Page 3 of Pucking My Grumpy Accidental Husband
"That's inappropriate," Tom says sharply. "Dr. Bennett is here to do a job, not to date any of you knuckleheads."
"Come on, Coach," Jamie Torres grins. "We're just being friendly."
"Be friendly with your sticks," Tom shoots back. "Dr. Bennett, anything else you'd like to add?"
I should say something witty. Something that establishes boundaries and earns respect. Instead, I'm hyperaware of Dax's presence and of the way he's watching me.
"Just that I'm excited to be here," I manage. "And I hope we can work together effectively."
"Alright, you heard the lady," Tom claps his hands. "Practice in ten minutes. Move your asses."
The room comes alive with movement as players finish getting ready, but I'm frozen in place, watching as bodies flow around me toward the door. Most of them nod or smile as they pass, and a few make comments about being excited to work with me.
But Dax doesn't move. He stays seated on that bench, still watching me with those storm-gray eyes that seem to see straight through my professional facade to the woman who wrote him a goodbye note and fled.
The locker room empties around us. Tom gives me a questioning look, but I wave him off with what I hope passes for a confident smile.
"I'll catch up with you in a few minutes," I tell him, my voice surprisingly steady.
He nods and follows the last of the players out, leaving me alone with the man who's been haunting my dreams for three days.
Dax finally stands, and Jesus Christ, I'd forgotten how tall he is. How he seems to take up all the oxygen in a room just by existing. In his hockey gear, he's even more imposing—all broad shoulders and controlled power wrapped in padding and attitude.
Three days ago, I married a stranger in Vegas. Now that stranger is my colleague, and he's making it very clear that he has no intention of pretending we're strangers.
I'm so fucked.
I turn back to face him, and the sight of him standing there in all his gear, helmet tucked under his arm, looking like every fantasy I've ever had, almost does me in.
"Well, Dr. Bennett, I guess I'll see you around."
The way he says my title makes it sound like a dirty word, and I flee before I can do something we'll both regret.
CHAPTER 2
DAX
I've been hit in the face with a hockey puck exactly seventeen times in my career, and not one of those experiences prepared me for the absolute clusterfuck of emotions that slam into me when I see Tessa Bennett standing in my locker room.
Because it's not just Tessa Bennett, PhD in Sports Psychology and new mental performance coach. It's Tessa who laughed at my terrible Elvis impression in that chapel three days ago. Tessa who tangled her fingers in my hair while I kissed her breathless. Tessa who disappeared without a trace and left me wondering if I'd dreamed the whole damn thing.
And Jesus Christ, she's even more beautiful than I remembered. In Vegas, she'd been all soft curves and wild hair and that laugh that made my chest tight. But here, in her professional armor of a navy blazer and pencil skirt, she's something else entirely. Untouchable. Controlled. Every strand of that chestnut hair is perfectly in place, pulled back in a low ponytail that makes me want to grab a fistful and mess it up.
Her hazel eyes are doing that thing I remember from Vegas—shifting from green to gold depending on the light. Right nowthey're more gold, which probably means she's either angry or aroused, and I'm betting on the first one given the way she's trying to pretend she doesn't know me.
Those full lips are pressed into a thin line as she talks, and I can see the faint freckles across her nose that I kissed while she was coming apart beneath me.. She's wearing minimal makeup, but she doesn't need it. The woman could make a nun habit look sexy.
Her hands are clasped behind her back, and I notice she's twisting her ring finger—a nervous habit that makes my stomach clench because I know exactly what used to be there. The matching gold band to the one I'm still wearing like a fucking idiot.
"...looking forward to working with all of you," she's saying, and her voice is different from Vegas. More controlled, more professional. But I can hear the slight tremor underneath, the way it catches on certain words like she's fighting to keep it steady.
Some asshole from the back asks if she's single, and my hands tighten on my helmet hard enough that I'm surprised it doesn't crack. The urge to stand up and inform the entire team that she's married—to me—is so strong I have to bite my tongue until I taste blood.
Instead, I just sit there like a statue, watching her try to maintain her composure while our eyes keep finding each other across the room. Every time our gazes meet, I see her professional mask slip just a little bit more.
When Coach Martinez finally dismisses everyone, I don't move. I can't. If I stand up right now, I'll either storm over there andkiss her until she remembers what we had, or I'll do something stupid like throw my helmet at the nearest wall.
The locker room empties around us, but I stay planted on that bench, holding her gaze like it's the only thing keeping me sane. She's frozen too, probably running through all the same scenarios I am. All the ways this could go wrong.
