Page 16 of Body Check

“I was approached by Sports 24/7, initially, to work onGetting Puckedas the director of photography. I turned that offer down.”

When the griping begins, my voice cuts through the noise like steel: “Let her talk.”

Silence greets me, and yet Holly still doesn’t look my way. She balls her hair up into a messy bun, which she leaves twisted at the nape of her neck. Like being in this room has skyrocketed her nerves as well as her temperature, and she’s in desperate need of cooling off.

I’m not enough of an idiot to assume that it’s my presence throwing her off.

Aside from the one or two times at the end of our marriage when she emotionally crumpled before me, she’s always been tougher than anyone else I know.

That toughness lifts her chin now as she says, “I’ve been through a lot with you guys over the last few years, and the more I thought about it, the worse I felt about not joining this venture with all of you.” She glances at Hall. “I’ve talked it out with Coach, as well as the other board members. They, in turn, approached Sports 24/7 with a compromise.”

A compromise.

My fingers slide down over the curve of my knees, my back hunching as I drop my gaze to the floor between my feet. I focus on a speck of dust on the thin, old carpet. Zero in on it as Holly informs us that while she won’t be in charge of the overall direction of the show, she and her team will personally be responsible for any one-on-one interviews that occur outside of the arena or practice. The ice will remain Sports 24/7’s domain.

Duke’s shoulder knocks into mine. “You good, man?”

I nod. “All good.”

Not quite the truth.

The truth is that I’m hovering in that space between grateful and agitated, my emotions a tumultuous wreck in much the same way that they’ve been for a year and counting.

She’s doing this for her career, jackass, not for you.

I wait as everyone gives Holly a hug on their way out the door.

And then I wait some more until Coach and our GM are shaking her hand and then following out behind the rest of my teammates.

I sit on that bench until Holly and I are the only ones left.

The door shuts behind Duke, leaving us alone, and then Holly and I are speaking over each other:

“We need to talk.”

“Can you please put a shirt on?”

6

Holly

Ayear without seeing Jackson’s bare chest is like a year without basking in sunlight.

You can get through it.

Hell, some days you might even relish the murky, gray skies and the heavy snowfall.

Until you get a glimpse of what you’ve been missing. It’s straight downhill from there.

“Can you please put a shirt on?”

I hear the words leave my mouth as I visually soak up the panther-like way Jackson’s hands move to the bench on either side of his hips. Jackson’s always been ripped, but this is . . . justwow. His arm muscles flex, the visible tendons that run along his biceps and down over his forearms visibly rippling. I bet if I were toUrban Dictionary“arm porn,” I’d find Jackson’s picture as the only definition.

Down, girl.

Dark eyes flit over my body, lingering on my thighs and waist before returning to my face. His grin is slow, knowing. “You look flushed, Holls. Feelin’ overheated?”

Unfortunately.

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