VEGAS ROAD TRIP

Alexander's Pov 

Vegas.

The city was already buzzing in my veins before we even left the arena. Guys were hyped, coaches wired, the whole locker room pulsing with a restless energy. Road trips always brought it out of us, but Vegas? Vegas turned everything into excess — too bright, too loud, too much.

And for me, too dangerous.

I pulled my hoodie tighter as I sat on the bench in the corner, rolling my shoulder and testing my leg. It was holding. Barely. The ache was there, a reminder of how close I’d come to losing it all.

“You good, Hayes?” one of the rookies called out, grinning like he’d already hit the jackpot on a slot machine.

“Better than you’ll be after Coach sees you’re late,” I shot back.

The guys howled. The rookie flipped me off and ran for the bus.

I smirked, but it didn’t stick. Because my eyes had already drifted across the room.

Olivia.

She was moving through the players with her clipboard, hair pulled back, eyes sharp and focused as she checked wrists, ankles, stretching routines. Professional. Untouchable. Pretending I didn’t exist.

Which only made me want her more.

Every time she passed me, I felt the heat crawl up my spine. Every time she bent to check tape or spoke low to a player, my mind flashed back to the way she looked under me in the therapy room, lips swollen from my kiss, whispering my name like it burned.

And every time she avoided my eyes, I smirked harder. Because she could deny it all she wanted and I knew the truth.

She wanted me.

The flight was chaos. Cards slapped against trays, music thumped from earbuds, laughter bouncing off the walls of the plane. Vegas trips were always like this , the restless energy bottled up until we could cut loose.

I sat near the back with a couple of guys throwing bills into a poker pile. I didn’t play. My focus was two rows up.

Olivia sat wedged between rookies, politely smiling at their dumb jokes, passing out ice packs like a saint. She looked tired, guarded, but every time she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, my chest tightened.

She hadn’t looked back at me once.

Good. Let her keep pretending. The more she pulled away, the harder I’d drag her back in.

Halfway through the flight, I stood to stretch, brushing past her seat. Her pen hovered over the clipboard. She stiffened when my hand brushed the headrest.

“Need anything, Doc?” I asked, voice low so the guys couldn’t hear.

Her jaw tightened. “Space.”

I grinned. “Vegas doesn’t do space.”

Her eyes shot me a warning glare. I chuckled, leaning close enough for only her to hear. “Don’t worry. I’ll make sure you enjoy it anyway.”

Her cheeks flushed before she snapped her gaze back to her notes. I walked away smirking.

Vegas hit like a punch. Neon lights bled into the night, slot machines ringing from the second we stepped into the hotel lobby. Chatter, perfume, champagne glasses clinking, tourists already drunk by nine p.m.

The boys hooted like it was Christmas morning. Ethan was wide-eyed, craning his neck at the chandeliers.

“Mom, can we just live here?” he asked Olivia, who immediately pinched the bridge of her nose.

“Absolutely not,” she muttered, steering him toward the elevators.

I followed, dragging my bag behind me, grinning at the way she tried to control the chaos. Vegas would eat her alive. Unless I did first.

The game was a war.

Vegas fans were ruthless, the noise deafening. The first period, we were sluggish, down by one. The second, we clawed back. My leg screamed every stride, but I pushed harder.

Because every time I glanced at the bench, I saw her.

Olivia, standing at the edge with her clipboard, shouting instructions to a trainer, her focus burning. She didn’t cheer, didn’t smile, but when her eyes followed me, I felt it.

End of the third. Tie game. My shift.

I cut across the ice, puck on my stick, defenders closing in. Pain seared through my thigh, but I ignored it. One fake, one stride, one shot.

Goal.

The horn blared, the crowd booed, my teammates swarmed me. Helmets knocked, gloves slapped my back, shouts deafened me. But through it all, my eyes found her.

Olivia’s hand was pressed over her mouth, eyes wide, pride blazing through despite herself.

That look was worth more than the goal.

The locker room after was chaos. Champagne sprayed, music blasting, guys dancing like idiots on benches. Someone dumped a cooler over a rookie, everyone roared.

I laughed, joining in just enough to keep the mood, but my focus was on her.

Olivia stood at the wall, trying to stay dry, shaking her head as the champagne sprayed past her. But when my eyes locked on hers, just for a second, she smiled. Small, quick, but real.

A teammate caught it. “Doc’s got a soft spot for Hayes!” he shouted, and the whole room howled.

Her smile vanished. She flushed, turning away, muttering something about professionalism. I smirked, wiping champagne from my face.

Gotcha.

The hotel later was worse. Music thumped from open suites, players stumbling with drinks in hand, laughter carrying down halls. Vegas nights never ended early.

I leaned against the wall outside my suite, sipping a beer, letting the chaos blur around me. My phone buzzed.

Cassandra.

I sighed, answering. “Yeah?”

“Don’t sound so thrilled,” she snapped immediately. “Photos looked fine. Tie was crooked.”

“Really?” I muttered. “That’s what you care about?”

“What else is there? You won the game. That’s good press. Now keep your nose clean tonight. No stupid photos. No stupid mistakes.”

My grip tightened on the phone. My eyes flicked down the hall, where Olivia had just stepped out of her room, dressed down now, hair loose, trying to blend in.

Too late. She had my full attention.

“Xander? Did you hear me?” Cassandra’s voice cracked through the line.

“Yeah,” I said flatly. “Keep the tie straight. Got it.”

I hung up before she could nag more.

Olivia moved quickly down the hall, clearly aiming for the elevators. I pushed off the wall, tossing the beer in a trash can, and followed.

“Doc,” I called.

She froze. Didn’t turn. Walked faster.

Two strides, and I had her wrist. I spun her gently, pressing her back to the wall between suites.

“Xander,” she hissed, eyes darting around. “Someone will see.”

“Let them.” I caged her in with one arm braced against the wall. “You watched me all night. You think I didn’t notice?”

“I was working.”

I leaned closer, lips brushing her ear. “You were proud.”

Her breath hitched. “I’m your doctor. Of course I was proud you played well.”

“Bullshit,” I growled. “Your eyes lit up. You wanted me.”

“Stop....”

“Can’t.” My hand slid to her hip, thumb brushing skin. “Not when I know how you taste.”

Her eyes flared, panic and heat colliding. “This is insane. You’re...."

I kissed her.

Hard.

She gasped, pushing weakly at my chest, then fisting my shirt and pulling me closer. Our mouths crashed again and again, teeth clashing, breath ragged, raw hunger spilling out.

I groaned into her mouth, pressing her tighter to the wall, lifting her just enough that her toes barely touched carpet.

“Damn it, Liv,” I panted against her lips. “You drive me insane.”

“Xander....”

I kissed her again, rougher, swallowing the sound. Her nails dug into my shoulders, her body arching into mine, everything about her screaming yes even while her lips whispered no.

“You can’t keep....” she gasped.

“Too late,” I growled, kissing her harder, biting her lip until she moaned. “I’m not letting you go.”

Her knees buckled. I caught her, holding her against me, chest heaving.

Voices echoed down the hall. We broke apart, panting, staring at each other like the world might end.

I leaned close, whispering rough against her mouth. “Come with me.”

Before she could protest, I tugged her hand, pulling her toward my suite. She stumbled after me, silent, trembling.

Key card. Door. Slam.

The music and chaos cut off as the lock clicked behind us.

Dark. Quiet. Just us.

And I wasn’t planning on letting her leave.