Page 76 of Pucking Forbidden

“I can’t,” he continues. “I shouldn’t have…”

Panic seizes me. “Julian…”

“You’re the coach’s granddaughter,” he interrupts. “You’re young. Too…”

He pauses a moment, then grits his teeth and drops his gaze.

“Too good for this,” he finishes, sounding defeated.

“Do you mean for you?” I ask.

He doesn’t answer. He just looks down at me, his dark eyes clouded with a heavy, brooding misery that makes my chest ache.

I stand there, completely stunned, my lips still tingling and hot from the reckless, desperate way he just kissed me. Every instinct in my body screams at me to grab the front of his shirt and force his lips back down to mine. I want to shatter whatever dark, self-destructive wall he’s building between us. I want to tell him that he doesn't get to decide what I'm "too good" for. Yet, as I look at the rigid, defensive set of his broad shoulders, a sudden wave of indecision paralyzes me.

If I push him too hard right now, will he completely snap shut? If I demand answers while his adrenaline is still spiked from the game and his blood is still hot from the kiss, will I just scare him back into his shell for good?

I swallow the lump in my throat, my hands hovering uncertainly in the small, charged space between our chests. I can't let him pretend this didn't happen, but I have to tread so, so carefully.

“That’s not your call,” I insist, stepping forward and grabbing his shirt again before he can move away.

His eyes flick down to my hands. He doesn’t try to escape my grip. I know he easily could.

“You don’t want me,” he whispers. “Not really.”

His words stun me, and for a moment, I can only stare at him.

“I do!” I finally say with more conviction than I think I’ve ever felt before.

“No,” he shakes his head. “You think you do now, but you’ll come to your senses and leave.”

I stare up at him in disbelief. What is he talking about? How can he think that?

“I only want you,” I declare, my grip on his shirt tightening. “I only see you.”

He hesitates for a second, as if wanting to believe that but at the last minute, refusing to.

“I’m sorry,” he mutters before stepping back again.

I don’t want to let him go, but I don’t have a choice. As much as I want to make him face this with me, I know if I push him now, I may push him away for good. Without looking at me, he moves past me toward the door. I don’t watch him go and only listen as the door opens and shuts behind me, leaving me alone with nothing but my heavy heart and the lingering taste of him on my lips.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN: REGRETS

JULIAN

The silence of a hotel room at four in the morning is a dangerous place for a man who can’t get out of his own head.

I’m sitting on the edge of the mattress, staring at the generic carpet between my bare feet. The team just won the season opener against the Kingsmen. My body should be exhausted. My muscles should be screaming for sleep after taking such hard hits and throwing shoulders against the boards.

Instead, I’m vibrating. The adrenaline from the game is long gone, replaced by a completely different kind of heat that refuses to burn out.

Every time I close my eyes, I’m back in that empty office off the press hallway. I still feel the exact weight of her in my arms. The small, desperate way she gripped the fabric of my shirt, pulling me down with a bit of hesitation.

“Take me.”

The words repeat in my head. When my mouth met hers, she didn’t pull back. No, not Hadley. She embraced me with just as much desperation as I felt. She tasted so fucking sweet, I’m pretty sure I could get addicted to it…or maybe I already am.

I press the palms of my hands into my eyes until I see stars, trying to wipe the memory away.