Chapter 6

Chapter Six

Ivy

This is my nightmare.

I’ve just spent the better part of the last hour trapped with the asshole head coach, Travis Hiller, listening to him tear apart my performance…and avoiding?—

I shudder, shove the tangle of emotions down.

I can’t think about pointed innuendos and wandering hands and having to slide my chair back inch by inch until it was almost at his office door so he couldn’t touch me.

Right now, I have bigger problems to deal with.

Namely, the fact that I’m in a room with Knox Adler…

And the fucking doorknob has just come off in his hand.

I yank it away from him. “What the fuck did you just do?” Heart pounding, I try to fit it back into place. If I can just get the pieces to align then I can twist the handle and we’ll be out of here.

But no matter which way I turn it or how hard I push it into the hole, the metal knob won’t stay in place.

And the door sure as shit won’t open.

Exhaling in defeat, I grind my back teeth together and resist the urge to pound my head against the door.

This is fine.

Everything is fine.

Meanwhile, I’m stuck in here with?—

“Are you okay?”

Fucking Knox.

His voice slides like silk down my spine, dipping between my legs sending such a war of emotions through me that I have to actually lock my knees to keep upright.

Dumb. So fucking dumb .

“I’m fine,” I snap. “Except for the fact that we’re stuck in here.”

I have things to do.

People to get far the fuck away from.

Memories to shove down and forget about.

“It’s not a big deal,” he says, because nothing is ever a big deal to him. Nothing fazes him. Not women. Not hockey. Not hard as hell workouts. And not, apparently, being locked in a room with a woman who hates him.

Or one who’s trying to, anyway.

“I’ll just call security,” he goes on, “and they’ll call maintenance, and we’ll be out of here in a jiff.”

“A j-jiff?”

The incongruity of hearing a big, sexy hockey player say in a jiff means that I’m slow to process him walking over to his duffle bag that’s shoved into the corner of the room.

But I don’t miss him bending over because…

Ho, mama.

That ass.

Those legs—the definition of his hamstrings, his quads, his calves…

The trainer in me wants to fall to my knees and worship every inch of finely tuned muscle.

The woman in me wants him to fall to his knees and worship every inch of me.

I swallow hard, divert my gaze—oh look, who knew the dumbbells were so interesting?

But when nothing happens for a long moment—no more words, no Knox walking back toward me, no phone call being made—I allow my eyes to drift back to him.

He’s crouched now, furiously digging through his bag.

“What is it?” I ask, my voice high-pitched and squeaky.

He stills and his stare drifts over his shoulder, locking with mine, and the look in his eyes is so much like Evie’s is when she gets into the cookies in the pantry that I have to bite back a smile.

This is serious.

We’re trapped.

I can’t be smiling at Knox Adler, especially when he says, “I think my phone is in my car.”

That urge to smile fades.

Because even though I pat my back pocket…I know my phone is with my computer.

Both of which are sitting on the table out in the hallway.

Where I’d set them when I spotted the light on in here…and Knox working himself into oblivion.

“You don’t have yours either?” he asks.

I shake my head miserably. “No,” I whisper. “I don’t. It’s—” Cutting myself off before I give him a rundown of the exact placement of my work bag, purse, and phone, I turn away from the door and start searching the room for inspiration.

Maybe a landline.

Maybe an axe.

Maybe a flamethrower.

“It’s what?”

Startled, I whip around, not realizing that Knox has moved so close. I flinch, snap out, “Back up!”

He stills, something sliding across his expression that splashes over me like a bucket of cold water, but he backs up a pace.

And then another.

And then his face goes gentle, his voice soft. “Ivy,” he begins.

No. No. This can’t happen.

“My phone’s outside,” I blabber. “It’s with my purse and gym bag on the table in the hall, so it’s not accessible. But—” I spin in a circle, not spying that landline or axe or flamethrower.

But we do have medicine balls and barbells.

Inspiration striking, I move to the rack?—

Only before I can snag one and start breaking the door down, Knox slips in front of me. I don’t miss that his movements are slow and careful, as though he doesn’t want to spook a cornered animal.

Doesn’t want to spook me.

“Take a breath,” he says quietly.

“Don’t tell me what to do,” I grit out.

That softness fades—thank God—and he all but wrenches the barbell out of my hands. “Jesus Christ, lioness. We’re not going to bust down the door.” A beat. “At least not until we’ve explored other options.”

“There’s no door handle,” I mutter. “And we don’t have a phone to call for help.” I reach for the barbell again. “What other options can you possibly think we have?”

“No, I don’t have my phone?—”

“Exactly.” I grasp the end of the metal bar, draw it toward me.

“But I do —” He tugs it away from me, easily, like he’s taking candy from a baby. And it sends me spinning again, the fact that he’s so strong.

I’m supposed to be the strong one.

I’m supposed to be strong enough to always keep myself safe.

I couldn’t do it then?—

My eyes close for a half-second.

I couldn’t do it in the office with fucking Hiller ?—

I can’t be strong enough to protect myself from Knox.

Even as that truth is tearing through me, blasting through the cracked foundation I’ve tried so hard to reinforce over the years, even as I’m reeling, I hear?—

“But I do have a smart watch.”

That has my arm dropping to my side, panic fading enough for me to rasp out. “You do?”

“Yes.”

“Oh.” It’s a whisper, but he hears it anyway, his lips turning up.

“Yeah. Oh.” His eyes drift to mine and even if that soft understanding from before is tempered with amusement, I don’t miss the careful way he asks, “Cool if I call maintenance then?”

I nod.

And then I step away, work on rebuilding my supports, my distance as I listen to him make the call.

When he hangs up after being assured that someone will be right over, the silence that falls is terrible.

Because I feel vulnerable.

Not strong.

Weak and pathetic and?—

“I think I’m adopting a dog.”

That snaps me out of my spiraling, and I spin toward him, brows shooting up. “ You?”

He scowls. “Yes, me.” A beat. “And I guess there’s no think . I’ve adopted her.”

“But… you’re adopting a dog?”

The lines around his mouth deepen. “You don’t have to sound so shocked, lioness. I’ve kept myself alive this long, and it’s not like it’s rocket science. Food. Walks. Toys. Good enough.”

There’s something about the edgy recitation that calls to the hidden parts of me.

Prickly and trying to put me off from seeing what’s really making him feel off kilter.

Something inside…unlocks.

Because I think this is the first time that I’ve ever felt like I had anything in common with loose cannon, flies by the seat of his pants, never met a joke he doesn’t love, nothing fazes him Knox Adler.

“I thought you didn’t like commitment,” I murmur. His womanizing ways are notorious with the team.

His broad shoulders lift and fall on a shrug. “I don’t.”

“But…a dog?”

“I couldn’t just leave her there.”

“Where’s there?”

“The vet’s office.”

“Why not?” I ask. “That seems safe enough.”

“Winter was alone on the side of the road, beaten and tossed into a snow bank with a broken fucking leg and cuts all over her body.”

The anger in his words is intense, but also…not directed at me. So, instead of fear, I’m feeling…respect.

Admiration.

No. No. Such a slippery freaking slope.

“So, safe or not,” he says, his tone still sharp. “I couldn’t fucking leave her alone in a cold, sterile vet’s office.”

I have the feeling that the temperature isn’t what he takes issue with.

But I—wisely, thank me very much—don’t touch that part. “Someone left her in a snow bank?”

He nods tersely.

“And you found her?”

He nods again.

“And now you’re keeping her?”

Another nod.

“You?” I ask again, but I do it mostly because this bit of news has settled somewhere inside me, somewhere I can’t allow it to penetrate, and so I need to make sure he stays out of that vulnerable place.

Unfortunately, it doesn’t work that way.

His head shoots up, his eyes connecting with mine, studying me for a long, long moment. “Yeah,” he eventually says. “I decided I’m keeping her.”

He’s talking about the dog.

I know that.

But, also, some part of me thinks that he could maybe, possibly, be talking about me.

“Knox.”

He prowls closer, not stopping until the toes of his shoes are brushing against mine. “Why did you flinch earlier?” he asks quietly.

“ Knox.”

“Has someone hurt you?” Danger flickers through his deep blue eyes.

“I—”

“Don’t answer that,” he mutters, lightly cupping my jaw. “Or don’t lie to me.” His fingers flex, oh so gently. “I can already see it’s true.”

“That’s not?—”

His thumb brushes over my bottom lip. “Don’t even try it, lioness.”

“I—”

“I know you don’t like me”—another brush and my pussy goes damp—“but I don’t think you’ve really ever taken the chance to know me.”

“I-I know you well enough.” I lift my chin. “I know your type.”

His body drifts closer. “Hmm. I don’t think so, lioness.”

My breath shudders out of me. “Knox…”

“I like it when you say my name like that.”

“Knox.”

“And like that.”

“We can’t,” I begin breathlessly. “ I can’t…”

“Because you don’t like me.”

God, no.

Because I like you too much.

Thank God, I keep those words in.

Thank God, I keep those words in and hear the sound of movement on the other side of the door.

But I kind of hate the way they change his face.

“I don’t not like you,” I say. “I just?—”

“You just what?”

“Knox!” The voice echoes through the wood. “Are you guys clear of the door?”

He’s gone still, every muscle taut, his eyes burning into mine.

“I can’t,” I whisper.

His fingers flex again, but then he breaks our connection, hand dropping to the side, his gaze tearing away from mine, his body pulling back. “We’re clear.”

There’s some clinking and scratching (and then some cursing) but within five minutes the door is open.

“After you, lioness,” he murmurs, nudging me toward the hallway. “I know you’re late getting out of here.”

I don’t immediately move. “Knox?”

His brows flick up in question.

I don’t know why I say it. There’s no logical—or safe—reason to do so, but I can’t get his vulnerable expression out of my mind. “I think you’ll be a great dog dad.”

His eyes go wide, but I slip out of the room before he can reply.

As I’m reaching for my bags, I hear my phone start blaring with a familiar ringtone.

“Dammit,” I whisper, aware of Knox pausing beside me as I dig my cell out of my purse and answer the call.

“Ms. Pierce?”

Only a principal’s voice can send that particular blast of cold tearing through me.

“What’s happened to Evie?” I ask, the words rasped out, my heart in my throat.

“Well…”

She starts to explain but, unfortunately, that doesn’t ease my nerves.

In fact, her reply is what sends me hurrying off to Evie’s school.

And completely unaware of who’s following me.