SIX-FOOT FOUR PACK OF HOT

SIENNA ~

I was halfway through restocking the recovery shakes when the locker-room door slammed open and the entire Vancouver Vipers spilled out in a wave of sweat, laughter, and the sharp smell of ice.

I didn’t look up. I’d learned that lesson years ago. Eye contact with half-naked hockey players was a fast way to get dragged into conversations I had zero interest in having at seven-thirty in the morning.

“Morning, Vale.”

Cole’s voice was low and easy as he leaned against the doorway of my tiny nutrition office. Head athletic trainer. Thirty-four. The only man on staff who never tried to charm me and never treated me like I was fragile after my divorce. I trusted him more than I trusted most people, which still wasn’t saying much.

“You’re early,” I said, sliding another case of protein onto the shelf. “That’s new.”

“Couldn’t sleep.” He scratched the back of his neck. “Kai’s already on the ice. Kid’s been here since five.”

I kept my face carefully blank. “Good for him.”

Cole’s mouth tilted like he wanted to say more, but he just nodded and walked off toward the treatment tables. Smart man.

I finished the shakes, locked the fridge, and stepped out into the hallway just as the rookies started filtering past. Most of them were still wide-eyed and trying too hard. Then Kai Rivera appeared, helmet under one arm, hair damp and sticking up in every direction, that same cocky half-smile he’d been wearing since he was sixteen and I was still pretending he was just Maya’s annoying little brother.

He saw me and the smile got bigger.

“Sienna.”

The way he said my name always felt like he’d practiced it, low and warm, like we were already in on some private joke I hadn’t agreed to.

“Rivera.” I kept my voice flat. “You’re supposed to be icing that shoulder, not living on the ice.”

He stopped right in front of me, close enough that I could smell the cold still clinging to his skin. Six-foot-four of pure muscle and bad decisions. Twenty-two years old and already looking at me like he’d decided something and was just waiting for me to catch up.

“I iced it,” he said. “Then I got bored. Figured I’d come find the only person in this building who actually tells me the truth.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Flattery doesn’t get you extra carbs.”

“Wasn’t flattery.” His eyes dropped to my mouth for half a second, then came back up. “Just a fact.”

My pulse did that stupid little jump it always did around him. I hated it. I was thirty-two. Divorced. The team nutritionist. The last person who should be standing in a hallway feeling anything at all about her best friend’s little brother.

“Go shower,” I said. “You’re dripping on my floor.”

He grinned slowly and stepped past me. His shoulder brushed mine deliberately. Then he was gone, whistling something under his breath like he hadn’t just tried to set my entire nervous system on fire before eight a.m.

I exhaled hard and walked back into my office, shutting the door harder than necessary.

My phone buzzed on the desk.

Maya:

Coffee later? I have gossip and I need your face.

I typed back with one hand while pulling up the day’s meal plans.

Me:

Only if you bring the good pastries. The ones with the almond filling.

Maya:

Deal. Also… don’t kill my brother today. He’s been weirdly quiet about you.

I stared at the screen.

Don’t kill my brother today.

If she only knew.

I tossed the phone down and rubbed both hands over my face. Outside the small window I could see the parking lot, the mountains in the distance still capped with early August snow. Vancouver in the summer always felt like it was pretending to be somewhere softer than it was.

My phone rang this time. Ex-husband. I let it go to voicemail. He’d left three messages yesterday about Bear. Our dog. The only good thing that had come out of six years of marriage. Now he was using the golden retriever like a bargaining chip because he could.

I didn’t listen to the message. I already knew what it said.

Instead I opened the fridge again, pulled out a cold bottle of water, and pressed it against the back of my neck. The door opened behind me without a knock.

Kai stood there, freshly showered, black team hoodie hanging open over a white T-shirt, looking like every bad decision I’d ever almost made.

“Forgot something,” he said.

I turned slowly. “What.”

He stepped inside and closed the door. The office suddenly felt half its size.

“This.”

He reached past me, grabbed a protein bar from the top shelf, and stayed there a second longer than he needed to. Close enough that I could feel the heat coming off his chest. Close enough that if I leaned forward even an inch—

I didn’t.

He straightened, tore the wrapper with his teeth, and took a bite without breaking eye contact.

“You’re staring, Vale.”

“I’m calculating how many extra sprints I can put on your plan for being a pain in my ass.”

He laughed quietly, the sound did something stupid to the space under my ribs.

“Worth it,” he said, then turned and left like he hadn’t just walked in, stolen the air out of the room, and walked back out with it.

I sat down hard in my chair and stared at the closed door.

This was going to be a problem.

A big, twenty-two-year-old, six-foot-four problem with my best friend’s last name and a smile that made me forget every single reason I was supposed to stay away.

I picked up my phone again and typed one more message to Maya.

Me:

Bring two pastries. It’s going to be a long day.