Total pages in book: 89
Estimated words: 86515 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 433(@200wpm)___ 346(@250wpm)___ 288(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 86515 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 433(@200wpm)___ 346(@250wpm)___ 288(@300wpm)
I glance back at Halo. “You okay being on film for part of it? Nothing invasive.”
He considers it for a beat, then shrugs. “Yeah. Might as well show people this part. Everyone thinks we ice it and move on.”
“Perfect,” I say. “We’ll keep it minimal and I expect to get your authentic self.”
He cracks one eye open. “What does that mean?” he asks.
I lift a shoulder. “You tell me. Is the real Halo someone who bitches and moans every time Claire touches him, or are you hamming it up to be funny?”
Halo grimaces. “That’s harsh.”
“Just sayin’,” I reply with a laugh, holding out my arms. “I’ll be back.”
I finish my circuit after that, nodding to another therapist, exchanging a few words with a player stretched out in compression sleeves who jokes that he’s tired of being filmed in various states of disrepair.
“Occupational hazard,” I tell him, glancing at my watch. Still ten minutes before Evan gets here, and I decide that maybe another cup of coffee won’t hurt things.
I exit the medical wing and take the steps down to the lower floor quickly, knowing the line might be long when I get there. I pull out my phone as I hit the bottom step, shoot a quick text off to Evan. Grabbing us coffees. Meet you upstairs.
As I’m shoving my phone into my back pocket, I run into and bounce off what feels like a brick wall. I have the flash of hard muscles and a clean, soapy scent before lifting my eyes to find myself staring into hazel eyes surrounded by thick, sooty lashes.
Crosby.
His hands are on my shoulders to steady me, his eyes alight with humor. “As much as I like your body up against mine, that’s a good way to get hurt.”
I flush head to toe, the simple mention of our bodies touching bringing back a flood of naked memories.
I glance around, no one within earshot, and feel safe enough to reply, “Maybe I meant to run into you like that. Sure way to get your hands on me.”
His fingers squeeze slightly, reactionary, and he chuckles. “I like the way you think, Ms. Paxton.” He leans in and murmurs, “And the way you feel.”
His gaze focuses beyond me and drops his hands, which means someone is coming. He nods at the staircase I came down. “Medical wing today?”
“Yeah… Evan should be here soon. You?”
“Got a session with Michaels.”
That’s the goalie coach, and as if this facility isn’t impressive enough, one of the really cool touches is a goalie lane. It sits off to the side of the main rinks, almost hidden unless you know to look for it. Not a full sheet of ice—a narrow strip long enough for shots and wide enough for movement with a regulation goal.
A puck machine is set up at the far end, programmable, cycling through shots at different speeds and angles. Cameras are mounted everywhere—behind the net, along the boards, overhead. All of it feeds into a monitor on the wall, the footage looping in real time, every movement broken down and every delay captured.
“How often do you hit the goalie lane?” I ask.
“Every day that I can,” he replies. “You should come watch sometime.”
“I will.” Not only because it will be great for the film, but because I find myself wanting to watch him more and more.
Last night, I connected with this man on a level that had nothing to do with control or attraction or power exchange. Trust is a bridge for sure, which is absurd when you think about it. I dig beneath layers for a living. I dismantle narratives. I expose systems that rely on secrecy and silence to maintain power.
But with Crosby, the curiosity isn’t defensive. It’s genuine, and that unsettles me more than any red flag ever has.
Was I curious because I’m a filmmaker? Or because I crossed a line last night I swore I never would? The answer is inconveniently both.
Evan’s voice echoes. “You beat me in,” he calls out, and Crosby and I both turn his way.
“Early bird,” I reply.
Evan joins us, lifts his chin to Crosby. “What’s up, man?”
“Saying hello to your boss,” he replies, and then his eyes come to mine. “Catch you later?”
If by later he means at my place, naked and in bed, I’m all over that. I think that’s what he means, and I nod. “Absolutely.”
When Crosby’s gone, Evan shoots right into work mode, clearly not picking up any vibes between us. “Do a walk-through already?”
“Yeah. We’re good to set up.”
He slings his bag down and raises an eyebrow. “You’re in a good mood.”
“I’m always in a good mood,” I counter.
He snorts. “Sure.”
CHAPTER 20
Crosby
I wake up alone, a bit disoriented as to where I am. But when I inhale deeply, I smell Juno and instantly relax into the mattress.