Page 114 of Tight End

How the hell am I supposed to go in there and face them all right now?

Using the sleeve of my jersey, I mop my sweaty forehead, pushing back the hair hanging around my face.

I’ve got ten minutes before Coach is gonna lash my ass with some of his famous flaming rhetoric. With a look at the double doors leading into the locker room, I head down the dimly lit tunnel, my blade guards thumping against the cement floor.

It’ll be at least forty-five minutes before the guys get in their warm-downs and showers. By that time, Coach will hopefully have finished chewing me out and I can get on with the rest of my shitty night.

Alone.

I slink down the darkened corridor, gripping the back of my neck. It doesn’t do a damn thing to ease the tension lodged at the base of my skull. I slam my hockey stick against the wall with a loud grunt and immediately regret it.

“Jack,” a female voice calls out.

Fuuuuck.

High heels clack on the floor behind me. “Jack, do you have anything to say about the news about Sam Hartley and Brixton Scott?” she asks breathlessly, stopping right in front of me.

More footsteps follow. Camera shutters snap, flashes pop.

My jaw tenses. And now I’m surrounded.

“No comment,” I hiss.

“I think the people of Oakland want a little more than that,” a male voice says with a smirk curling his lips. “Since you’ve done a great job of destroying their record this season.”

My eyes spit fire at the cocksucker in front of me. “It’s ateam sport,” I growl. “There are six of us out there at any one time. The team’s record is theteam’srecord.”

“Sure seemed like there was an ‘I’ in team tonight,” he continues, fanning the fire he just lit. “Are you going to blame tonight’s loss on the team when it was your decision that cost the Raptors the game?”

Blood rushes between my ears, my fingers wrapping tighter around my stick.

“Excuse me, everyone.”

My head jerks to my left and for a split second, I forget the real reason why there’s a noose wrapped so tight around my neck, why my career is now about eight minutes away from total implosion.

A tall, dark haired guy, about thirty-five, pushes past the press vultures and stops next to me. A powerful whiff of Chanel Bleu fills my lungs and a barrage of X-rated fantasies blow up the sarcastic response I had on deck for the reporter.

I don’t know who the hell this guy is but fuck me, I want to grab hold of his thick hair and fist it while I devour his perfect lips.

“I think we’re done with questions for tonight. You’ll have your chance to talk to the coaches at the press conference later,” he says in a voice so smooth, I can almost feel it drizzle over my skin like an erotic balm.

He flashes a smile that temporarily blinds me, it’s so bright. Then he takes me by the arm and guides me away from the crowd. A long minute passes before I can find my voice.

I shake off his hand and turn to glare at him even though I really want to fall onto my knees right here in front of him. “I don’t know who the hell you are, but I don’t need anyone to fight my battles for me.”

“Because you were doing such a great job of it yourself,” he says, the deep timbre humming against my ear.

“Why don’t you go be a knight in shining armor for someone who gives a fuck?” I shoot back. “And don’t fucking touch me like that again. I don’t need a babysitter.”

His lips press together, his deep-set green eyes sparking the kind of hunger that I’ve closed myself off to since Sam and I ended things. A strand of dark hair falls over one of his eyes and he sweeps it back from his face before taking a step toward me.

His scent clouds the air, choking me with a twisted mixture of desire and disdain.

But the way my skin prickles under his heated stare makes it damn clear which one is winning out.

He slaps one of his hands against the wall, blocking any escape I may have. My heart thrashes, the electricity crackling in the air between us strong enough to make both of us spontaneously combust.

And then…

“If circumstances were different, trust that you’d be begging me to touch you again.” His lips curl into a knowing smile that makes my bones melt. “And as for who I am, just call me God. Because I’m the only one with the power to save you right now, Larson.”

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