HOCKEY STAR’S SECRET OBSESSION

The first time Nolan Hayes told me to get on my knees, I laughed in his face. Not because I was brave. Because I genuinely thought the hockey superstar had finally lost his f*****g mind. He stood in front of me, six feet of expensive arrogance wrapped in a black team jacket, his damp hair pushed away from his forehead after practice. His eyes stayed on mine with the irritating calm of a man who had spent most of his life getting exactly what he wanted. “You heard me,” he said. I folded my arms. “I heard you. I’m just deciding whether to call security or a psychiatrist.” The corner of his mouth lifted. That was the problem with Nolan Hayes. He was irritatingly attractive when he smiled, and apparently he knew it. “Relax, Hart.” He reached past me and picked up the media folders scattered across the floor. “There’s a chair behind you.” I glanced over my shoulder. There was, in fact, a chair. I looked back at him. “You could have said sit down.” “I could have.” “You deliberately made it sound dirty.” “I didn’t.” “You absolutely f*****g did.” This time, he smiled properly, and I hated the way something warm moved through my stomach at the sight of it. I had been working for the team for twelve days, and somehow I had already discovered three things about Nolan Hayes. He hated journalists. He hated rehearsed answers. And he apparently enjoyed getting under my skin. Unfortunately, I was beginning to enjoy getting under his. That was dangerous. Because Nolan wasn’t just another arrogant athlete. He was the captain, the face on billboards across the city, the man whose jersey sold out whenever the team released a new version. Women flirted with him openly, men wanted his autograph, and reporters could turn a five second glance from him into a headline. I had no interest in becoming one of those people. My job was simple enough. Keep the captain from saying something stupid, prepare him for interviews, manage his public image, and make sure the team’s newest communications campaign didn’t collapse because Nolan decided honesty was more important than diplomacy. So far, he was making my job a f*****g nightmare. “Your interview starts in twenty minutes,” I said. “I know.” “You’re supposed to wear the navy jacket.” “I know.” “You’re supposed to avoid insulting the Portland Pilots.” His eyebrows rose. “They suck.” “Nolan.” “They do.” “Do you want me to remind you what happened the last time you called them garbage on camera?” “They cried.” I stared at him. He stared back. “You’re impossible.” “And you’re bossy.” “I’m doing my job.” “So am I.” “Your job is scoring goals, not starting wars with rival teams.” “Maybe I’m good at both.” I rolled my eyes and reached for the folder in his hand. He didn’t let go. Neither did I. For a moment, neither of us spoke. His fingers were warm against mine, and the contact should have meant nothing. It was a folder. We were two coworkers standing in a hallway. There was no reason for my pulse to suddenly become noticeable. Then Nolan looked down at our hands. Slowly, his gaze lifted to my face. The teasing expression had disappeared. Something else had taken its place. Something quieter. More deliberate. His eyes dropped briefly to my mouth. My breath caught before I could stop it. The hallway seemed suddenly too narrow, the sounds of skates scraping against ice and teammates shouting from the locker room fading into the background. Nolan stepped half an inch closer. Not enough to touch me. Enough that I noticed. “You always this stubborn?” he asked, his voice lower now. “Only with arrogant men.” “Good.” I frowned. “Good?” “I’d hate to think I’m getting special treatment.” “You’re not.” “Keep telling yourself that, Hart.” He released the folder. I pulled it against my chest and took a deliberate step backward. He watched me do it, and the faint smile returned. “You’re enjoying this,” I accused. “Maybe.” “You’re a pain in the ass.” “I’ve been called worse.” “I can think of worse.” “I’d love to hear them.” “You don’t have enough time before your interview.” He laughed, and the sound caught me off guard. It wasn’t the polished laugh he’d probably perfected for cameras. It was real, low and effortless. For one stupid second, I forgot that he was supposed to be my biggest professional headache. Then the locker room door opened behind him. “Hayes!” someone shouted. “Coach wants you.” Nolan didn’t look away from me immediately. “Coming,” he called. He finally turned, then paused. “Don’t change the answer I give in there.” “I’ll change it if it’s stupid.” “You’re going to be trouble.” “I’ve been here twelve days. You figured that out late.” His grin widened. Then he walked away. I watched him for approximately two seconds before mentally telling myself to get a grip. This was Nolan Hayes. He was famous. He was arrogant. He was completely off limits in every way that mattered. And, unfortunately, he was also the first man I’d met in a very long time who could make me forget what I was saying simply by looking at me. I hated that. Mostly because I had a feeling he knew. By the time the interview began, I had managed to convince myself the hallway incident meant nothing. Nolan sat beneath the bright studio lights, answering questions with the bored expression of someone who had done the same interview a thousand times. I stood just outside the camera frame, clipboard against my chest, watching him carefully. “What’s changed for you this season?” the reporter asked. Nolan glanced briefly toward me. I raised one eyebrow. He smiled. “Apparently,” he said, “I’m learning to listen to people who know what they’re talking about.” My eyebrows lifted. The reporter laughed. “Anyone in particular?” Nolan’s eyes found mine again. “Maybe.” Heat crept up my neck. I looked down at my clipboard before anyone could notice. Professional boundaries, I reminded myself. That was all this was. At least, that was what I intended it to be. Because the one thing I didn’t know yet was that Nolan Hayes had already started looking for reasons to be around me. And once he decided he wanted something, he had never been particularly good at letting it go.