Page 11 of Unleashed

Interesting.

I hit rewind, let the footage play at normal speed. Viggy sat shirtless, facing the camera. My gaze snagged on the play of muscles beneath his tanned skin, the way they shifted as he unlaced his skates. On the white scar that cut across the top of his shoulder—a battle wound from some long-ago game? The mark did nothing to diminish his raw masculine power.

Heat pooled low in my belly. Those careful, controlled movements of his hands on the laces...God, what would they feel like skating across my skin? Years of dedication had sculpted that broad chest and those shoulders, but the quiet intensity in his face truly drew me in. His jaw clenched slightly as he concentrated, the subtle flex of muscle there making my fingers itch to trace along that strong line.

I’d seen my fair share of athletic bodies over the last eight months. But Jack Vignier? He hit differently. Maybe it was how the power in his frame tempered with that edge of vulnerability in unguarded moments. Or how his presence filled a room without him ever raising his voice. Whatever it was, it called to something primal in me, my skin too tight, thoughts scattering in dangerous directions.

I wrenched my gaze away. I was here to tell a story, not drool over the six-foot-two slab of hockey-playing perfection.

A six-foot-two slab of perfection who wanted me to disappear as much as he wanted to touch me.

And he wanted to touch me. I hadn’t lived this long without recognizing when a man wanted me. But he hadn’t acted on the attraction and I darn sure wouldn’t either. Too much rode on this series for me to risk it for a man, no matter his perfection.

Riley stood beside his gym bag in a towel and nothing more. His unscarred, wiry frame drew a stark contrast to Viggy’s battle-forged mass. “No?” He hailed out a pair of tighty-whitey underwear. “What about a tattoo, then? Maybe she has a thing for tattoos. Maybe I should get one. Something big and badass like Rempel has all over his back.”

Viggy grunted in the video, tugging at a stubborn knot in his laces. “Kid, a tattoo is not gonna help you with that woman.”

My lips pulled into a grin. Not so fast, Viggy. Adele would love a tattoo.

Riley plopped down on the bench, his expression uncharacteristically serious. “Then what, Cap? I’ve tried everything.”

Viggy gave a sharp shake of his head. “Scrounge up another ten years and she might give you the time of day.”

Viggy hit the nail on the head. My bestie was well aware of the rookie’s crush, but she’d never had a thing for younger guys. And Adam screamed puppy. Happy, playful puppy. Not her style at all. Poor guy was barking up the wrong tree.

But Viggy’s delivery of that news was savage. Honest, but without his usual panache.

Adam’s shoulders slumped. Poor dude. He looked like he needed a pet. A good scratch behind the ear to soften the blow.

Viggy’s head snapped up, blue eyes piercing through the camera and straight into my soul. Jesus. Electricity jolted through my chest, my heart lodging somewhere near my tonsils. For a split second, heat flooded my cheeks like he could actually see me here, watching him, wanting him—

A phone chirped, shattering the moment. Thank God. His scowl could have melted steel as he twisted away, broad shoulders blocking the camera’s view while he dug through his locker. That magnificent back rippled with barely contained power, and wasn’t that just perfect? Even his retreat screamed controlled strength, leaving me breathless and off-balance.

Get it together, Sutton. He couldn’t actually see through the camera. The flutter in my stomach was pure imagination mixed with dangerous levels of attraction. But those blue eyes haunted me, fierce and knowing, like he’d caught me red-handed ogling players.

Player. Singular. Only Jack Vignier tempted me to forget everything I had riding on this show.

I zipped through the rest of the locker room footage, sending a few timestamps toUnleashed’s editor holed up in the conference room, before packing up for the day.

Just then, Curtis Mackenzie popped out of the tunnel, caught sight of me and bee-lined my way. He dropped onto the bench to my left.

“I’m hiding,” he said, his voice low, conspiratorial. “And if you rat me out, Sutton, we’re gonna have a big problem.” He winked, his blue eyes twinkling.

TheAces Unleashedcrew were like visitors who’d long overstayed their welcome. Some folks had grown accustomed to our presence; others had zero tolerance. Coach Mack fell somewhere in between.

“What’re you hiding from?”

“Someone left a three-legged iguana in my office.” He widened his eyes dramatically. “Don’t get me wrong. I think an iguana isexactlywhat my office needed. But I can’t help but wonder…Where is it going to the bathroom? The idea of it taking a shit on my desk won’t leave me alone.”

I laughed. “Whitney had the iguana Saturday. Did he end up adopting it?”

“No idea.” He ran a hand over his smooth, bald head. “But someone thinks they’re being funny, and I don’t want to let on that it’s freaking me out. Once my brain fixed on the bathroom issue, I couldn’t shake it. I’m currently pretending to be unfazed. The guys need to relax this time of year. I’m good with being the butt of their joke if it gets them out of their head for a minute.”

“Since you’re here, mind if I ask you some questions?”

He turned to straddle the bench, one leg cocked higher than the other, then groaned. “Somehow this was a lot more comfortable when I was younger.” He twisted around until he had two feet on the floor in front of him again and gave me a wave. “Fire away. But go easy on me, Sutton. Remember, I’m dealing with an iguana invasion and its nearly playoff season. My nerves arethis close”—he held his index and thumb a half-inch apart —"to being shot.”

I tossed him a grin as I dug my recorder out of my bag. “Just a couple quick questions about the team’s mindset heading into these last games. What’s the mood in the locker room?”

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