Page 10 of Hooked On Them

Garrett watched us like we were in a shootout, his expression growing more intrigued by the second. “Well, this is fascinating.” His eyes darted between us with the analytical precision of a sports commentator spotting patterns in a championship game.

“Don’t you have some networking to do?” I shot him a look that clearly saidfuck off. If looks could physically move people, he’d have been launched overboard.

“I should check on the silent auction.” He stood, smoothing down his shirt. “Nora, always a pleasure. Dom...” He clapped me on the shoulder. “Try not to be such a downer.”

Punching him probably wouldn’t be a good look, so instead, I rolled my eyes as he walked away. The urge to trip him as he passed was almost overwhelming, but I restrained myself. Most would call it peak maturity, but in hockey, we called it penalties avoided.

I found myself alone with Nora at the bar. The same Nora who might as well have been in Carter’s lap with how much they flirted. The same Nora who’d been haunting my thoughts since practice that morning for reasons I refused to examine too closely. Some thoughts were better left untouched.

She accepted her champagne from the bartender, and I couldn’t help but notice how the blue of her dress made her skin glow under the yacht’s ambient lighting. Not that I was looking. I was just... observant. Hockey required good peripheral vision, after all. It was practically job training.

She turned to face me, her arm resting against the bar. “You know, you never struck me as the charity gala type.”

“I’m not. But showing up to avoid Garrett’s guilt trips seemed like a bargain.” I downed the last of my whiskey, hoping it would dull the effect of her perfume that wasn’t helping my concentration. The alcohol was about as effective as a goalie without pads.

She took a sip of champagne, and my eyes were drawn to her lips. “And here I thought you might care about underprivileged kids.”

“I do care. I just prefer doing something useful over playing dress-up on a yacht.” I gestured vaguely at my suit, which felt about as comfortable as skates two sizes too small.

“And what would you consider useful?”

I shifted uncomfortably under her scrutiny, the whiskey making me more honest than I meant to be. “Well, I coached youth hockey over the summer three times a week.”

“You coach kids?” Her surprise was almost comical, like I’d admitted to having a secret identity as a balloon animal artist.

“Don’t look so shocked.” I gestured to the bartender for another whiskey, ignoring the voice in my head saying I shouldn’t. “Someone has to show up and do the work while everyone else is circle-jerking at galas.”

“Ah, there he is.” Nora’s lips curved into a smile that made me want to... well, nothing good. “Heaven forbid anyone find out Dominic Wilson has a heart.”

“I don’t advertise it.” I accepted the fresh drink, hoping it would dull the effect of her standing so close. The bartender slid the glass toward me with a knowing look that I pretended not to see.

She took another sip of champagne, her eyes dancing with amusement. “So, what you’re saying is that you’re a big softie who cares about helping kids reach their dreams?”

“What I’m saying is someone has to show these kids how to play hockey right.” I tried to maintain my scowl, but her playfulness was infectious. “And maybe keep them from developing bad habits like me.”

She giggled, and damn if it didn’t do dangerous things to my insides. The sound hit me square in the chest, somewhere between a body check and butterflies. “You’re totally going to use my coaching next time you coach them!”

“I am not.” The denial was automatic, even as heat crept up my neck. About as convincing as claiming I didn’t want to win.

She shifted closer, her hip brushing against my thigh. “You know, it wouldn’t kill you to admit you care about something.”

“I care about plenty of things.” My voice came out rough as her perfume wrapped around me. Thank fuck she didn’t wear it to the rink. I’d never be able to focus on the puck because I’d be too busy skating into walls. “Hockey. Winning. Beautiful women.”

Where the hell did that come from, and where was a rewind button when a man really needed it?

“Mmhmm.” Her eyes locked with mine, challenging and amused. “And helping kids. And apparently me, since you defended me at dinner.”

“You’re never going to let that go, are you?”

“Not a chance.” She was close enough that I could see the flecks of gold in her brown eyes. “It’s not every day a stubborn hockey god admits someone else might know what they’re talking about.”

“A hockey god?” My ego inflated faster than a life raft in an emergency, and I couldn’t hide my smirk if I tried. Thanks, whiskey. “Tell me more about this hockey god.”

“Well—” Before she could respond, someone bumped into her from behind. She pitched forward, her hand landing on my chest to steady herself. My hands went to her waist, steadying her.

Time seemed to slow down. Her face was inches from mine, her breath warm against my lips. My heart hammered under her palm, and I knew she could feel it. Her lips parted slightly, and all I could think about was how easy it would be to close that distance.

But I couldn’t. She was my coach. This would destroy her career, her reputation, and everything she’d worked for. The hockey world was already looking for reasons to doubt her. I couldn’t be the reason they found one.

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