Blocker (Seattle Sharks 5)

“I am too,” I said, sighing. “I shouldn’t have let you believe it was me for this long. Did you have to fire him?”

Dad laced his hands together on his desk. “Yes.”

“Even now that you know it wasn’t me?”

“Yes,” he said. “I laid the rule, and he chose not to follow it. He’d been on thin ice before this, and the fact that he went behind my back…” he swallowed hard. “Without the courage to talk to me like a man—”

“Would that make a difference?” I asked, hope blooming in my chest.

He tilted his head.

“If Crosby would’ve spoken to you first. Been upfront about his intentions with Ivy?”

Dad sighed. “I don’t know. We’ll never know now. The fact is he disrespected me. My rules. And I don’t want a man like that on the ice. On my roster. Or in my building.”

Ice-cold fear frosted my insides.

Eric…he’d already secured himself so deep within me.

We’d already gone so far without even realizing it.

And now…with this…

Fuck. My. Life.

I was going to cost him everything.

“Look,” Dad said. “I’m sorry I got you two mixed up.”

“Are you going to talk to Ivy?”

He shook his head. “I can’t control who she dates.”

I narrowed my gaze at him.

“You have different rules, Pepper,” he said, almost apologetically. “Ivy is an intern at a gossip magazine, not employed by the Sharks.”

“And if I dated someone from Ontario?” I challenged.

He flinched. “Pepper,” he chided. “You know I don’t like the idea of either of you dating players. Look at this,” he said, waving a hand over the stack of tabloids. “This is the life that comes with it. And it’s only a glimpse! Beyond this, we’re on the road all the time—”

“And I’ll be at every game!”

He blinked a few times like he hadn’t realized and then stared at me a little harder. “Why are you pushing this so hard? I made a mistake. You’ve never been about players before. Not since Mason.”

“You keep bringing him up,” I said.

“Well, he keeps crowding my space since you came back.”

“That’s not my fault.”

“I’m just hoping you’re not going to fall for his act.”

“I’m not that stupid.”

“I know,” he said. “I know. Which is why I’m not even sure why we’re still having this conversation.”

I groaned.

Because I’m in love with your star goalie.

Holy shit.

I was in love with Iron Man.

And I couldn’t come clean. Couldn’t tell my dad in confidence because Eric had so much more to lose than I did.

Holy hell, when did things become so tangled?

“We’re not,” I finally said. I scooped up the tabloids and pushed back from his desk, heading toward the door.

“Pepper,” he said, stopping me. “You know I’m only so hard on you because I love you, right?”

I swallowed the knot in my throat.

“Because I’m proud of the woman you’ve become,” he continued.

Tears coated my eyes.

It wasn’t fair.

It wasn’t fair to be angry with him. To lie to him.

But it wasn’t fair to have the ultimatum he’d placed on his players either, not when it came to Eric and me. Something real. Not some…challenge for a player to hook up with the coach’s daughter.

“Love you, too, Dad,” I said, and shut his door behind me.

I walked down the hallway, clutching the tabloids to my chest as I headed toward my office.

Shutting the door behind me, I jolted, dropping the tabloids at the sight of Eric’s massive frame filling my office chair.

I knelt to pick them up, taking the few seconds to catch my breath.

“Sorry,” Eric said, at my side in an instant, helping me scoop up the mess. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“It’s fine,” I said, sighing. Anger still simmered in my blood right alongside the hurt and guilt and fear.

Basically, I was a hot freaking mess.

“Whoa,” he said, realizing what he was helping me pick up. “What’s with the gossip rags?”

“Dad,” I said, tossing them on my desk.

Eric’s eyes widened, and his hands found my face, cupping my cheeks. “Are you all right? Did you tell him it wasn’t you?”

I nodded, pointing to Rory’s picture. “Look at this, Eric,” I said, my tone on edge. “How the hell am I supposed to believe we can work when even Rory—one of the happiest men I know—can’t keep it together.” I pulled out of his touch, needing to be away from his warmth, his scent.

Pain flashed in Eric’s eyes before resilience coated them. He grabbed the picture. “This is from years ago,” he said.

“What?”

“Look.” He pointed to the back of Rory’s neck. “No tattoo.”

“I’m not following.”

“He got another tattoo right after him and Paige made it official.” He shrugged.

“Then why are they featuring that picture?”

“Because we’re having a hot season and the Trio is marrying off. They’re looking to stir up old drama,” he said, and then pointed at the picture of Connor. “And they’re also looking at the newest up-and-coming stars, too.”

I rubbed my palms over my face, trying to collect myself. Hating that Ivy was venturing into a career where this was the norm. Where only the headline mattered, not the person behind it.

No, that wasn’t fair, either. Ivy only interned at the place now. Soon, after she put in her time, she’d report real news, and she’d be damn great at it, too.

Eric stepped toward me, where I had retreated against my closed door. He approached me slowly, almost like he was afraid I’d stop him.

But how could I when everything in my body reacted to him the second I set eyes on him? When all I wanted him to do was wrap me in those strong arms and help me breathe.

Breathe through my worry.

Breathe through my over-analytical mind, crunching every possibly failure that may happen.

Breathe through the craving to have his taste fill my mouth.

“Pepper,” he said my name like a plea. “Tell me what to do.”

I wetted my lips, looking up at him. He stopped within touching distance but didn’t put a hand on me, like he couldn’t take me pulling away again.

“Tell me,” he said. “You say the word and I’ll walk into Coach’s office right now and tell him what you mean to me. I’ll make this right for—”

I lunged for him, stopping his words. He caught me with one arm, hauling me against his hard body until I was eye-level with him. I crushed my mouth on his, sliding my tongue between his lips, tracing the edges of his teeth.

God, he tasted good—my personal addiction.

Touching him, feeling him, tasting him…it made the pain go away. The worry, the fear, the guilt…gone.

Nothing existed but his arms around me, his flavor on my tongue, and his scent in my nose. Nothing could touch us here, in these moments. Not the press, or my father, or the fact that he had so much to lose…

Shit.

I jerked my mouth back, locking eyes with him as he held me against him.

“You can’t,” I said, breathless.