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More grumbling. I swear he’d become a bear since I last saw him. “You want to spend your Friday night with your old man?”

“Of course.” I smiled. “I’ll be there in a few.”

It was chilly outside, so I threw on my thick black jacket and my grey knitted UGG boots, and made the short walk to campus. I’d taken the same route so many times this past week it was hard to forget.

My hand was poised above my Dad’s office door, ready to knock, when I heard a loud crash coming from the weight room, followed by a roar and an expletive fuck. I raced to where it came from, coming to a halt when I saw a dark haired guy — probably one of my Dad’s players — rolling on the floor, clutching his hand. A feeling of recognition flitted through me, I knew him, but his name didn’t in any way come to mind. My feet carried me toward him of their own accord, and I crouched beside him.

“Are you okay?”

His head shot up as if he’d been struck, and he fixed me with a murderous glare. I stared into stormy green eyes, aware that my heart had picked up its pace and raced wildly within my ribcage. My sharp inhalation didn’t go unnoticed.

“Fine.” It was a growl, and a rather unfriendly one at that.

“You’re hurt,” I told him. Obviously. “Let me see.”

He righted himself just as I reached for the hand he cradled against his chest, and he flinched. My gut tightened. The way he watched me was…unnerving.

With trembling fingers, I touched his hand. His eyes stayed firmly on mine, and if I wasn’t mistaken, it was anger that flashed brightest. Why he was angry I didn’t know, but before I could stop myself, his much bigger hand was resting in mine. I never thought hands could be attractive - I was more of a butt girl — but his long fingers were suddenly of interest to me. Might have been the feel of his skin, a little rough with callouses, rubbing against mine. And oh hell, I was so perving. Over a hand.

A low hiss escaped from between his lips, and damn if it didn’t drag my attention to his mouth. A warm flush worked its way into my cheeks.

“It’s probably just bruised,” he said. If I thought his mouth was distracting…his voice. It was like sex — slow, hot and seductive.

Wait, what?

My brows puckered, and when — what was his name? — tried to take his hand back, I reflexively held on tighter. He hissed again, and my eyes widened when I realized I’d hurt him.

“Shit, sorry,” I shook my head. “Let me get you an ice pack.”

My Dad kept extra ice packs in his office so I grabbed one and took it back to…dammit, why hadn’t I bothered with his name yet? And why did I feel like I should know it already?

“I can take it from here,” he told me, avoiding my gaze. Rather than hand him the ice-pack, I took his hand, and rested it on his wrist. He still wouldn’t look at me, and for some reason that bothered me.

“What’s going on here?” My Dad’s voice boomed through the empty room, making me jump back, only to fall on my ass.

“King?”

“Sorry Coach, I hurt my wrist, and Kenzi was helping me ice it.”

He knew my name? And not just my name, but my nickname. My friends called me Kenzi, while I introduced myself to everyone else as Makenzie.

“Will you be okay?”

I was still staring at the guy my Dad referred to as ‘King’ from my spot on the floor.

“I’ll be fine,” he replied, not looking at all pleased.

I scrambled to my feet at the same time he stood, and the weirdest thing happened.

“You could say thanks,” I said haughtily. “King.”

Why was I trying to argue with this…this…stranger?

He glowered at me, actually fucking glowered like I was the one who dropped the weight on his hand.

“Kenzi,” my Dad warned. What the hell?

“Vaughan,” — ha, he has a name! — “You going to be able to drive like that?”