Page 33 of My Pucked Up Enemy

I gesture to the whiteboard one last time. “Let’s wrap with one thing you learned about a teammate today or just in general, something you learned.”

James: “I learned Parker has trust issues—and killer miming skills.”

Ethan: “I learned James might actually have a soul.”

Parker: “I learned I don’t always have to be the rock.”

Alex’s voice comes, quiet but clear. “This was less dumb than I expected.”

The room laughs.

I make eye contact with him. He doesn’t look away.

Progress.

As the players begin to file out, Alex lingers just half a second longer than necessary.

No words. Just that pause, like he’s thinking about saying something. But doesn’t. And then he hits me with a look—flirty, smirking, and hot enough to make me forget my own name for a second. It’s the kind of look that says he knows exactly what he’s doing.

And, I’m trying like hell not to show that my stomach just did a full gymnastics routine and my brain forgot how blinking works.

***

Back in my office, I settle behind my desk and flip open my notebook. I jot quick notes, each player’s name followed by one word—an emotional snapshot of today’s breakthrough.

James: vulnerable. Ethan: grounded. Parker: open.

Alex: silent, but engaged. Pushing back less. Still guarded, but aware.

The guys are starting to buy in.

Most are starting to talk through the jokes and everyone’s listening. That’s step one.

I stare at Alex’s name a moment longer.

If the team’s beginning to trust me… will he let himself?

Chapter ten

Alex

Itossthelidonthe blender and fire it up. The sound is violent—a perfect match for the grim green mess swirling around inside. Spinach, kale, protein powder, a sad banana. Breakfast of emotionally repressed champions.

The motor dies down, and I stare at the sludge like it personally offended me. Then I down it in one go, eyes watering as it hits the back of my throat.

Discipline. Control what you can. Let the rest burn.

I rinse the glass and set it on the drying rack with military precision. Everything has its place. My apartment is clean, orderly. Like my game is, or was.

Except now there's this voice in my head that isn't mine. Calm. Patient. Female.

You're not alone out there.

Damn Nina, you're good.

I scrub harder at the counter than necessary. It was one kiss. Heat-of-the-moment. A mistake. One I can’t stop thinking about.

Her fingers in my hair. Her mouth claiming mine like she had a right to.

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