Page 29 of The No Try Zone
“Coach is fine,” I say, desperate to shut him up.
“You know she’s Ollie’s sister, yeah?” Carter continues.
Sam stiffens. I shouldn’t notice it so readily, but apparently if Sam’s involved, I notice everything. Like the freckle on her collarbone. The one I sucked on as she writhed beneath me.
“I know.” My gaze rests on her as I answer, drawn like a magnet. Looking at Sam is as natural as breathing. The instant she’s near me, I’m powerless to do anything but stare. Maybe that’s why it feels like I know her more than I should. Because I am absolutely certain she hates being thought of as Ollie’s sister. She’s so much more than that.
And if the team knew she was my wife? What then?
Carter’s eyes are on her, too. They’re hungry, the emotion plain to see, and I can only imagine what the three of us would look like if anyone walked in. “I think the better way to put it is that Ollie is her brother.”
Carter rips his attention from Sam with a placid smile. “Cool, cool,” he says, then immediately shifts back to the infuriated vision beside him. “So anyway, Sam, I swear this machine –”
“Shoot,” Sam interrupts, pointedly looking at her watch, “I forgot that I have another appointment.”
“Oh, with River? Don’t worry about him – he’s a baby. Whines about everything.” He leans forward and winks. “He can wait a few minutes.”
Sam narrows her gaze at him. “I need to go.” Without missing a beat, she swivels on her heel, brushing past me with a none-too-subtle shoulder check.
“Whoa,” Carter chuckles. “Easy there.”
Pretty sure the only person who’s supposed to hear Sam’s answering growl is me.
Clearing my throat, I give Carter a nod, hoping he takes it as the dismissal I intend it to be, and turn to follow Sam. My pride won’t let me chase her, but damn if I don’t move a little faster once I’m out of Carter’s view.
“Sam.”
She doesn’t stop.
“Sam.”
Her shoulders tense as she speeds up.
“Sam, for fuck’s sake –”
She whirls on me. “Don’t you ‘Sam’ me, Colin,” she seethes, ice-blue eyes flashing with ire. “We have nothing to talk about.”
I lower my voice, hoping she takes the hint. “Will you please come to my office?”
“For what? Do you have divorce papers in there?”
Christ, this woman. “No, I don’t.”
“Then please explain to me why I want to talk to you.”
I huff a laugh. “Because we can’t be like this.”
Color flames her cheeks. “Says who? You? And I’m supposed to listen to you? Because the last time I did that,we got married, you cowardly asshole.”
I clench my jaw and absorb the blow because I fucking deserve it, then press my palms together and raise them as I breathe. “Please.”
Sam studies me, biting her lip as she considers. Eventually, she exhales an irritated, “Fine.”
The only sound in the stairwell is the scuff of our sneakers as we climb to the top floor, and I brace myself for the lashing I know she’s about to serve. The carpeted hallway leading to my office feels endless, and it’s a relief to stop outside the threshold and wave her to go in ahead of me.
She sashays past, ponytail bouncing, her woodsy scent enveloping me and slamming me right back into that night on the Strip. My eyes stray down her body, feasting on the skin that peeks between multiple thin straps crisscrossing her back beneath a loose, low-cut top. It’s skin I never quite got my mouth on. She walks with the same confidence that lured me in that night, her steps never faltering as she moves straight to the windows overlooking the pitch.
Fuck.
