Page 77 of My Pucked Up Enemy

He smirks again, but it fades quickly. "I’m serious. You made me feel like I could breathe. Like I wasn’t holding everything in for once. And I know you’re probably going to give me some speech about professional distance, and yeah, okay, fine, but I need you to hear this."

I stay silent. Let him fill the space.

"I want more," he says. "Not just with hockey. With you. I don’t know what it looks like, or how the hell it would even work, but I want it."

My throat tightens.

God, part of me wants to leap over the desk and kiss him stupid. The other part remembers the policies, the risk, the line we already crossed.

"Alex," I say, softer now, "what we did was..."

"Real."

"Complicated."

He shakes his head. "No, it’s not. You feel it too. I saw it in your face."

I stand, pacing toward the window because looking at him makes my heart forget what it’s supposed to do.

"You're not wrong," I admit. "It was real. And yes, I felt something. But feeling something doesn’t make it right."

He’s quiet for a moment. Then, "You’re afraid."

"I’m responsible," I counter. "There’s a difference."

He stands too, slow, deliberate, as if moving too fast might shatter the fragile air between us.

"So what now? You want to pretend it never happened? Go back to breathing exercises and visualization drills like I didn’t have my mouth on your skin forty-eight hours ago?"

The words scorch through me.

"I want to protect this team," I say. "I want to protectyou. If this becomes a distraction—"

"It won’t."

I meet his eyes. "You can’t promise that."

He steps closer. Not close enough to touch, but close enough to feel.

"No. But I can promise I won’t stop caring. I won’t stop showing up. And I won’t pretend I don’t want you just because it’s easier."

Silence stretches.

Finally, I say, "Then we need rules."

His brow arches. "Rules?"

"Boundaries," I clarify. "Sessions stay focused. No flirtation. No touching. No... late-night visits."

He groans and sinks back into the chair. "You’re killing me, Doc."

I smile, but it’s small. Tight. Sad.

"I know."

He rubs his hands over his face, then looks up at me with something raw in his expression. "So what do we do in the meantime?"

I sit again, folding my hands on the desk. "We get through the season. We build trust. And we figure it out one day at a time."

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