Page 22 of Pucking Dirty

Archer doesn't say anything, but he doesn't need to say it. He knows I'm right. I see it written all over his face. Micah may be his best friend…but Wren Erikson? Well, she could be his world.

The same fucking way Emilia Lariat is going to be mine. Doesn't matter what Coach thinks. Doesn't matter what anyone else thinks. The pretty little minx is mine.

Chapter Five

Emilia

"Jesus, this place is packed tighter than a jock strap," I mutter to Alice Madison, the team publicist, as we head toward the row of seats reserved for VIPs and staff behind the team box before the game is set to start.

She leans close to me, her soft laugh spilling out. "It's always like this during game nights!"

I shake my head, trying to wrap my mind around the sheer number of people here. It's been a long time since I attended a game. I think I was fifteen or sixteen, and my dad wasn't the head coach back then. He was an assistant. I do not remember it being this packed.

Between the music, the laughter, and the shouting, the wall of noise is honestly overwhelming. But…I kind of like it. It's exciting.

We squeeze past a row of wives and girlfriends before falling into our seats directly behind the box. A few of the women in our row shoot me assessing looks, but I choose to ignore them, instead scanning the ice.

The whole team is out there, warming up.

My eyes immediately pick out Nash, my heart leaping into my throat. God, he looks good.

It's been two days since I kicked him out of my bed. Two days since we saw each other. Well…technically. I saw him briefly this morning when my dad introduced me to the team as their new therapist.

It wasn't a surprise to anyone. Word traveled fast. I'm not entirely sure how they feel about it yet considering I've seen them naked—and accused them of masturbating together—but they didn't seem like they hate the idea of having me on staff. So it's a start.

What was a surprise were the flowers and the jersey with Nash's name and number waiting on my desk when I got to my office after the introductions were done. He left a note telling me to wear it tonight. I feel like a jerk for not having the nerve to follow through…but I did not have the nerve to follow through.

I'm wearing a T-shirt with the team mascot instead. It felt like the safer option. And that's what has me so messed up in thehead. I've never been the girl who does the safe, sane thing. I've never been the one afraid to take flying leaps.

And yet, that's precisely what I'm doing now. I'm playing it safe. I'm trying desperately to keep my father from finding out that I'm falling fast for one of his players—one who looks at me like I'm the only thing he sees. I can tell myself all day long that this is about protecting my reputation, but it's a lie. It was a lie before I ever told it the first time.

The only thing I'm truly afraid of…is Nash being sent down to the minor leagues. Of us imploding in a way that ruins everything for him. He didn't work as hard as he did to have it ripped away. That isn't fair to him.

But giving him up doesn't seem fair to either of us. I'm a grown ass woman. Why can't I have this one thing? Why can't he have it? No matter how many times my mind spits those defiant questions, it circles back to the same complicated answer.

This isn't just about us. It's about every man on the ice with him. A rift between him and my father over me creates a rift for the whole team. They have to be on the same page. It's the only way they win games. That has to come first right now.

I want to be selfish, though. God, do I ever.

Nash glances up from his conversation with Jordan. Even from halfway across the ice, his eyes lock with mine. My heart clenches in a vise, heat blasting through me.

He abandons the conversation, skating toward me.

I hold my breath until he's in the team box, pressed up against the Plexiglas between the bench and our row. He does not look happy.

"Hi," I squeak, fully aware that everyone in the vicinity is staring at us. I can feel Alice's eyes boring into the side of my head.

"Where's your jersey, princess?" he growls.

"Oh. Um…" I glance down at my shirt and then shrug helplessly. "I'm in team regalia."

"You need a jersey."

"This is fine, Nash."

He shakes his head, something unholy possessive in his eyes.

"Oh my," Alice whispers as he reaches over his shoulder, hauling his jersey up over his pads.

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