Page 18 of Dirty Pucking Player

I have no idea what just happened between us, but I like it far more than I should. And I shouldn’t say the words sitting on the tip of my tongue, but I know I will all the same because apparently, I never do what’s right.

* * *

GREER

His broad shoulders bunch and flex as he turns back to me again.

Christ, he really is hot.

The team should put him on a marketing poster in nothing but his birthday suit and a hockey stick. We would make a killing and sell out every damn game. And something tells me Bash Fury would eat up every second of the attention it would bring him.

Bash scans me from head to toe. “Seems like you might need to relax a little, Coach. You’re coiled tighter than a cobra ready to strike.” His lips spread into a classic Bash smirk. “If you ever need to relieve a little tension, let me know. I have a few ideas on how we can take care of that.”

He pulls the door shut behind him before I have time to even process his words.

What the hell just happened?

My legs shake, and I drop down onto my chair.

Between the compliment and the blatant flirting and the hostility and annoyance, the man is giving me a serious case of whiplash.

Was that a real glimmer of humanity I saw in Bash when he talked about his father? Or was it all just an act? A way to try to smooth over things between us so that his career won’t be at risk?

He seems willing to do anything to cement his position on this team, which is why his parting comment couldn’t have been said seriously. He couldn’t have been insinuating we should hook up. That would be wildly inappropriate, even if I didn’t despise the man.

And I do…despise him.

His arrogance is enough to make anyone hate the man.

I grab the bottle of water from my desk and guzzle down half of it. The cool liquid does nothing to calm the heat flooding my body after what just went down between us. Bash’s proximity and near nakedness were wreaking havoc on me despite how much he pisses me off.

Because, as much as I hate to admit it, Jill was right. Bash is exactly the type of guy I would usually go for. Under different circumstances. And with a different personality. He’s too much like the men who have broken my heart and crushed my spirit in the past.

I want to believe when he says he’s not a bad guy. I want to believe he truly has good intentions and is only here to help the team, but men like Bash Fury only do things that benefit themselves.

That’s something I learned a long time ago. It’s something that has helped me keep this wall of ice around my heart over the years despite the men who have tried to chip away at it.

The one time I let that wall down, that I let someone in and relied on them, let myself believe in happily ever afters, I got burned. And it won’t happen again, especially not at the hands of a man like Bash, who doesn’t even try to hide who or what he really is. Finding a selfless man is rare in this world. And Bash is about as far from selfless as anyone I’ve ever met.

So, why does my hand shake thinking about him being here and staring me down with those whiskey eyes?

Maybe because I’m a fucking fool to think I’m going to be able to control him.

There’s a reason the Warhawks traded him away, and it wasn’t because of lack of performance. The man was one of their highest scorers this season. It was because they can’t control him. And if a coach with that much experience and respect in the position couldn’t get through to Bash, then I don’t stand a fucking chance.

What the hell should I do about him?

I dig my phone out of my purse, scroll through my contacts, and hit send.

It rings three times before the man I need to talk to answers. “Greer? I wasn’t expecting to hear from you tonight. I saw the game.”

Dad’s voice washes over me like a soothing balm. I close my eyes and drop my head back against the chair’s headrest. “Yeah. It wasn’t good.”

He chuckles and turns down the television in the background. “No, it wasn’t, sweetheart, but you win some, you lose some.”

“That’s easy for you to say. Your career doesn’t depend on you winning.”

“I don’t have a career, sweetheart. I’m retired.”

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