Page 89 of The Pucking Player

“Really, O’Connor? Olivia fucking Carrington?” She whirls on me, nostrils flaring. Her perfectly manicured finger jabs into my chest. “Thepop star? What’s next, a midnight rendezvous with the entire Dallas Cowboyscheerleading squad? Maybe a steamy photoshoot with the US women’s volleyball team?”

“Come on, Jess.” I flash my most charming grin, the one that usually gets me out of penalty minutes. “You know me better than that. I have standards.” I pause for dramatic effect. “I’d never go for the whole squad. Just the fliers. They’re more...flexible.”

The stress ball rockets past my left ear at deadly speed. I dodge, laughing, but the stapler that follows comes dangerously close to ensuring the O’Connor family line ends with me.

“This isn’t funny, you walking PR nightmare!” Her eye twitches—never a good sign. “Do you have any idea what Sophie?—”

Note to self: maybe antagonizing the woman who controls my public image while she’s within throwing distance of office supplies isn’t my smartest play.

The door swings open and Finn strides in, already suited up for practice. He stops short at the sight of Jessica spouting flames, his usual swagger faltering for a microsecond before kicking back in at full force.

“Jessica.” His voice drops an octave, going all warm and suggestive. “Just the person I needed to see.”

Jessica’s cheeks flush pink as she smooths her already perfect hair. “Oh? And what could be so urgent?”

“Team photo got rescheduled. Need your sign-off on the new time slot.” Finn produces a folder from behind his back, but his eyes never leave her face. “Though now I’m thinking the timing worked out perfectly, walking in on O’Connor’s latest circus.”

“Speaking of circuses,” Jessica says, her voice softer than I’ve ever heard it. “Shouldn’t you be heading back for warm-up?”

“Probably.” Finn’s smile could melt ice. “But I’m enjoying the view right where I am.”

Jessica bites her lip, and something electric crackles between them.

“The, um, photo approval,” she gestures vaguely at the folder in his hand.

“Right.” Finn hands her the folder, lingering very close to her. “Let me know if you need anything else. I mean, for the team photo. Or...whatever.”

They’re locked in some kind of heated staring contest that makes me feel like I’m intruding.

Christ, the sexual tension in here is thicker than playoff beard season.

“Thanks,” Jessica manages, her voice barely above a whisper.

Finn backs away slowly, his eyes still on her. “See you around, Jess.”

He shoots me a look that clearly says “not a word” before sauntering out. Jessica stares after him for a beat too long before remembering she’s supposed to be mad at me.

“Don’t think I forgot about you, O’Connor.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.” I smirk. “Though I notice you’re not wearing your ‘murder Liam’ face anymore. Amazing what a little quality time with Finn does for your mood. I should bring him by more often. I just wish he had the same effect on your dad.”

This time the stress ball connects with my forehead.

But it was worth it.

Jessica plucks the stress ball off the ground, her playful mood evaporating like ice in August. She perches on the edge of her desk, tapping nails against the wood. The sound drills into my skull like a penalty shot countdown.

“Cut the crap, O’Connor. What game are you playing?”

“No game.” I lean against the wall, aiming for casual. Missing by a mile.

“Really? Because I stuck my neck out for you. Convinced my sister—mybabysister—to give you a chance. Told Dad you weren’t the player everyone said you were.” Her voice turns sharp as a skate blade. “And look at you now.”

My chest tightens. “It’s not what you think.”

“Oh? Because whatIthink is that Sophie is a mess. WhatIthink is that my sister, who never cries over guys, spent the last few days demolishing pints of Ben & Jerry’s while watching rom-coms.”

Fuck.

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