Page 20 of My Pucked Up Enemy

I shake my head, but she’s not done.

“I saw a guy who’s cracking from the inside and still trying to act like he’s fine.”

Silence stretches between us.

I hate how true it sounds.

“You always this smug when you get to be right?” I ask, my voice lower now, rougher.

“You always this defensive when someone actually sees you?”

That one hits me dead center.

She’s too close now. Or maybe I am.

We’re standing in this narrow hallway, just the two of us, the muffled sounds of the team still packing up somewhere behind us, the scent of sweat and old ice still clinging to the air.

“You’re not supposed to be this close,” I say, but I don’t move.

She doesn’t either.

“I go where I’m needed,” she says quietly. “And right now, that’s here.”

I look at her.

Not her clipboard. Not her title. Her.

Long lashes. That stubborn little tilt to her chin. The heat in her cheeks from arguing. The green of her eyes that aren’t blinking now. They’re completely locked on mine like she’s not backing down no matter how dark I get.

My eyes drop to her mouth.

And that’s it.

Game over.

“You gonna write this down in your little notebook?” I ask, voice barely audible.

Her answer is just as quiet. “Only if it helps you sleep.”

And then I grab her.

Not out of anger. Not to prove a point. It’s... need.

I grip her forearm and pull her in, fast and firm, until her body’s right against mine and our mouths crash together like the last second of overtime.

It’s not gentle. It’s not sweet.

It’s heat. Desperation. Frustration. Release.

She gasps against my mouth, but she doesn’t pull away.

Her hands are on my chest. My fingers are in her hair. I don’t know if I’m holding her there or if she’s holding me.

The kiss is messy. Breathless. Unplanned.

A storm we didn’t see coming.

And for a second, I let go. I let myself want something.

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