Page 8 of Pucking My Grumpy Accidental Husband
"And after that?"
"After that, we're just colleagues who used to know each other in Vegas. If that's what you want."
"It's what I need," I correct. "There's a difference."
"Is there?"
I don't answer, because I'm not sure I know the difference anymore.
"Tessa, I need you to understand something," he says seriously. "The general manager here, Rick Harrison, he's old school. He has a strict no-fraternization policy between staff and players."
"How strict?"
"Immediate termination strict. No exceptions. He's fired people for less."
My stomach drops. "Less than what?"
"Less than being married to a player." He gives me a meaningful look. "If he finds out about Vegas, you're gone. No reference, no severance, just gone."
"So, we're keeping a career-ending secret."
"We're keeping a secret that protects both of us," he corrects. "Harrison doesn't trust relationships between staff and players. He thinks they're distractions that hurt team performance."
"So, what do we do?"
"We follow the rules. Professional behavior during work hours. No personal discussions in team facilities. We pursue the annulment quietly, and no one can know about Vegas."
It sounds simple when he says it like that. Logical and professional. Except for the way my heart rate kicks up every time he looks at me.
But when he extends his hand for a professional handshake, and I take it, the contact sends electricity shooting up my arm. His hand is warm and callused and completely engulfs mine, and for a moment, we both just stand there, staring at our joined hands.
"This is going to be harder than it sounds," I whisper.
"Yeah," he agrees, his thumb brushing across my knuckles. "It is."
We're standing too close, our hands still linked, and I can see the exact moment when his gaze drops to my lips. I know that if either of us moves an inch closer, all our good intentions will go out the window.
That's when we hear footsteps in the hallway, followed by Jamie Torres's voice calling out, "Dax! You in here, man?"
We spring apart like we've been electrocuted, and I immediately smooth my skirt while Dax runs a hand through his hair.
"Shit," he mutters.
"In here, Torres," Dax calls back.
The footsteps get closer, and I can feel panic rising in my chest. "What do I do?"
"Just be professional," he says. "Act like we were discussing your assessment of the team."
The door opens, and Jamie sticks his head in with that easy grin. "There you are, man. I've been looking everywhere for—" He stops when he sees both of us. "Oh. Hi, Dr. Bennett. Didn't expect to see you here."
"Mr. Torres," I say, trying to sound steady. "I was just consulting with Mr. Kingston about some observations from today's practice."
"That's... thorough."
"What did you need, Torres?" Dax's voice has an edge to it.
"Just wanted to see if you wanted to grab dinner. But if you're busy..." Jamie trails off meaningfully.
