Page 10 of Heart of a Defender

Madison’s eyes darken to an intense, mesmerizing green. She tilts her chin, closing the distance between her lips and mine. I accept it for what it is, an offering whether for comfort, peace, or desire. I take it, gathering her close. I drag my fingers through her dark locks and press my lips to hers.

She melts into me, sighing her permission. One soft kiss turns into another and then more. My body reacts like any red-blooded male, growing thick with untempered longing. But I’m acutely aware of who I am and where we are. Madison and I aren’t teenagers. We’re professionals, adults on public display, indulging in one of life’s basic needs––to be desired and accepted, scars and all.

My heart races, and my lungs constrict until they burn from lack of air. I release her lips yet cling to her body, reluctant to let her go. Her hiccuped moan hitches in her throat as I pull away. We both gasp for breath and stare at each other.

“I should call it a night.” Madison’s wild eyes roam my face as she pulls away.

The space between us is suddenly filled with electricity and tension as the dynamic between us shifts. It’s difficult to read her expression. Is it regret, shock, distaste?

“Yeah, me too. Big day tomorrow.” But tomorrow’s practice pales in comparison to what I’ve just experienced. Madison’s turned my world upside down.

“Okay, so––see you at practice.” She gathers her cup and heads to the parking lot. When she glances over her shoulder, her wild eyes still glisten. But it’s the wrinkle spanning her brow that worries me.

I watch her from the sidewalk, seeing that she makes it to her car. I’m an ass, cutting things short, but where do I expect things to go? I don’t even know where Madison and I stand at this point. A kiss doesn’t change the fact we’re both vulnerable to the pain the other could cause.

CHAPTER 5

GROUPIES

***

Madison

My body buzzes to the point my legs shake as I hurry to the car. I glance over my shoulder. Zach watches after me with an intensity that causes my body to short-circuit. I slam the car door shut and shakily insert the key.

The short drive home is a blur. Lights whiz past me, and all I can think about is Zach’s hands on my body, and his lips pressed to mine. I won’t deny I’ve envied his lips and thought about his hands and the wicked things they could do, but I thought I was stronger than the force that pulls me to him.

By the time I reach the driveway, my entire body hums with a nagging itch that needs to be scratched. I want to scream, rip off my clothes and dance naked. I want Zach’s lips on mine and every inch of my body. I blame the sudden need for release on the dry spell I’ve nursed for the last couple of years. Heaven forbid I give credit where due and break my number one rule––no more jocks.

I pull into the dimly lit garage and throw the car in park. My hand dips below my waistband and into my panties before the garage door fully closes. I’m slick and swollen, ready for him. My fingers slip between my folds, and I don’t dawdle finding my sweet spot. I press and circle my clit, wishing it were Zach’s hand instead of mine. It takes three vigorous swirls to get myself off. I throw my head back against the neckrest and unleash the moan that’s been building in my gut since Zach’s lips touched mine.

The tension between my shoulder blades eases as my release wanes. I pull my hand from my panties without a shred of decency left in my bones. I gather my cup and satchel from the seat with sticky fingers and hurry inside the house, leaving a line of clothing on the floor behind me from the garage to the bedroom. I’m desperate for another fix. I only wish it were Zach in my bed rather than a power tool in my hand.

***

Over the next few days, I spend more and more time at the arena. What started as an assignment has become something more personal and borderline obsession. Though, obsession has its limitations. Anytime Zach catches me staring in his direction, my pulse has a mind of its own. A fireball of heat explodes in my chest, and I swear if I didn’t look away, I’d combust. Our eye contact is usually short-lived. But now I wonder if he regrets the quiet moment we shared and if talking about his father’s addiction and mother’s cancer opened too many painful wounds for him.

I shouldn’t have embraced the kiss we shared, and I sure as heck shouldn’t have taken matters into my own hands afterward. But emotions were raw for both of us. It was one of those things that happened in the moment despite how foolish the outcome. Though, our shared moment of vulnerability felt genuine. And I’ll never deny how much I enjoyed his protective arms around me.

After more sleuthing, I find articles related to his father––his numerous arrests, jail time, and then...poof...he vanished, off the grid. His mother logged more moves than a military family, attempting to stay ahead of creditors and landlords. The Brooks family’s world went from unstable to a house of cards in the wind. It’s no wonder Zach guards and protects his family with such ferocity.

I arrive early at the arena, taking a few notes, jotting down the dynamics and camaraderie between players, and how Zach fits into it all. He’s a natural leader, pushing himself and his teammates to stretch a little more each day. There’s an intensity in his eyes that’s impossible to ignore, on and off the ice.

His concentration and enthusiasm are what I’ve homed in on. The moments between plays when he laughs with his teammates or stops to help a struggling player speak volumes about his willingness to be a team player. He isn’t the arrogant athlete I misjudged him to be. He’s complex, a man of many layers, and he’s undeniably caught my attention. Maybe even my heart.

I watch from the stands with a heart that has betrayed me. The growing attraction to the man beyond the player has me in knots. A flood of doubt and fear swirls in my gut, warning me to not repeat the past. Who’s to say Zach isn’t putting on a show, luring me closer before he turns on me just like my ex did?

By week three, only a few press people show up for practice. Most have gotten what they needed from the weekly press conferences and one-on-one interviews with the players. They have the angles they need for their articles, yet I linger, hoping for that one little nugget that no one else sees.

“Mind if I have a seat.” A woman in pale teal medical scrubs takes the bench beside me. I recognize her from the cache of Brooks family photos I found online. “I’m Lauren, Zach’s sister. He makes it look easy, doesn’t he.”

I glance at her, sizing her up. No one besides the press sits in the bullpen. No one until today. And how does she know I’m fixated on Zach?

“Yes. Effortless.” Though I’ve seen how hard he pushes himself. Not everyone can make speed gliding on a sheet of ice with razor-thin blades and an extra twenty-two pounds of equipment on their body look easy. Piece of cake. “I’m Madison, reporter with Sable Creek Times.”

Zach glances in our direction and does a double take, apparently as surprised as I am to see his sister sitting beside me. He slaps his stick to the floor, getting his head back into the scrimmage game.

“What are you writing about the Saints? Anything juicy or the same old stats and soundbites?” Lauren covers her mouth with a fake yawn. “Scoop the old guy’s club. Give us something we can sink our teeth into.”

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