Page 45 of Coach's Temptation

Pull back. I need to pull back.

But Natalie shifts closer. The blanket slides down her shoulder, and I catch a glimpse of my team logo across her chest.

My hoodie. My bed. My Natalie.

Then her lips find mine.

Just the softest brush. Barely there. But it's enough to taste the vanilla Chapstick, enough to feel the warmth of her breath mingling with mine again.

I let it last a second too long, memorizing the sensation before I force myself to pull away.

Natalie blinks up at me, those green eyes clearing slightly. "I'm dreaming, aren't I?"

My voice comes out wrecked. "Go back to sleep, baby."

Chapter Eleven

Natalie

Iwake with a start, my mind fuzzy around the edges.

I blink up at the unfamiliar ceiling, the heavy comforter wrapped around my body like a burrito. My muscles feel warm, relaxed. Like I sleptwell.

Which is weird, considering I had one glass of wine at Ridgeview last night. Maybe two if you count the one on the sofa when I got home.

I rub my face, exhaling slowly as I stretch my legs under the covers. A hazy warmth lingers in my bones, like a whisper of something soft. Something fleeting.

And then—

A voice.

Yeah, baby. Go back to sleep.

I roll over, pressing my face into the pillow. Fragments of a dream float through my consciousness—Hunter's voice, low and gentle. The brush of his fingers against my cheek. His lips, yes.. his lips.

"Get it together, Hayes." I groan into the pillow. "It's not like this is the first time you've had that dream."

And it's not. My subconscious has been torturing me with Hunter-themed dreams since I joined the Icehawks. Usually they're a lot steamier than this, though.

This felt different. Real.

I drag myself out of bed, my feet soon sinking into the heated floor tiles on the bathroom. The mirror shows my reflection, hair a mess and I'm… still wearing Hunter's team hoodie? No pajamas?

Come to think of it, I don't actually remember coming up to bed last night. Weird.

The shower starts with a push of a button, water streaming from multiple directions in a luxurious cascade. I step under the spray, letting the cold shock clear my head before I crank the heat up.

"Brain," I mutter, working shampoo through my hair, "I need you to get your shit together today. Game one of playoffs. Stay focused."

But the dream lingers, refusing to fade like dreams should.

So I do what any sane woman would do…

I grab the detachable showerhead, crank the water pressure up to high, and press it between my legs like I’m trying to rinse off every bad decision I’ve never even made.

I shift my weight, tilting my hips, and—

"Ohhhhh…"

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