Page 16 of Dirty As Puck
Kai runs a hand through his hair, clearly frustrated. “This is exactly what I was trying to avoid.”
“What, having to tolerate my presence for forty-eight hours? I’ll try not to cramp your style too much.”
“My style isn’t the problem. The problem is you documenting everything I do for your little exposé.”
Little exposé.Like my career is some kind of hobby. “I’m not here to spy on your personal life, Morrison. I’m here because my alternative is hypothermia.”
His eyes flash at the deliberate use of his last name. “Right. And I’m supposed to believe you won’t be taking notes on my sleeping habits?”
“Only if you do something worth writing about.”
Kai stares at me for a long moment, then steps aside with obvious reluctance. “Fine. But we’re setting ground rules.”
I brush past him in the doorway, and the brief contact sends electricity shooting up my arm. I have to resist the urge to jerk away like I’ve been burned.
Get it together. You’re a professional.
The room is spacious by hotel standards, with a sitting area, work desk, and one very large king bed that seems to dominate the entire space. The couch looks comfortable enough, but it’s positioned directly across from the bed with a clear sight line.
This is going to be torture.
“I’ll take the couch,” I say quickly, before Morrison can make the offer. “And I’ll try to stay out of your way as much as possible.”
“Fine.” Morrison’s voice is clipped, professional, but I catch him glancing at the bed and then at me, like he’s thinking the same thing I am.
One night. I can do one night.
We maintain careful distance as we go through the evening routine of settling in. Kai orders room service while I set up my laptop at the desk, both of us speaking only when necessary and avoiding eye contact whenever possible.
But I’m hyperaware of everything he does. The way he moves around the room with easy confidence. The way his jeans fit across his ass when he bends to plug in his phone charger. The way his shirt pulls tight across his shoulders when he reaches for something in his bag.
Stop staring. Stop thinking about how his hands felt on your face. Stop remembering the way he kissed you.
When room service arrives, we eat in silence, Kai at the small table while I stay at the desk with my laptop. But I can feel him watching me when he thinks I’m not paying attention, and every time I glance up, there’s heat in his eyes that has nothing to do with anger.
He’s thinking about the kiss too.
By nine o’clock, the tension in the room is thick enough to cut with a knife. Kai announces he’s going to shower first, and I nod without looking up from my laptop screen.
Don’t think about him naked. Don’t think about water running over all those muscles you felt through his hoodie. Don’t think about whether he’s thinking about you while he’s in there.
But the bathroom is only feet away, and the walls aren’t thick enough to block out the sound of running water. I try to focuson typing notes from today’s travel, but my concentration keeps fracturing every time I hear him moving around in there.
When the water stops, I hold my breath, waiting for him to emerge. The bathroom door opens, and Kai walks out wearing nothing but a towel wrapped around his waist, water still beaded on his chest and shoulders.
I’ve seen shirtless athletes before. Locker room interviews are part of the job. But seeing Kai half-naked in the intimate setting of a hotel room is completely different. His body is exactly what I expected from watching him play––broad shoulders, defined chest, abs that look like they were carved from stone. But there are details I couldn’t see from the press box: the scar along his left ribs, the tattoo on his shoulder that looks like coordinates, the way his hair curls when it’s wet.
Don’t stare. Don’t let him catch you staring.
But it’s too late. Kai notices me looking, and instead of being embarrassed or hurrying to get dressed, he holds my gaze. For a moment that stretches too long, neither of us moves. The air between us feels charged, like the moment before lightning strikes.
He knows exactly what he’s doing to me.
Kai smirks and walks to his bag to pull out sleep clothes, taking his time like he enjoys having an audience.
Arrogant prick.
“Bathroom’s free,” he says, his voice carrying just enough suggestion to make my pulse jump.
