Page 29 of Glitz & Goals

Relatable.

“I’ve got to go to work in a bit here,” I tell Viv. “Do you want me to give you a ride somewhere?”

“That’s all right. I can get a ride.” Viv scratches Blade’s head with one hand and holds her mug with the other, taking little sips from the still-scalding contents. “I’ve got things to do today. And tonight,” she adds. “So if you were going to ask me on a proper date, I’m going to have to take a rain check.”

A slow smile creeps over my face. “If I asked, would you say yes?”

“Like I said, depends on the timing. I’m a busy woman.” Her eyes sparkle over the edge of the mug.

Unfortunately, I have plans, too. After morning practice, I have a party to attend at Noah’s house. I wish I could ask her, but even I know that it’s too soon to be introducing her to my people, when we’re still getting to know each other. Even so, I might be brazen enough to invite her if she hadn’t already made her excuses.

“Don’t go disappearing on me,” I warn her. “Blade might die of a broken heart.”

Viv’s lips twitch toward a smile. “Blade gets attached easily, doesn’t he?”

“Almost never,” I say. “But when he decides he likes someone, that’s it. He’s head over heels.”

Viv hums. I wonder if I’ve said too much. We finish our breakfast, she gets up to gather her things, and I can’t tell if the quiet between us is comfortable or awkward. I have the horrible feeling that if I hold too tight, she’ll slip away. One night and two meals, and I’m already afraid of wanting too much.

No, it’s not that. I’m afraid I’ll disappoint her.

“Let me at least get you a bag for your things.” I rummage around in the closet until I find a small black duffel and hand it to her.

Viv slips around the end of the island and kisses me on the cheek. “See you soon, Grady,” she says, shoving her dress inside the bag. “Don’t wait too long. I don’t normally serve second helpings.”

I watch her sashay away, still wearing my shirt. That’s when I realize she’s given me the perfect excuse to get in touch. If nothing else, she’s got two items belonging to me that I’ll want to retrieve. I wonder if she’s left something of her own here, on a side table or tucked under the bed, another little reason for us to speak again.

* * *

The arena is alive with the sound of blades cutting into the ice, pucks snapping off sticks, and the occasional shout of a player calling for a pass. Morning skate always has this buzz to it, the kind that gets your blood pumping even when you’re running on two hours of sleep and too much adrenaline. Not that I’m admitting to anyone why I barely slept. Least of all Viktor.

He skates off the ice, tossing his stick onto the bench and unstrapping his gloves. There’s a cocky grin on his face as he leans over the boards, his hair damp and sticking out at every angle. I already know what’s coming, and I brace myself.

“So…” Viktor drawls, dragging the word out like it’s got a dozen syllables. “How’d it go?”

I don’t look at him. Instead, I grab the clipboard on the bench and start jotting down notes on the penalty kill drills we just ran. “How did what go?” I ask, knowing full well he won’t let this go.

Viktor snorts. “Don’t play dumb, Coach. The chicken piccata. The whole date-night vibe. I mean, I crushed it in the kitchen for you, I let your dog bruise my ass cheek, so I figure the least you can do is let me know if it paid off.”

I set the clipboard down, finally meeting his smug gaze. “It went fine. Thanks for the assist.”

“Fine?” Viktor arches a brow. “That’s it? Just fine? Come on, you’re killing me here. Did she like the food? Did she—”

“Viktor.” My voice cuts through his teasing like a blade, sharp and final. “You’re not my confidante. You’re my winger. Keep it professional.”

His grin falters, and for a second, I think I’ve shut him down. But then he smirks again, this time with a knowing edge. “Sure, Coach. Whatever you say.”

He skates off, leaving me standing there, gripping the clipboard like it’s the only thing keeping me tethered. Fine. Let him think what he wants. Because if he knew the truth—that last night wasn’t just dinner, that it ended with me wanting something I probably have no business wanting—it would only make things more complicated.

And the last thing I need is more complications.

I force my focus back to the ice, watching the guys cycle through their drills. We’re running a tight breakout this morning, pushing quick puck movement up the boards to test our speed and decision-making under pressure. Knight powers through the neutral zone like a freight train, cutting between two defenders before snapping a shot just wide of the net. Viktor’s on the rebound in a heartbeat, scooping it up and feeding it to Tristan in the slot. It’s sharp, fast hockey—the kindof play we’ll need if we want to keep momentum going into the back half of the season.

“Better!” I call, slapping the boards. “Stay aggressive, but keep your heads up. Abbott, don’t cheat too low—we need you in position to backcheck if they turn it over.”

He nods, though I catch a flash of that cocky grin as he glides away. The players fall into rhythm, line after line rotating in, and for a while, I manage to stay in the zone. But then, as I watch them reset, my thoughts drift again. Toher. To last night.

By the time I blow the final whistle and send the team to the locker room, my head’s a mess. I need to get it together. There’s a party tonight, a public appearance I can’t skip, and I can’t show up looking like I’ve spent the whole day obsessing over a woman I shouldn’t even be thinking about.

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