Page 7 of Coach's Temptation

He jerks his head towards Mia, who's near the fireplace keeping warm with bright red lipstick on her smiling lips.

I smile back and wave, her hazel eyes sparkling as she adjusts the oversized Icehawks jersey she's clearly stolen from Ryder's closet.

The sight makes me smile. Those two have been friends forever, I just wish they would see what everyone else does.

"Vancouver's defense is swiss cheese this season." Blake leans against the bar, eyes fixed on the screen, completely ignoring the conversation. "But Chicago's got that new center from Finland-"

"Nieminen." Connor's fingers drum against his glass. "Guy's got hands like butter."

"Yeah, but their power play is garbage." Ryder swipes a handful of nachos the moment Eli lifts them onto the bar. "Twenty-sixth in the league."

"Says the kid who couldn't score on a power play if the net was empty." Blake reaches over to ruffle Ryder's hair.

"Hey, I scored against Vancouver already!"

"On a deflection." Connor and Blake say in unison.

I catch Eli's eye and tap my glass. "Don't go too far. I'm gonna need another one of these before long."

"Aw come on Hayes, you've been our PT long enough to know I'm right."

Ryder attempts to steal more nachos but Blake smacks his hand away.

Then, their voices fade into background noise as I feel it again - that familiar heat crawling up my spine.

I don't need to turn around to know Hunter's watching me. His stare burns into me from across the room, making my skin tingle like I've been struck by lightning.

When I finally risk a glance, the darkness in his eyes steals my breath.

Hungry. That's the only word for it.

I grab my fresh drink, taking a long sip to cool the flush rising in my cheeks. This push and pull between us isn't new. The way he tracks my movements like I'm the only person in the room, even when he's supposed to be focusing on the biggest game of the season.

The way I pretend not to notice, even as every cell in my body hums with awareness of exactly where he is, what he's doing, how many steps it would take to close this distance between us.

It's always been like this between us. Ever since the moment I stepped into Icehawk HQ a few years ago.

The crowd on screen roars as Chicago buries the first goal, and the tavern erupts with groans and curses. Eli smacks the bar with a towel, showing us who he wants in the playoffs, while Connor swears under his breath and shoves an entire chicken wing into his mouth, bones and all.

But I barely register the noise.

Because he’sstillwatching me.

Or, at least, he was.

I turn my head just in time to catch our Coach looking away, his expression unreadable, his grip on his beer tight like it’s theonly thing keeping him from walking across this bar and ruining me.

God, how did we get here?

Three years ago, I walked into his office, fresh out of my residency, clutching my physio credentials like a lifeline.

Eager. Determined. Ready to prove myself.

And he was exactly what I expected - a strict, disciplined man who expected perfection. Of course that's what I expected. This is a professional hockey unit and they don't settle for anything less than the best.

I should’ve been intimidated.

Instead, I was… fascinated.

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