HANDS OFF CAPTAIN

chapter three

Chapter Three

Tessa's POV

I stared at Blake's message for almost five minutes before locking my phone.

If I asked you out when I'm no longer your patient, would you say yes?

It was a simple question. A question that should have been easy to answer.

But Blake Callahan wasn't the kind of man I could afford to misunderstand.

He was the captain of the Boston Falcons, one of the most famous hockey players in the league, and a man who seemed to enjoy getting a reaction out of every woman he met.

I had seen women approach him after practice. I had watched them laugh at his jokes, touch his arm, and find excuses to keep him talking. Blake always gave them that charming smile of his.

And now he was asking me out?

I picked up my phone again and opened our conversation.

Me: You shouldn't ask questions you don't intend to follow through on.

His reply came less than a minute later.

Blake: Who says I don't intend to?

I pressed my lips together.

Me: Goodnight, Blake.

Blake: You're avoiding my question, Monroe.

Me: And you're forgetting that I'm your physical therapist.

Blake: I haven't forgotten a single thing about you.

I stared at those words longer than I wanted to admit.

Then I put my phone facedown and turned off the light.

I wasn't going to fall for a few messages from a man who probably knew exactly how to make a woman feel special.

Not even if those messages made me smile.

Especially not then.

The next afternoon, I was finishing my paperwork when an announcement came through the team's staff group chat.

The Boston Falcons were having a team dinner that evening. Players, coaches, and medical staff were all invited.

I read the message twice before putting my phone down.

I had no reason to avoid the dinner. It was a normal team event, and I had attended several since joining the organization.

Still, the thought of seeing Blake outside the training facility made me hesitate.

I was about to return to my paperwork when my phone vibrated again.

This time, it was a private message.

Blake: I assume you've seen the announcement.

I stared at the screen.

Me: I have.

Blake: Good. I'll see you tonight.

I frowned.

Me: Is that an invitation or an assumption?

Blake: The team invited you. I'm hoping you'll come.

I leaned back in my chair.

Me: Why?

Blake: Because I'd like to spend time with you somewhere you aren't holding a clipboard and telling me what I can't do.

A laugh escaped me before I could stop it.

Me: You're injured because you don't listen.

Blake: And yet, here I am, trying to improve myself.

Me: Don't strain yourself, Captain.

Blake: I'll take that as a yes.

Me: Take it as me considering whether I want to attend a dinner I've already been invited to.

Blake: I'll accept that for now.

I shook my head and put the phone away.

He was persistent. I would give him that.

But I wasn't going to a team dinner because Blake wanted me there. I would go because I wanted to, and if he mistook my presence for a promise, that would be his problem.

At least, that was what I told myself.

By seven that evening, I was seated in my car outside the restaurant, wondering why choosing an outfit had taken me longer than usual.

I had settled on a simple black dress and a light jacket. Nothing dramatic. Nothing that suggested I had spent the afternoon wondering what Blake might think when he saw me.

I checked my reflection in the mirror one last time.

"You're going to dinner," I told myself. "Not a date."

With that reminder, I grabbed my bag and went inside.

The restaurant was already lively. Players filled the long tables, their voices mixing with laughter and the clatter of plates. A few members of the coaching staff stood near the entrance, talking.

I greeted them before looking around for an empty seat.

Then I saw Blake.

He was sitting halfway down the main table, listening to one of his teammates tell a story. He wore a dark shirt with the sleeves pushed up to his elbows, and his usual confident smile appeared whenever someone spoke to him.

He looked completely at home.

I was about to take a seat near the end of the table when his gaze shifted toward the entrance.

He saw me.

His conversation stopped for half a second.

It was brief, but I caught it.

Then he stood.

"You're here."

I gave him a dry look. "You sound surprised."

"I was trying not to get my hopes up."

"That's a new experience for you, I'm sure."

He laughed and pulled out the empty chair beside him.

"Sit with me?"

I glanced at the chair, then at him.

"There are plenty of seats."

"I know."

"Then why this one?"

"Because I'd rather talk to you than stare at the wall."

I should have refused simply to remind him that charm wasn't a substitute for sincerity.

Instead, I sat down.

"Don't make me regret this."

Blake took his seat beside me, looking far too pleased.

"I'll do my best."

"Your best needs work."

"That's why I'm spending time with you."

I turned to him sharply.

He grinned.

"Too much?"

"Much too much."

"All right. I'll behave."

I doubted that, but I opened the menu before he could say anything else.

For the first part of dinner, the conversation stayed focused on hockey. The players discussed their next game, their training schedule, and the pressure of keeping their winning streak alive. Blake joined in without dominating the conversation, listening carefully when his teammates spoke.

At one point, a younger player asked him for advice about handling the expectations that came with being a starter.

Blake didn't joke or brush him off.

He gave the player a thoughtful answer, explaining that confidence mattered but preparation mattered more. He reminded him that one bad game didn't define his career and that asking for help wasn't a weakness.

I watched Blake while he spoke.

This was a side of him I rarely saw during our treatment sessions. At the facility, he was always trying to make me react. Here, he seemed comfortable being serious when someone needed him to be.

When the conversation moved on, I returned to my meal.

"You look surprised," Blake said quietly.

I glanced at him. "By what?"

"Me giving advice without making a joke."

"I didn't say that."

"You didn't have to."

I took a sip of water.

"You're a good captain."

He went still for a moment, as if he hadn't expected the compliment.

Then his smile returned, smaller this time.

"Thank you."

It was the first time all evening that he hadn't tried to turn my words into an opportunity to flirt.

For some reason, that made the compliment feel more meaningful.

I looked away before he could notice.

Dinner was almost over when Blake leaned toward me.

"Can I ask you something?"

"You've already asked me enough questions for one day."

"This one is important."

I sighed. "Go ahead."

"Do you always assume the worst about me?"

I set down my fork.

"I don't assume the worst about you."

"Really?"

"I barely know you outside this building."

"Then get to know me."

His answer came so quickly that I had no immediate response.

Blake held my gaze, but he didn't reach for my hand or move closer. He simply waited.

I appreciated that more than I wanted to admit.

"And what exactly are you expecting me to discover?" I asked.

"That I'm not always the man you think I am."

I studied him.

"People don't become different just because someone gives them a chance."

"No," he agreed. "But they don't get a chance if nobody is willing to look beyond what they've heard about them."

I couldn't argue with that.

Still, I wasn't ready to trust him.

"You're asking a lot from someone you barely know too," I said.

"Then we can start with something small."

"Like what?"

"Drink or coffee.”

I blinked.

"Drink or Coffee?”

"Just a drink, Tessa. Somewhere public, at a time that works for you. No pressure."

I looked at him carefully, searching for the joke.

There wasn't one.

"You haven't exactly made it easy for me to take you seriously."

"I know."

"And I'm not interested in being another woman you flirt with when you're bored."

His expression sobered.

"You're not."

"You can't expect me to believe that because you say it."

"I don't. I'll have to show you."

His answer left me quiet.

For once, he wasn't trying to win the conversation. He wasn't teasing me or demanding an answer.

He was giving me room to decide.

That was more dangerous than I wanted it to be.

"I'll think about it," I said at last.

His smile returned, but he didn't celebrate as if he had already won.

"That's all I'm asking."

The evening continued around us. I spoke with the other staff members, laughed at a few stories, and tried to focus on anything other than the man beside me.

But I kept noticing little things.

The way Blake listened when I spoke. The way he asked about my work without making every answer an excuse to flirt. The way he seemed genuinely pleased whenever I laughed.

I didn't know whether those things meant anything.

I only knew that they made it harder to dismiss him.

When the dinner finally ended, I collected my bag and said goodbye to the others.

Blake walked with me toward the entrance.

"Thank you for coming," he said.

"I came for the team."

"Of course."

I gave him a warning look.

He lifted both hands.

"I'm not arguing."

"Good."

We reached the entrance, and I turned toward him.

"Goodnight, Blake."

"Goodnight, Tessa."

I expected another teasing remark, but he let me leave without one.

Outside, I walked toward my car with my thoughts in a mess.

I still hadn't agreed to go on a date with him. I hadn't promised him anything, and I certainly hadn't decided that he deserved my trust.

But I had agreed to consider coffee.

And for a man like Blake Callahan, that might have been enough to keep him trying.

The worst part was that I wasn't sure I wanted him to stop.