Page 6

S tanding in front of me, behind a desk that should belong to literally anyone else, is him.

Grant.

The silver-haired, suit-wearing, hands-on-my-body bad decision of a man I was supposed to never see again.

And now?

He’s staring at me like he just saw a ghost.

Which, honestly? Same.

I freeze in the doorway, my heart doing something it has no business doing. Something fast. Erratic. Something dangerous.

I knew he was going to be here.

Jake told me days ago—new head coach, former NHL player, some big name from Chicago.

I heard it. Logged it. Told myself it didn’t matter. Because it couldn’t be him. It wasn’t possible. I would have known. I would have felt it.

Except—

Something had nagged at me for days. A feeling. A flicker of something I refused to name. A stupid, baseless instinct that kept circling back, whispering, what if?

And now? Now, every single cell in my body knows. Because the man standing behind that desk? Is the one who undid me in Denver. The one who made me forget every rule I’ve ever had. The one whose name I wasn’t supposed to learn.

And yet—

Here he is.

My stomach knots violently.

Holy. Shit.

Knowing it was him over the phone? Hearing my brother say his name like it was just another hire?

That didn’t prepare me for this. For the actual sight of him. For the way my entire body locks up at the realization that I didn’t imagine that night. That I didn’t dream him up in some whiskey-induced haze.

That the man who worshipped my body in a Denver hotel room is now standing in the coach’s office like he belongs here.

And now?

I have to pretend like none of it ever happened.

"Hey, Kenz, you coming?"

Jake’s voice snaps me back into my body so hard I nearly stumble forward.

Right. Right. Jake.

My brother, who has no idea that I’m currently five seconds away from a full-body meltdown.

My brother, who has no clue that the man standing behind that desk was inside me less than a week ago.

I swallow hard.

Move. Act normal. Say words.

Somehow, I manage to unstick my feet from the floor, stepping into the office like it’s not currently swallowing me whole.

I don’t look at Grant.

I can’t.

But I can feel him.

Watching me. Assessing me.

Probably laughing his ass off on the inside at the absolute breakdown I’m barely keeping in check.

Escape would have been too easy, though, wouldn’t it. Jake is there in an instant.

"Coach, this is my little sister, Kenzie," Jake says, clapping a hand on my shoulder. "She’s practically team royalty at this point, so you’re stuck with her."

I open my mouth to say something. Anything.

Grant beats me to it. "Kenzie."

That voice hits like a slow drag of fire over my skin. I swear to God, my entire body remembers it.

The way it sounded in the dark. The way it scraped against my ear when he whispered exactly what he was going to do to me. The way he said my name when I was falling apart under him.

And now? He says it like it’s nothing. Like it doesn’t carry every ounce of sin that night still stains my skin with. Like I’m not standing here, barely holding myself together.

I finally force myself to look at him.

Big. Broad. Way too in control.

And definitely not nearly as affected as I am.

The only sign he’s feeling anything at all? A single, tiny twitch at the corner of his mouth. I narrow my eyes, rage and panic colliding in my chest.

Because I know that look. It’s the you’re freaking out and I’m enjoying it look. And I don’t care if my entire world just flipped upside down—

I will not let him win.

I plaster on a sweet, totally fake smile. "Grant," I say, smooth as silk, like I haven’t been thinking about his hands on me since the second I walked into this office.

His eyes glint. He can tell what I’m doing, and what’s happening inside my head.

And that’s when I realize—

I have never wanted to strangle someone more in my entire life.

I can feel the heat of Grant’s stare like a slow drag of fire against my skin.

But I refuse to look at him again.

Nope. Not happening.

Instead, I focus all my energy on acting completely normal.

Which, spoiler alert—I am absolutely failing at.

Jake bumps my shoulder affectionately, grinning at Grant.

"Kenzie practically grew up in this arena," he says. "You’ll be seeing plenty of her."

They both look at me, expecting me to say something—anything.

"Uh… yeah."

Shit. My voice comes out wrong. Off-kilter. Too high. Too forced.

Jake frowns, shifting beside me. "You okay, Kenz?"

Crap. Too much. Dial it back.

I force my shoulders to relax, shooting him what I hope is a casual smile instead of the full-brain meltdown I’m currently having. "Yeah, totally. Just… long day."

Jake eyes me. I know that look. It’s the same one he’s given me since we were kids whenever I did something shady—like that time I broke Mom’s favorite vase and blamed it on the cat.

Jake didn’t buy it then. And he sure as hell isn’t buying it now.

His gaze flicks to Grant, then back to me.

"You two met before?"

Oh, fuck no.

I laugh too fast. Too loud. Too suspicious. "What? No. Why would you—nope, definitely not."

Jake blinks.

Grant?

Completely unfazed.

The bastard leans back against his desk like none of this is affecting him at all. "I don’t think we’ve been formally introduced," he says smoothly. "But it’s nice to meet you, Kenzie."

My jaw tightens.

He’s playing me.

And he’s winning.

Jake’s brows pull together, his gaze flicking between Grant and me.

I need to get my shit together. Fast.

So I flash him an easy, practiced smile. "Relax, big bro. You’re being weird."

"Yeah, well, so are you," Jake mutters, still eyeing me.

I laugh again, forcing it to sound breezy. "I’m always weird."

Jake grumbles something under his breath, but before he can press further, one of the assistant coaches calls his name from the hallway.

Jake points at me, narrowing his eyes. "This conversation isn’t over."

Then he walks out, leaving me alone.

With Grant.

I don’t move. Don’t breathe. The second Jake disappears Grant smirks.

And I want to punch him right in his perfect, smug, infuriating face. I exhale sharply, forcing my spine straight.

"Well, this is just great," I mutter, folding my arms.

Grant’s smirk deepens, like I just made his entire day. "I’d say it’s been an interesting morning."

I narrow my eyes. "Oh, you think this is funny?"

His gaze flickers with amusement. "Not funny. Just… unexpected."

My jaw tightens. Unexpected.

That’s one way to put it.

I step forward, lowering my voice. "What. The hell. Are you doing here?"

His head tilts, casual as ever. "Coaching."

I could throw something. Hard.

"Since when?" I snap, whispering my irritation.

"Officially? A few days."

My stomach tightens. "And before that?"

His dark eyes flicker with something unreadable. "Before that, I was making a decision."

I stare at him, incredulous. "A decision?"

He shrugs. "I had options, but I chose Nashville."

I hate how that gets to me. Because now my brain is spinning. What if he’d picked somewhere else? What if he’d never walked into this office? What if our night really had been the end of it?

My nails dig into skin as I clutch my arms tighter.

No. No, I’m not doing this.

I inhale sharply, forcing logic back into my body. This is fine. It’s fine. All I have to do is be normal. Professional. Indifferent.

Like nothing happened.

Like I don’t remember the weight of his hands on me.

Like I don’t remember the way his voice sounded when he murmured my name in the dark.

Like I don’t remember how his mouth felt everywhere.

I clear my throat, dragging my gaze away.

"You really didn’t know?" I mutter.

Grant leans back against the desk, arms crossing over his broad chest. "Didn’t have a clue when I took this job."

I whip my head back to him, eyes blazing. "Are you serious?!"

He shrugs. "I was under the impression we were keeping things uncomplicated."

My breath catches. He’s not wrong. That was the deal. One night. No strings. No complications.

But that was before. Before this.

Before I realized I’d hooked up with my brother’s new assistant coach.

Before I realized he was going to be in my life whether I wanted him there or not.

My hands clench into fists at my sides.

I hate this.

I hate that he looks so unaffected while my heart is pounding. I hate that his stupidly handsome, unreadable face gives away nothing.

I hate how stupidly good he looks standing there—broad and infuriatingly composed, his dark eyes unreadable, his shirt stretching just enough over his chest to remind me exactly how solid he felt beneath my hands.

I hate that my body remembers.

I hate that I do, too.

I exhale sharply, lifting my chin.

"Fine. You’re right," I say coolly. "No complications. No problem."

Something flickers in his gaze. Something fast and sharp and unreadable.

Then he schools his features back into that infuriating, unbothered calm.

"Good."

I nod. "Good."

Silence stretches between us, thick and charged.

And for some stupid, reckless reason, I wonder—

If I got closer, would he still smell the same?

If I touched him, would it undo me all over again?

I shove the thoughts down.

No.

No, no, absolutely not.

I force my body to turn, to walk, to leave. Because I need to get out of this office. Away from him. Away from whatever the hell this is.

Just as my fingers graze the door handle, his voice stops me. Low. Smooth. Dangerous. "Careful, Flight."

I freeze. Heat snaps down my spine.

Slowly, I turn, pulse hammering. "Excuse me?"

His lips twitch—just a fraction, just enough to make my blood boil.

"Wouldn’t want to make it obvious."

My mouth opens—probably to yell, probably to say something vicious.

But I don’t get the chance.

Because Jake walks back in and I have to pretend.

I smile.

I act normal.

And Grant Maddox?

Just won this round.

Jake’s presence fills the office, and he’s completely unaware that I’m currently five seconds away from committing murder.

I snap my mouth shut, force my shoulders to relax, and try to look less like I want to strangle his new assistant coach.

Grant?

Not struggling at all.

Nope.

Not even a little.

He looks perfectly at ease. Cool. Collected. Smug as hell. He can tell how much he’s messing with me. And he’s enjoying every second of it.

Bastard.

"Alright, Coach," Jake says, dropping into the chair across from Grant’s desk. "Let’s talk season strategy. Kenz, you good to hang for a bit?"

No. No, I am not.

Because if I sit in this office any longer, I might explode.

Or worse—I might actually get used to seeing Grant Maddox standing in my brother’s space.

I need out.

I need air.

I need to wipe that damn look off Grant’s face.

But Jake is staring at me, waiting for an answer.

So I plaster on a smile and shake my head. "Nah, I should get going. Just wanted to stop by and say hi."

Jake nods, already distracted as he leans back in his chair. "Cool. Call Allie later. She wants to see you."

I nod. "Will do."

Then—I make the mistake of glancing at Grant.

Big. Fucking. Mistake.

Because his muscled arms are still crossed over his chest, his expression still unreadable, but his eyes?

Oh, his damn eyes.

Dark. Steady.

Tracking my every move. Guessing why I’m leaving. That he got to me. That he just won this round. And I’ll be damned if I let that happen.

So I straighten my spine. Lift my chin. And smile. A slow, sweet, totally fake smile.

"See you around, Coach."

I swear—his lips twitch. He can see exactly what I’m doing. He knows this isn’t over. But he doesn’t say a word. Doesn’t stop me. Doesn’t chase.

Just watches as I turn on my heel, walk out of the office, and leave him standing there like none of this ever touched me.