Page 74 of Huge Pucking Play

"Coach Hughes." I match his tone.

He stops beside me, not too close, and pretends to show me something on his tablet. Anyone watching would see a coach consulting with the PT staff.

"I can still taste you," he whispers, his eyes still on the screen.

My knees nearly buckle. "Garrett," I hiss, checking the hallway. It’s empty.

"Supply closet. Now." He tilts his head toward a door a few feet away.

"We shouldn’t?—"

"Thirty seconds. I promise."

The rational part of my brain screams this is stupid. The part of me still drunk on last night doesn't care. I walk casually to the supply closet and slip inside.

Darkness. The smell of cleaning supplies and paper. I've barely oriented myself when the door opens again, letting in a sliver of light before closing behind Garrett's broad frame.

His hands find me immediately. One at my waist, one cupping my face. His body radiates heat, even through his clothes.

"I couldn't wait until tonight," he says, his warm lips finding mine.

The kiss is quick but deep, his tongue sliding against mine. His hand tightens at my waist, drawing me flush against him. I can feel his huge cock against me, just begging to come out and play.

"I can't stop thinking about you," he breathes against my lips. "About us."

"Me neither." My hands play with his hair. "But we need to be careful."

"I know, baby." He kisses me again, softer this time.

He steps back, and I immediately feel cold where his body had been pressed against mine. Garrett reaches for the door, cracks it open, checks the hallway.

"Clear," he says. "You first. I'll wait sixty seconds."

I smooth my shirt, tuck stray hairs back into my ponytail. "I'll see you later."

His smile in the dim light makes my heart flutter. "Yes, you will."

I slip out of the closet and walk briskly toward my office, professional mask firmly back in place. No one passes me. No one saw.

My fingers brush against my lips. They feel swollen, electric.

This thing between us could cost me everything. My job. My reputation. Hockey is a boys' club, and I've fought to be taken seriously as a professional.

But when Garrett looks at me with those chocolate eyes, when his big hands hold me like I'm precious – I can't bring myself to care about the risk. Not yet. Not when it feels this good.

And we now have a plan in place. He’ll talk to Coach Martinez about what to do. Then, we’ll take it to HR or even to George Corso if we need to.

I hear the supply closet door open behind me just as I round the corner. He waited about a minute, just like he promised.

Thirty minutes later, I'm showing Dmitri, our rookie defenseman, how to tape his ankle properly when the training room door bangs open. Marjorie stands there, her face twisted into something between a sneer and a grimace. The once busy room goes quiet and I’m suddenly feeling like I'm back in grade school about to be called to the principal's office.

"Cynthia." She spits my name like it's something rotten. "A word."

I finish securing Dmitri's tape. "I'm in a session right now, Marjorie. Can it wait five minutes?"

Her nostrils flare. She steps into the room, her sensible shoes squeaking against the polished floor. The players exchange glances. Everyone knows Marjorie's reputation.

"No, it cannot wait." She plants herself in the middle of the training room, arms crossed over her chest. Her cardigan is buttoned all the way up to her chin practically. "Since you'vedecided your personal life is more important than professional standards, we might as well address it in front of everyone."

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