Page 43 of Risking the Pucking Defense

What happened…that was last weekend. We’ve both moved on.

Right?

“Fucking hell,” I mutter, twisting my hair up into a bun and then letting it fall down again.

Nothing happened. There is nothing to move on from. Just a few hours to forget and put behind us.

But I can’t seem to do that.

Every day this week, I thought of him. Wondered how he’s getting on. Second-guessed if I should send him a message and check on him.

But then I remember the situation I got myself in last time, and I push the thought aside.

But I can’t ignore him now. Can I?

I know where he is. Or at least, where he was. Brooke helpfully sent me some of her footage, titling her thirst trap, “The Hottest Players in the NHL are Vipers.” And if I’m being honest with myself, she isn’t wrong.

The sight of the five of them splashing around in the ocean shirtless…yeah, that’s the thing of a lot of women’s fantasies.

Not mine, though. I work with them. I can’t be lured in by a topless hockey player with water running all over his toned and tanned skin. Especially one who’s almost ten years too young for me.

Goddamn it.

Before I know what I’m doing, I swipe the screen, and there before me appears Hayden’s message.

Monroe: Hey, how’s it going? We’re all hanging out at the beach if you fancy joining us.

I sink back in my seat.

He’s…inviting me to hang out with them.

I didn’t see that coming.

Placing my cell down on the table in front of me, I look around at my surroundings before my eyes are pulled back to his message.

It would be so easy to take him up on it. I’m not that far away.

But…

As much as I might be tempted, I can’t.

I’ve already blurred too many lines recently. I need to keep this one clear and vivid.

I don’t hang out with the players. I certainly don’t spend time with the one I accidentally woke up in bed with the other morning.

But what if you did? a little voice asks. Would it be so bad?

I’ve already agreed to spend tomorrow dress shopping with Bea. Maybe I should throw my entire rule book out the window for the rest of the off-season and also spend the night on the beach with the people who keep trying to include me in things.

But what happens when they get tired of me? When they discover I’m too boring to hang out with them? When they replace me with someone else?

No. It’s better to stick with my MO: do not mix work with pleasure.

Ha. Pleasure. As if I have any of that to mix with anything.

As I’m trying to figure out what to reply, my dinner arrives.

I stare at the lobster I’ve been thinking about treating myself to all day, and suddenly, I don’t feel all that hungry.