Page 52 of Pucking My Bad Boy Boss
The elevator dings, signaling our arrival at our floor, and we step out into the quiet hallway. We walk side by side to our apartment door, the tension between us palpable. It's a strange and unfamiliar feeling, this mix of professional respect and personal attraction.
As Isabella unlocks the door and steps inside, she pauses, turning to face me. Her eyes meet mine, and for a moment, there's a silent conversation that passes between us. I can see a hint of something more in her gaze, a reflection of the same turmoil I feel.
In that instant, I want nothing more than to ask her to stay with me, to share a bottle of wine and see where the night leads. The desire to be with her, to explore this growing connection, is overwhelming. But as quickly as the moment comes, it passes. Isabella gives me a small, somewhat wistful smile before turning to head towards her room.
"Goodnight, Dom," she says softly over her shoulder.
"Goodnight, Isabella," I reply, watching her disappear down the hallway.
I stand there for a moment, the weight of the unspoken words hanging heavily in the air. Then, with a deep sigh, I head into my own room, closing the door behind me.
As I sit on the edge of my bed, I can't shake off the feeling that this fake engagement is becoming something more, something real and complicated. I've always been a man who knows what he wants, but this... this is uncharted territory for me.
Lying back, I stare up at the ceiling, my mind a whirlwind of thoughts about Isabella. The lines between our professional arrangement and personal feelings are blurring, and for the first time, I’m not sure what to do. The idea both excites and unnerves me.
I close my eyes, images of Isabella filling my mind. Her laughter, her intensity, her passion for what she does. She's gotten under my skin in a way no one else has. As sleep finally claims me, one thought lingers—this fake engagement might just be the realest thing I've ever experienced, and I'm not sure I'm ready for what that means.
***
THAT WEEKEND
The Silver Blades and I are on the final stretch to the training camp up in the Cascades, the rugged beauty of the Pacific Northwest unfolding around us. Towering pines and snow-capped peaks dominate the landscape, a picturesque backdrop that never fails to impress.
I'm riding up front with Sam, Isabella's brother, and the conversation takes a turn I'm not entirely comfortable with. Sam's been going on about how stoked he is to potentially become my brother-in-law.
"Man, D, having you officially in the family? That's going to be epic," he says, his enthusiasm genuine.
I feel a twinge of guilt twist in my gut. Here's my best friend, excited about a lie. I steal a glance at his profile, his eyes bright with anticipation, and I mentally bookmark a conversation I need to have with Isabella about how we handle this with Sam. It's one thing to fool the public, but deceiving Sam feels like crossing a line.
“Yeah, man. Epic.”
As the bus weaves through the mountain roads, the chatter among the team fades into background noise. My thoughts are a jumble—the upcoming camp, Isabella, and the complex web we've woven.
Suddenly, Sam's voice snaps me back to the present. "Hey, check this out," he says, holding up his phone. "There's a snowstorm brewing. Might hit us tonight."
I lean over to look at the weather app on his screen. Sure enough, a heavy snowstorm is predicted to roll in, potentially blanketing the area in white. A part of me welcomes the challenge—a bit of snow never deterred a hockey player. But another part is wary of the complications it might bring, especially with this Jason Sinclair prick lurking around like a shark.
"We better get settled in fast then," I say, trying to keep the concern out of my voice. "Don't want the team caught out in that."
Sam nods, his focus shifting to the road ahead. "Yeah, good call. This is going to be one hell of a camp."
As the bus continues its ascent, the skies darken, and the first flakes of snow start to drift lazily down.
We pull up to the training camp, the guys are practically bouncing in their seats, ready to hit the ice. The energy is infectious, but I find myself scanning for Isabella, wondering how she's settling in.
I step off the bus into the crisp mountain air, the snow adding a pristine touch to the rustic charm of the camp. Heading towards one of the main cabins, I feel a sense of purpose. This is where the real work begins, where we get ready for the push into the second half of the season.
As I push open the door to the administrative cabin, I'm hit by the sound of raised voices. It doesn't take long to recognize one of them as Isabella's, sharp and firm. The other, I quickly deduce, is Jason Sinclair.
Their argument is heated, with Jason's voice carrying an edge of condescension. He's overstepping, meddling in details that are clearly under Isabella's purview. I can't make out the specifics, but his tone is enough to tell me he's being more than just a regular investor.
Without hesitation, I step into the fray. "Is there a problem here?" I ask, my voice carrying enough authority to cut through the tension.
Jason turns, his expression shifting to one of mock surprise. "Ah, Dom, just the man. Didn't mean to step on any toes here," he says, his tone dripping with insincerity.
“You two already fighting?”
“It’s nothing,” Isabella fires back, clearly not happy with whatever their conversation had been about.
