When I collide with the hot, older hockey coach during a team-building drill—and land on top of him—I feel it.
The forbidden tension. The heat… And the pain he’s trying to hide.
Later, I examine his secret groin injury—hot skin under my hands—and it awakens something reckless in me.
I should never have sent him that sext.
Next day? He corners me in the locker room, hard and unapologetic.
“I’m not going to hide what your text did to me,” he growls.
I should’ve shut it down.
But when the team owner catches us about to kiss, I panic and blurt out a lie.
“We’re dating.”
