Page 145 of Whistle

The man who owned the room.

or

The man who didn’t care who owned it.

Either way, it was a shot of adrenaline directly into my bloodstream, and I swallowed past my suddenly dry throat as he walked through the room, air practically shimmering around him. I knew other people noticed, understood it wasn’t just my eyes he drew. But I couldn’t rip mine off him long enough to look or find it anywhere inside me to care.

The black vest highlighted his tapered waist just as the jacket over it accentuated his wide shoulders. The bowtie looked ridiculous on everyone else but collared the thickness of his throat and accentuated the strength of his Adam’s apple, making me yearn to suck a bruise just above it and stake my claim.

His freshly trimmed dark stubble highlighted his square jaw and strong features. Under the lights, his eyes glimmered with gold, and the closely shaved hair on his head made him hum with masculinity.

In that moment, what was left of my heart hit its knees, and any hope of resistance I had to loving him wept. I crumbled helplessly into surrender, too far gone to even try and fight.

If love was a battle, well, I’d lost the war because Emmett Resch was it for me. There could never be another.

Chest tight, oxygen low, I watched him move through the room, casually greeting some and ignoring others, eyes never really resting in one place very long.

Until they found me.

Like two strong magnets exerting an immovable force, our stares locked. I stuffed my hands into my pockets, attempting to stop myself from reaching for him. But I didn’t need to because his mere presence overtook me, and though we didn’t touch, I was surrounded.

My heart skipped when he headed my way, my whole body flushing as I recalled the way he’d held me down the night before and fucked me until I was lightheaded and moaning.

His eyes flickered as if he knew what I was remembering. His nostrils flared as if he could scent the desire on my skin. He shook his head just slightly, reminding me this was not the place, yet his feet kept moving in my direction.

“Coach!” someone called behind me.

Then a blur of red moved into my line of sight, attempting to obscure the view. “Dad, you made it.” Landry spoke, and the loss of his complete attention stung.

Blinking, I watched Emmett briefly hug his daughter, then hover his palm over the small of her back as they came forward to join the group.

It was a little startling to remember we weren’t alone and that his entrance might have felt like a dream but was rooted in reality. And in this reality, he wasn’t mine.

“Damn, Coach, you clean up good,” Jamie mused.

“Barely recognize you without the Elite windbreaker,” Wes added.

“You having whistle withdrawals, Coach?” Kruger heckled.

“It’s in his pocket,” Landry whispered.

Emmett slid Landry a dry look, and she giggled beneath her breath.

“Funny. You guys are a pack of comedians,” Emmett grumped. “You all better be on your best behavior tonight. Do Elite proud.”

Ryan reappeared, phone still clutched in his hand. “Vargas has food poisoning. He can’t make it.”

“Is he okay?” Rory worried.

Ryan nodded. “He’s okay but currently praying to the porcelain gods.”

The girls wrinkled their noses. “That’s unfortunate,” Jess murmured.

“Why didn’t he call me?” Emmett demanded.

Tucking the phone into his pocket, Ryan said, “Because I’m the one that was heading up the auction.”

“If Vargas isn’t coming, that means we’re a swimmer down,” Lars noted. “Are you going to get someone to fill in for him?”

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