Page 16 of Coach's Temptation

"I know. I should get to work anyway. Those boys won't look after themselves now, will they?"

With a quick look at my watch, I swing by the Player's Lounge, digging through the protein bar stash until I find my favorite – lemon cheesecake. It's basically a dessert masquerading as nutrition, and I pocket an extra one before Connor snatches them all up later this afternoon.

Checking on the teams schedule on the wall, I see they've got strength training right now, so I head in that direction. When I arrive, the weight room buzzes with pre-game energy when I push through the double doors. Heavy rock music pounds through speakers, weights clang, and—

Oh.

Oh no.

Hunter's there.

He's leading the team through their warm-up stretches, and sweet baby Jesus, the man is wearing a gray shirt that clings to every muscle. A towel hangs over one shoulder as he demonstrates proper form, those forearms flexing as he moves.

This is fine. Totally fine. He's just a man. A very attractive man. A man I definitely haven't seen naked.

Except I have. Multiple times. In vivid, toe-curling detail.

I bite into my protein bar, trying to focus on literally anything else. Like how Connor's doing his hamstring stretches wrong. Or how Ryder's definitely going to pull something if he keeps bouncing like that.

But then Hunter bends over to correct Logan's form, and—

"Oh, sweet mama," I whisper to myself.

I shake my head and remind myself not to stare. Then, Ryder groans beside me, making me jump from his sudden appearance.

"Damn, my shoulder's killing me." Ryder's knowing smirk tells me he definitely caught me staring at Hunter. "Think you could take a look, Nat?"

"Of course." I slip into professional mode, grateful for the distraction away from Hunter's perfectly sculpted glutes. "Sit."

Ryder plops onto the bench, and I position myself behind him. As my fingers probe the tight muscles of his deltoid, I deliberately keep my eyes focused on my work.

Two can play at this avoidance game, Coach.

I set my hands on Ryder’s broad, sweat-damp shoulder, my fingers pressing into the hard muscle beneath his skin.

"Right here?" I press into a knot, and Ryder hisses through his teeth.

"Yeah, that's the spot."

I dig my fingers deeper, working the tension loose. The mirror spans the entire wall in front of us, and despite my best efforts to stay professional, my eyes flick up for just a second.

Hunter stands by the weight rack, a dumbbell gripped in his white-knuckled hand. His jaw clenches as he watches my fingers work over Ryder's shoulder, my nails grazing occasionally as I massage deeper.

I press harder, digging my thumbs into Ryder’s deltoid, letting my fingers skim his bare skin with a little extra pressure. Just to see if Hunter’s expression changes.

It does.

His throat bobs, his Adam’s apple shifting as he swipes his tongue across his bottom lip.

I bite back a smile and continue my totally innocent, completely professional treatment. My hands slide over Ryder's shoulder blade, pressing firmly into the muscle.

"Better?"

"Oh… fuck," Ryder groans, the sound catching the attention of the room.

Heads turn.

A few of the guys snicker. Someone mutters, "Jesus, rookie, buy her dinner first."

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