I lick my still-tingling lips. Swallow roughly. “Wednesday’s media availability,” I say, opening the folder again. “Questions about your weekend will be inevitable. We address it briefly, acknowledge poor judgment, pivot to team goals and community involvement.”
“What community involvement?”
“The kind we're going to schedule.” I pull up my calendar with trembling hands. “Hospital visits, youth hockey clinics, charity events. We're going to make you look like a saint who had one bad weekend.”
He leans back in the chair, watching me with those dark eyes. “And what if I don't want to be a saint?”
“Then enjoy watching your career implode.”
The words come out harsh, but I'm rattled by that kiss and the way my body is still humming with awareness of him.
“Is that a threat?”
“It's reality. Your choice.”
We stare at each other across my desk, the air crackling with tension that's both professional and deeply personal. He's testing me, pushing boundaries, seeing how far he can go before I break.
But I don't break. I never break.
“The hospital visit is Friday at two PM,” I say, consulting my notes. “Wear something appropriate. Smile at the kids. Don't mention alcohol, women, or partying.”
“Anything else?”
“Yes.” I close my laptop and look at him directly. “Don't kiss me in my office again.”
“What about outside your office?”
“Get out.”
Liam’s answer is a laugh that rings in my office, long after he’s left.
6
Liam
Practice runs long today. Extra drills, extra conditioning. Coach rides us hard after the All-Star break. By the time I get home, my legs are dead and my head is still buzzing from this morning's meeting with Avery.
That kiss. The way she looked at me afterward. Like she wanted to fucking run and stay at the same time. I should feel guilty about it.
I pushed her boundaries when she’s clearly focused on her job. I’ve never been confused about a woman. The women I’ve been around are simple to read. They want the experience and the Instagram photo with a famous athlete.
But Avery is a puzzle I can't solve. One minute she's melting against me, the next she's building walls so high I need a ladder to see over them.
Is she attracted to me or just tolerating me as part of her job? She responds to my touch like her body is betraying her better judgment, but then she shuts down so fast it gives me whiplash.
It's driving me insane.
I grab a beer from the fridge and collapse onto my couch, pulling out my phone. Instagram, X, the usual mindlessscrolling. Anything to avoid thinking about how badly I've fucked up my life lately.
Then I see it.
The post stops me cold. Six tiny golden retriever puppies are huddled together in what looks like a concrete kennel. I scroll down to the caption.
URGENT: These 6 babies need homes TODAY. Kill shelter closing tomorrow morning. Please share - these innocent lives depend on it. #SaveThem #LastChance
The puppies can't be more than eight weeks old. They're pressed against each other, scared and small and completely helpless. One of them is looking directly at the camera with huge pleading eyes.
I scroll through the comments. Dozens of people saying they wish they could help, but can't. Excuses about apartment policies, travel schedules, other pets. Everyone wants someone else to be the hero.
