Page 19 of Expose on the Ice

I can’t let him upend me like that.

It’s time for part three of my plan: giving Knox a taste of the aggression he gives others, on and off the ice. I have no idea howhe will respond, but I’m getting nowhere with the professional journalist asking softball questions while smiling and looking cute routine.

I push back my chair and stand, feeling none of the confidence my actions suggest, and knowing that if I screw this up, then I might just crawl into a ball and let the floor swallow me up. This will make me or break me in the eyes of the rest of the team.

“Hey, Knox,” I call out, my voice carrying across the suddenly quiet restaurant. “Dinner’s just getting started.”

Knox freezes, his shoulders tensing visibly, his gray eyes cold as ice when they meet mine. “You want to know about my eating habits now?”

Stepping up to his challenge, I step closer to Knox, my heart pounding in my chest. The restaurant fades away, and suddenly, it feels like we’re the only two people in the room.

The air between us crackles with tension, and I find myself hyper-aware of every detail about him – the stubble on his jaw, the faint scent of his cologne, the way his t-shirt clings to his muscular frame.

For a flash of a single moment, all I can think about is how badly I want to close the remaining distance between us and find out if his lips are as soft as they look.

Then I swallow hard and take my shot.

I raise an eyebrow, put a hand on my hip. “I’m just concerned about your nutrition. After that performance last night, you need all the fuel you can get.”

Suddenly, the rest of the room shoots back into my focus, and a collective “Ooh” ripples through the team. I catch sight of Tank trying to hide a smirk behind his napkin. Even the coach and manager look curious.

Knox’s jaw clenches, and for a moment, I think he might actually lose it. “Enjoy your dinner,” he mutters, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

As he storms out, I notice the shift in the room. Where before there had been suspicion and mistrust in the players’ eyes, now I see a mix of amusement and… is that respect?

Tank catches my eye and gives me a subtle nod, while Echo lets out a low whistle. “Damn,” he says, shaking his head. “You’ve got some balls.”

I shrug, trying to play it cool even as my heart races. “Just doing my job,” I say, sliding back into my seat.

As the conversation slowly picks up again around me, I realize I’ve just passed some sort of test with the team. I’ve shown them I can give as good as I get, and that I’m not some wilting violet. It isn’t exactly how I’d planned to win them over, but I’ll take it.

I’m not so sure how Knox will react, but I need to shake things up with him. Trying to blend in and engage with him on his terms, making him comfortable, hadn’t worked. So now Iwantto makehimuncomfortable, to makehischeeks flush, even if from anger.

“Hey, sweetheart,” Tank’s voice pulls me from my thoughts. “Don’t mind Knox. He’ll like it, or not.”

I give a weak smile. “Thanks, Tank.”

“Now, tell us about yourself,” he says.

I look up to find several of the players watching me with interest. It’s clear the dynamic has shifted, and I’m not about to waste this opportunity, even if I’ve further alienated Knox. The food comes, and conversation flows easily. The guys pepper me with questions about my career. I find myself relaxing, enjoying the banter and camaraderie.

I also deliberatelydon’task them anything that might resemble a serious question. I want them to accept me, to openup to me, and rushing to dig deep would put them on the defensive again. And, truth be told, I don’t mind the moment of respite. I’m still feeling worked up from the encounter with Knox, both by the electricity between us, my anger at how much of an asshole he’s being, and the fact my plan has worked.

Answering questions on autopilot is just the trick to give my overstimulated brain a moment of respite. And, just like that, I suddenly realize why athletes are like automatons in response to reporters’ questions.

By the time dessert rolls around, I feel like I’ve made some genuine progress with relaxing the team to my presence. Even the players who’d initially seemed wary are cracking jokes and including me in their conversations.

As we wrap up dinner, the team’s bus arrives right out front, ready to go to the airport. I join the precession on to it, stowing my luggage, and boarding. I make my way down the aisle, searching for an empty seat, when my gaze lands on Knox, slouched in a window seat near the back.

His eyes meet mine for a moment before he pointedly looks away. Swallowing hard, I slide into an empty seat in the row over from him, which gives me a clear sight of Knox’s reflection in the window. The hostility in his gaze is clear.

Yep, haven’t wonhimover tonight…

CHAPTER 8

CARTER

Islam my fist against the elevator button, my jaw clenched so tight I think my teeth might crack. The team has barely checked into the hotel, and already Lily is making herself at home. As if she belongs here. As if she has any right to be a part of our world. I haven’t even been able to get a cup of coffee without her staring at me from across the room, notepad in hand.

---