Chapter Fifteen

Bex

I'm in my office, pouring over game footage from our last match, when I hear a familiar voice drifting through my open door. It's Rowan, and she sounds... agitated.

"No, just give me more time," she says, her voice low and urgent. "I have a feeling this could be a big story. I can get it, I promise."

My head snaps up, every muscle in my body tensing. A big story? About what? Or more importantly, about whom?

I rise from my chair, moving closer to the door. Something in her tone sets off alarm bells in my head.

"Yes, I understand the deadline, but..." Rowan continues. I can hear the frustration in her voice, and if I had to deal with Charles Albright, the Chief Editor of The Seattle Sunrise , I'd probably take a long swim into Puget Sound and never return to shore. If lawyers have ambulance chasers, then journalists have Charles Albright. The man doesn't care about facts, he only cares about appeasing his stockholders. "Look, I just need a little more time to piece it all together. This could be huge for the paper, and a great headline."

My head snaps up, the tension in her tone sending a ripple of unease through me. The words themselves set every nerve on edge.

A big story. Huge for the paper.

The pieces fall into place with alarming clarity. The conversations I’ve caught her having with Reeve in the hallway. The extra time she’s been spending around the stadium. The way she’s been watching everything lately, as though she’s piecing together a puzzle.

The realization hits me hard—she’s digging. And I know exactly whose dirt she’s trying to uncover.

I push back from my desk, rising to my feet as the frustration and anger build inside me. It doesn’t matter what her intentions are; if she drags one of my players into her story, it won’t just affect the team—it could ruin a career.

The sound of her footsteps nears, followed by a soft knock at the door.

"Coach Bex?" she says, her voice hesitant. "Do you have a moment?"

Was the gala a set up just so I’d be too distracted to see that she’s still digging up dirt?

Did she think she could lower my defenses the minute she told me about Drew and then proceeded to straddle me in the limo.

Here I was, the last two weeks, concerned that I might have taken advantage of her when she was vulnerable.

This is my chance to find out what dirt she has on one of my players and convince her not to run the story.

I'll pay whatever she wants.

There's not a dollar amount I won't pay her to protect my team.

Hell, I'll give her the penthouse that the Hawkeyes lease for me for as long as my contract lasts if that's what it takes.

"Come in, " I say, trying to keep my voice neutral.

The door creaks open, and there she is. The woman I haven’t been able to stop thinking about since the gala, standing in the doorway with her hair cascading in soft waves around her face. Her floral dress clings in all the right places, making her seem more like someone who walked out of a daydream than a bloodthirsty reporter chasing her next scoop.

“Am I interrupting?” she asks, her eyes scanning the room as though checking for witnesses.

“No,” I reply tightly, gesturing for her to step inside. "What can I do for you?"

She closes the door behind her with a soft click, and I can’t help but think how ominous it feels, sealing the two of us in here together. The smell of her perfume wafting into my office, filling my space with something so addictive it should be illegal.

“I thought we should talk about… the gala,” she starts, her voice softer now.

The gala? That’s what she wants to talk about?

I stride around my desk, heading straight for her. My sudden movement makes her freeze, her eyes going wide as I close the distance between us. She takes a step back, but I keep advancing, until her back meets the wall.

“Is that what you really care about Summers? The gala?” I say, my voice low and steady as I lean in closer. “Because I heard you on the phone. You’re planning a big exposé, aren’t you? Something ‘huge for the paper.’ Care to share who the target is this time?”

Her eyes widen, she knows now that I heard her outside of my office.

"Bex, it’s not what it sounded like—"

"I don’t like being lied to, it’s insulting," I say, my voice low and steady.

For the last two weeks, I’ve been avoiding Rowan because the night of the gala changed things between us. I’ve been keeping my distance, knowing that Rowan being with me will only end up causing her more pain when I ultimately end up letting her down like I did my ex-wife.

I know better to think that I can give Rowan the kind of life she deserves, but now hearing her outside of my office, I know I made the right call keeping her as far from me and my team as possible.

"I've seen you whispering with Reeve in the hallways, his distraction out on the ice–You're planning to air out his personal business for all the world to see, aren't you?" I ask.

Understanding dawns in her eyes, quickly followed by indignation. "What? No! That's not what—"

"What will it take, Summers?" I press on, leaning in closer. "What will it take to make this story disappear? Money? My penthouse?"

Her mouth opens to answer, but instead, her gaze drops to my lips, and for a moment, everything shifts. The air between us grows heavy, charged with something far more dangerous than anger. Need–lust–connection, all things I can’t seem to shake when it comes to her.

And I'm pulled into her again, just like I was in the limo.

She’s here for career advancement, to tell a story that could decimate one of my players, setting fire to the season me and my players have been working everyday toward, all I can think about is the taste of her lips.

A flash of understanding hits me like a bolt of lightning. The tension between us, the constant push and pull, it's all been leading to this moment. Without conscious thought, I find myself sinking to my knees in front of her.

“Drop the story,” I murmur, my hands sliding up the side of her thighs, lifting her dress with it. “And I’ll make sure you don’t regret it.”

Her lips part in protest, but I don’t give her a chance to respond. My mouth finds her bare thigh, my lips pressing against her, pulling a gasp from her, as her hands flatten against the wall behind her, unsure of what to hold onto.

For a moment, the world seems to stand still. I can hear my heart pounding in my ears, feel the heat radiating from Rowan's body. This is madness, a voice in the back of my mind warning me to choose a different course but I silence it, too caught up in the moment.

“Bex, we need to talk—” she starts, but her words dissolve into a moan as my mouth finds her skin.

“Tell me to stop if you don’t want this,” I offer, giving her an option out, but she only licks her lips in response giving me my answer.

I’m not thinking anymore, just feeling. The heat of her, the way her body trembles as I press my lips to her cotton panties still in place but dampening quickly before me. Her hands clutch at my shoulders, her fingers digging into the fabric of my shirt as though she’s trying to ground herself.

I hook my thumbs into the side of her thong, pulling them down over her hips with practiced precision, sliding it down her legs with agonizing slowness. I look up, her eyes catching with mine. She doesn’t tell me to stop, instead her eyes are hooded, the same need in her eyes mirroring mine, her chest rapidly rising and falling, matching my rhythm.

I dive back in, my tongue flicks against the perfect cleft at the apex of her thighs, causing her entire body to jolt. The sound she makes—a soft, breathless whimper—is enough to undo me completely. My hands grip her hips, holding her steady as I work her with my tongue, exploring every inch of her, drawing out sounds I never thought she’d make for me.

Her legs tremble, and I shift, hooking one of them over my shoulder to give myself better access. She’s lost now, her head tipped back against the wall, her breaths coming in quick, shallow gasps, as I press deeper, my tongue lapping up every drop, swirling through her clit. Her fingers slide through my hair, pulling me closer as she moans, pulling me closer, begging for more.

She tugs my hair closer as she moans my name. “Bex… oh god…”

I feel her start to unravel, her body tightening, trembling, as she teeters on the edge. And then, with one final flick of my tongue, she falls apart. Her cry of release echoes through the room, her body shuddering, her legs giving out but I hold her up as wave after wave of pleasure crashes over her.

I stay with her, drawing out every last bit of her climax, until she finally goes still, her body slumping against the wall. Slowly, I lower her leg off of my shoulder and rise to my feet, keeping a hold on her as my own need for release throbs painfully in my trousers. But this wasn't about me. This was about her, about protecting my team, about keeping whatever secret she has about Reeve safe from the prying eyes of the media. Or… at least that’s what I tell myself, because her conversation outside of my office confirms that even if I was capable of putting someone before hockey, Rowan has her sights on making a splash to make her slimy boss happy.

I made my point, and hopefully, she’ll see reason.

Rowan lifts her head, her eyes meeting mine. There's a vulnerability in her gaze that wasn't there before, a connection that goes beyond the physical. But I can't let myself get caught up in it. I can't let myself care for her the way I know I want to. I've been down that road before and it never ends well.

"Bex," she whispers, her voice barely audible. "We still need to talk about this, the gala, the limo, and what you think I know about Reeve."

I shake my head. "My tongue said a lot just now. Mostly, that I was right not to trust you. I knew this whole time you had a big story. We both got something out of what just happened," I say, adjusting the painful erection that I'll have to sort out later in the private shower of my office. “I think we can both agree that this will be the last time.”

She steps forward, reaching out to touch me but pulls her hand back as if realizing that there’s no point. "You're not listening. The story isn’t about Reeve. It’s about Sam and he already approved it.”

I’m not sure how to process what she just said. “Sam knows there’s a story about him coming out?” I ask.

She nods but there’s no light in her eyes for me anymore. I should have listened—I should have heard her out.

“Row—” I say, reaching out for her but she takes a step out of my reach.

Then a loud knock pounds against the door.

"Bex, are you available?"

We both freeze, the reality of what we've just done inside the Hawkeyes stadium crashes down around us. I quickly adjust my clothes, trying to regain some semblance of professionalism, while Rowan scrambles, searching for her panties.

Rowan's eyes are wide with panic, but she manages to find her underwear and quickly steps into them.

"Just a moment, Sam," I call out, my voice steady.

I turn to Rowan, finding her pulling her panties into place and quickly smoothing out her dress with trembling hands.

I fight the urge to pull her against me to stop her from shaking and to reassure her that we’ll talk about this later. That I made a rash judgment that I’ll rectify if she just lets me me.

Suddenly, I see her standing before me so differently than when she first walked in. She never dresses like she’s dressed right now for game day or media. Where a steely gray pant suit should be, is a floral spring dress. Where I should find a slicked back ponytail or bun, I find her hair down with soft blonde curves round her face. She didn’t come here on a work errand, this was personal. She wanted to talk about the gala–about us. This no longer feels like a back-alley trade deal I made with a cunning journalist who has in her possession a hard-hitting story.

Her lips tighten, her eyes staying fixed on the door as she walks toward the exit of my office. The look in her eyes – a mix of hurt, and something else I can't quite name – hits me like a physical blow.

I thought I was protecting my team—protecting Reeve. And yet, something tells me I’m going to regret the way I handled this.

“Rowan,” I say again softly to stop her, but she takes the last steps, reaches for the door, and twists the handle, pulling the door open.

"Oh. I didn't realize you were in a meeting," Sam says, his eyes on Rowan first as she walks past him.

“It’s officially over and I was just leaving, he’s all yours,” she tells him with a forced smile and then slips past him, her words echoing in my head with double meaning.

I watch as she retreats down the hall, unsure of what the hell I just did or how I’m going to fix it.

“What was that about?” he asks.

“It’s complicated,” I tell him.

“Well, might I suggest a hat? Unless you want everyone to know that Rowan had something to do with that,” he smirks, gesturing to my hair.

And then I realize that I didn’t slick back my hair after Rowan had her hands in it.

Fuck.

“It’s not what it looks like,” I lie.

He chuckles to himself and shakes his head. “For your sake, Townsend, I hope it’s exactly what it looks like. She’s exactly what you need. What you both need. Though, take it back to your penthouse next time, alright?”