Page 5 of Wrong Number, Right Player (Wrong Number, Right Guy #10)

“Not all guys who do that,” she says, arching a brow. “Although, it doesn’t hurt.”

“You really love your job, huh?”

“Except for putting up with players like Derek? Yeah, I do. Is it that obvious?”

“From the first day you started with the team.”

The passion I saw in her that summer two years ago, and the dedication in her voice when she talks about her work now, hits me like a right hook.

I know what could happen if whatever this is between us goes anywhere.

I’ve seen how the organization handles “inappropriate relationships” between staff and players.

Last month, Martinez got benched for missing curfew because of some girl. And he’s not the captain. Not a franchise player Coach depends on, with reporters watching his every move, always sniffing around for a story.

McKenna could lose everything. Her career, her reputation, her future in professional sports.

And for what? Because I can’t stop thinking about crawling across this couch right now and pressing her into it while I kiss her senseless?

About doing whatever it takes to make her happy? To make her mine?

I wonder if she’s thinking along the same lines, because her smile fades as she studies my face. “What about you? I mean, I know you love hockey; that’s obvious. And biographies and memoirs, now, too. But…you don’t date. Like, ever.”

So she does feel this charge between us that’s simmered beneath the surface until it was set into motion by those voice memos. When she accidentally let her guard down and unknowingly invited me in. She’s watching me carefully, as if trying to gauge whether she’s crossed a line.

“It’s complicated,” I say finally, heaving a sigh. Not ready to admit she’s one of the reasons I haven’t been seen with a woman in years. “More pizza?”

She returns to the couch but drops the subject. I’m grateful because the truth is messy. The pressure, the puck bunnies, the gold-diggers, the way I compare every woman to her—and they always come up short.

But especially because McKenna’s role with the team is a double-edged sword.

It ensures she’s always there, always around.

Even on road trips, I get to see her daily.

Get to enjoy the pleasure of watching her work, seeing her easy-going manner as she handles even the most resistant guys on the team.

But it also means she’s off-limits. I can look but not touch.

Especially because I’m the team’s captain.

Whether or not I like it, I’m a role model, and I take that responsibility seriously.

Which is why I’m cursing myself for inviting her over. For trying to fool myself into thinking I could get to know her better without falling harder than I already have. That I was strong enough to resist crossing the line when she’s here, in my house, only inches away.

But I’m not ready to break the spell of this evening.

We settle back into eating, but something’s shifted. The air feels electric, like during a powerplay when everyone’s on edge, waiting for something to happen.

My phone buzzes again. Coach’s name flashes on the screen.

“You should take that,” she says, noticing my hesitation.

“It’s fine. He can wait.”

But we both know it’s not fine. It’s a reminder of who we are, what we both have to lose.

A warning we ignore as the conversation drifts to safer territory.

We talk about books, the pressure of playoffs, her college soccer career, and my off-season training.

Easy stuff. But I catch her watching me when she thinks I’m not looking. And I know she spies me doing the same.

By the time we’re cleaning up, it’s after ten, and I can’t remember the last time I talked to someone for three hours straight without thinking about tomorrow’s practice or Friday’s game.

“I should go,” she says, carrying plates to the kitchen. “Early morning tomorrow.”

“Yeah, me, too.” But neither of us moves toward the door.

We’re standing in my kitchen, McKenna so close I pick up the faint spray of delicate freckles across her nose and the flecks of gold in her hazel eyes I’ve never noticed.

“Thank you,” she says, not meeting my gaze. “For tonight. For the condiment-safe zone.”

“Anytime.”

She freezes as if she heard the honest truth in my tone. I should step back. Should remind us both why this is a bad idea. Instead, I trace the small scar on her chin. “How’d you get this?”

“Soccer. I was twelve and completely fearless.” Her voice is barely a whisper. “Terrible combination.”

“I like fearless.”

The space between us disappears. I don’t remember moving, but suddenly, my hand cups her face and I’m kissing her. Really kissing her. Like I’ve been dreaming about for two goddamn years.

She tastes like possibility, warm and addictive, and when her hands fist in my shirt, pulling me closer, every protective instinct I have wars with the need to claim her. She’s not fragile. She’s fierce. And she’s kissing me as if I’m the answer to a question she’s been afraid to ask.

This is insane. And could destroy both our careers. Coach would bench me in a heartbeat, and McKenna… Hell, she could lose everything she’s worked for. The career she loves.

But she’s kissing me back like she’s drowning and I’m air, and I can’t bring myself to care about anything except the way she feels in my arms.

When we break apart, we’re both breathing hard. Her eyes are wide, pupils dilated, and there’s a flush spreading down her neck that I want to trace with my tongue.

“Oh God,” she whispers, her hands flying to her mouth. “Oh God, we can’t… I can’t…”

Reality crashes over me like getting checked hard into the boards. I should apologize. Should tell her it was a mistake, that it won’t happen again. Except I can’t speak. And I’m not sorry. I sure as hell want it to happen again.

“McKenna—”

“I have to go.” She’s already moving, grabbing her purse from the counter, not meeting my eyes. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t—”

“Wait, just—”

But she’s already at the door, her hand on the knob, panic visible in every taut line of her body.

“This can’t happen again.” She glances over her shoulder. “You know it can’t.”

And then she’s gone, leaving me standing there with the taste of her still on my lips and the sinking realization I’m completely fucked.

Because McKenna Ryan just kissed me as if her life depended on it, then ran away like I was her biggest mistake.

And I’m already plotting how find a way to be with her and change her mind.