Page 102 of Her Player

I knew exactly what her mind did in those moments.

I knew whose face she saw.

"Victoria," I said.

"Don't," she said quietly.

"I heard him."

"I know you are." She drew in a measured breath through her nose. "I know."

I pressed a kiss to her temple and held it there. I felt the tight set of her shoulders slowly give way beneath my mouth. She let out a breath that she'd probably been holding since the wildcard game, and some of the steel went out of her spine.

"Six days," I said against her hair. "Doctor clears me in six days."

"Five," she corrected. "You've already survived four."

"Five days," I said, "and then I'm back on that ice, and we go take that damn championship."

She pulled back just enough to look up at me. Those gray eyes of hers were steady now, the flinch gone, replaced by something quieter and more settled. Something that looked almost like trust.

"You better not let that Canadian get anywhere near your neck," she said.

"I won't."

"I mean it, Rhett."

"I know you do."

I kissed her forehead. Let my mouth rest there for a second.

"Good," I said. "Now show me that right side gap again."

She picked up the tablet.

I padded down the hallway and leaned against the kitchen doorframe, watching her.

She stood at the window with her back to me, one arm crossed over her chest, the other holding her phone to her ear. Still in the robe. Still in those lopsided glasses. But her posture had shifted completely. Shoulders back and spine straight, feet planted like she was standing on the ice instead of her damn kitchen floor.

"Tell Hargrove I'm aware of his timeline and I don't care about it," she said into the phone. "The deal closes when I say it closes. Not before." A pause. "Because I've got a championship game in five days and my attention is elsewhere right now, that's why. Tell him to sit tight or find someone else's franchise to circle."

She hung up without a goodbye.

I raised my eyebrows when she turned around and found me in the doorway. "Hargrove?"

"Investment group out of New York." She set her phone face down on the counter. "They've been sniffing around the team since the wildcard win. Third call this week."

"How much are they offering?"

Her mouth flattened. "Enough that my business partner thinks I should take the meeting."

"But you're not going to."

"Not until after the championship. And not without terms that keep full operational control exactly where it is." She looked at me. "In my hands."

I stared at her for a second. Standing there in her kitchen in a silk robe and crooked glasses, telling a New York investment group to sit the hell down while her coffee went cold on the counter. Running a franchise and shutting down a deal and managing a crisis, all before nine in the morning.

Goddamn it, I loved her.