Total pages in book: 37
Estimated words: 34702 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 174(@200wpm)___ 139(@250wpm)___ 116(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 34702 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 174(@200wpm)___ 139(@250wpm)___ 116(@300wpm)
She tried to pretend she hadn’t noticed, but I saw the flush climbing her neck and the twitch in her fingers as she fidgeted with her pen. She was good at the mask. It was necessary in her line of work.
But I was better at spotting cracks, and I’d seen the hunger in her expression before she smoothed it over. Satisfaction surged through me. Slow and dark. She felt it too.
Then someone asked if the woman in the photo was Saxon’s type, drawing my attention back to my teammate as a deep frown shaped my lips. I fucking hated it when reporters felt they had the right to pry into our personal lives. I was about to jump in and tell them to back the fuck off, but Saxon beat me to it.
He answered flatly, “No.”
There was an audible pause, as if everyone was holding their breath waiting for him to elaborate. He didn’t. Like me, Saxon was a private guy. So I was shocked when another voice chimed in, pressing harder, and he didn’t even blink as he answered, “My fiancée, Ivy Fisher. She’s my type.”
Then he got up to walk out, just like that.
The room erupted, a dozen voices rising all at once. With a smirk, I shook my head and leaned back in my chair as I let the chaos roll right past me. That was the most Saxon thing he could’ve done—blunt and definitive. No room for questions.
My lips glided up into a grin when my eyes strayed back to the reporter I was having very dirty thoughts about.
She boldly met my gaze in challenge, then chuckled and asked, “What about you, Raiden? Do you have a type?”
Her voice cut clean through the chatter, loud enough to draw every head back toward the center rows. She smirked as she spoke, her confidence bleeding through the words like she’d been waiting for the perfect moment to strike.
Laughter rippled through the room. PR shifted uncomfortably, probably regretting ever letting her in. I stayed still, leaned back in my chair with my ankle on my opposite knee, one arm draped across the backrest beside me.
My gaze didn’t move.
Neither did hers.
The heat between us climbed another few notches. I could see her chest rising with each breath, her lips slightly parted as if she hadn’t expected me to actually look at her. To see beneath her mask.
I let the silence stretch long enough to make the air crackle. Let everyone else lean in to hear what I’d say.
Then I spoke, my voice low and even. “I do now.”
There was a pause, and I could feel her brace for whatever came next.
“Smart. Bold. Blond hair. Probably a former athlete. Sitting in the third row.”
That got them. The room lit up again with laughter, a few reporters nudging each other while the poor PR girl looked ready to dissolve into the floor.
The woman—whatever her name was—flushed deeper. But I admired her control because she didn’t break. Not all the way. She shifted her shoulders, straightened her spine, and cleared her throat before chirping, “I’ll be sure to let Dave know.”
I smiled and inclined my head to congratulate her for her smart remark. Dave was the reporter who would normally be perched in that seat. And he was indeed blond, outspoken, and a former hockey player.
“I’d like to add ‘sassy’ to my list,” I drawled. “Trust me, that in no way describes Dave.”
She couldn’t argue with that. Dave was all the other attributes I’d spouted, but he was also serious in a way that bordered on overdramatic.
Her eyes danced, and her mouth tightened, as if she was suppressing a smile. But I was disappointed when she didn’t continue our banter. Instead, she launched into a new question—this one intelligent and clearly well-researched. It showed that she knew what the hell she was talking about, even if football wasn’t her regular beat. I respected that.
I still didn’t stop looking at her when I answered.
Honestly, I was amazed I said something that made sense, because all I could think about was the blush in her cheeks. The way her eyes dropped for half a second too long. How her body had reacted to mine like she knew exactly how it would feel to straddle my lap and ride me into the seat.
Fucking hell, I needed to shove off these thoughts before I had to stand and walk out of the room. Or I’d be giving the press a different kind of show.
Still, I leaned back again, my arms folded, and my eyes never leaving her face.
Yeah, I hadn’t felt this kind of pull in a damn long time.
And I sure as hell wasn’t about to ignore it.
The media room thinned out quickly once the press conference ended. Reporters scattered to file their sound bites, and players peeled off toward the exit. But I didn’t move. I had eyes on one thing only.