls against my skin.

It was just sex. It was just a night. I step out of the shower, wrapping a towel around me as I glance at my reflection.

And hate what I see.

Because my lips? Still swollen.

My skin? Still marked from his mouth.

I look like I just spent the night getting absolutely ravished by a man I wasn’t supposed to want.

And the worst part?

I want to do it all over again.

I curse under my breath, shoving the thought down.

No. No way.

That was one night. It’s done.

I pull on leggings and a tank top, tie my hair up, and grab my bag. I grab my phone, scrolling through my messages.

Nothing from him.

Even better.

I’m fine.

I’m—

My phone buzzes.

A new text.

From Grant.

My breath catches as I stare at the screen.

Oh, fuck.

***

Allie takes one look at me and knows.

Which is really fucking annoying.

I barely make it through the restaurant doors before she crosses her arms, narrows her eyes, and tilts her head like a disapproving mom.

I don’t even get to sit before she drops the bomb.

“You slept with him again.”

I freeze.

Then I drop into my chair, scowling. “Hello to you too, Allie.”

She doesn’t let up.

She just leans forward, resting her elbows on the table, fully locked in on my downfall.

“Don’t try to deny it, Kenz.” She gestures toward me. “You’ve got that look.”

I glare. “What look?”

“The I-had-mind-blowing-sex-last-night-but-now-I’m-panicking look.”

I groan, running a hand through my hair. I hate that she’s right. I hate that she’s known me so long, I can’t even pretend. So, instead of denying it, I grab my menu and hold it up like a shield.

“I came here for pancakes, not an interrogation.”

Allie smirks, stealing the menu right out of my hands. “Too bad. You’re getting both.”

The second the server walks away, Allie zeroes in.

“So?” She wiggles her brows. “Was it better than last time?”

I choke on my mimosa that she so knowingly already ordered for me.

“Allie!”

She shrugs, unbothered. “What? You obviously didn’t listen to me the first time, so I’m invested now.”

I wipe my mouth, glancing around the restaurant like someone might be eavesdropping. Then I exhale sharply, leaning in.

“It was…” My throat tightens. Because I don’t know how to describe it without admitting how deep I’m in.

How completely off-balance I am over this man.

Allie catches the hesitation. Her teasing smirk softens just slightly.

“Oh shit,” she murmurs. “It’s different now, isn’t it?”

I don’t answer. I don’t want to answer because if I do, it makes it real.

Allie doesn’t need me to say anything, though. She already knows. She reaches for my hand, squeezing it.

“Kenz, I love you, but you’re a runner.” Her voice is softer now. More serious. “And you wouldn’t be running this hard if it didn’t mean something.”

My stomach clenches.

Because I know that.

I just don’t know what to do with it.

Allie leans back, studying me. “So, what are you going to do?”

I blink. “What do you mean?”

She arches a brow. “Are you going to keep pretending this is just sex? Or are you going to admit that maybe—just maybe—you’ve caught feelings for the hot silver fox hockey coach?”

I scowl. “Don’t call him all that.”

“Why not? It’s true.” She grins. “That man is a walking panty-dropper, and I fully support your life choices.”

I drop my forehead to the table with a groan.

“Kill me.”

She laughs. But then, her voice softens again.

“For real though, Kenz…” She tilts her head. “Have you decided? Do you even want to walk away?”

I swallow hard.

Because that? That’s the question I haven’t let myself ask. I need air.

After an hour of Allie dissecting every inch of my love life, I throw some cash on the table, hug her goodbye, and bolt.

I don’t have an answer for her. Not yet.

And I sure as hell won’t find one while she’s grinning at me like she already knows how this ends.

So I head toward my car, digging for my keys—

And walk straight into a solid, unmovable wall. A very familiar, very firm, very infuriating wall. Strong hands catch my arms, steadying me.

And then I hear it. That deep, smug, ridiculously attractive voice.

“Gotta stop running, Flight.”

Shit.

I look up.

And there he is.

Grant Maddox.

Looking too damn good in a fitted dark t-shirt and jeans, and a smirk that makes my stomach flip. Mm mm—salt and pepper hair in a dark t-shirt? Yes please.

I step back fast.

Too fast.

Because his grip tightens slightly before he lets me go, like he’s making sure I don’t fall.

I scowl. “Are you following me?”

His smirk deepens. “Trust me, Flight. If I was following you, you wouldn’t know it.”

I can’t stand how easily he gets under my skin. How I still feel the heat of his hands on my arms. How I almost—almost—step back into his space.

Instead, I cross my arms. “So this is just a coincidence?”

He shrugs. “I was grabbing coffee next door.” He holds up his cup, like it proves his innocence. “Didn’t know I’d run into you.”

I narrow my eyes. Because something about that feels like a lie. Not a full lie. But maybe a stretched truth.

“Right,” I mutter, crossing my arms. “Well, I have places to be, so if you’ll excuse me—”

He moves just slightly.

Not enough to block me.

But enough that I have to acknowledge he’s still in my way.

“You going to keep avoiding me, Flight?”

I lift my chin. “I don’t avoid people.”

He chuckles, low and rough.

“Bullshit.”

I swallow. Because he’s right. And he knows it. So I do the only thing I can do. I lie.

“This was nothing, Silver Fox.” I force my voice to stay even. “You said no strings. So stop acting like there are any.”

Something shifts in his eyes. Something dark. Something knowing. Something that says he sees right through my bullshit.

But he doesn’t call me out on it. Not right away. Instead, he takes a slow sip of his coffee.

Then—

He smirks. And fucking winks.

“See you at the rink, Flight.”

And then he walks away. And I hate that my pulse is still racing.

Because I don’t even know if it’s from frustration or something else entirely.