Page 102 of Game Misconduct
Maddox pushes his plate away, expression unreadable. “You gonna tell the board you slept with your newest contract?”
I flinch. “Don’t do that.”
“I’m not judging. Just reminding you of the mess we’re in.”
“I haven’t forgotten.”
“Good.” He leans back on the stool, the muscles in his chest flexing with the motion. “Because you’re not the only one who has to answer to people.”
That lands.
Heavy.
I want to be pissed off at him for how he’s acting, but he’s not wrong.
He’s not just a player. He’s the player I signed under scrutiny.
The gamble everyone’s watching.
And I’m the boss who’s supposed to stay above board.
But nothing about last night was above board.
“I didn’t plan for this,” I whisper.
“Neither did I.”
The silence stretches again, but now it’s tighter.
Brittle.
And I hate it.
His eyes find mine, something sharp behind them.
“What do we do now?”
I don’t have an answer. I only know I don’t want him to leave.
“I don’t know. But I’m not pretending last night didn’t happen. I’m not wired like that.”
He watches me, unmoving.
I set down my fork and meet his gaze head-on. “It happened. And I don’t regret it.”
His breath punches out low. “Thank fuck.”
Something eases between us.
Not the tension—it’s still there, humming like a live wire—but the fear of misstep, of saying the wrong thing.
He stands and rounds the counter, stopping right in front of me. His hand brushes mine, warm and firm and grounding.
“We keep it quiet,” he says, voice rough. “We don’t let it touch the team.”
“And when the season ends?”
“We reassess.”
