Chapter 51: Kiss Cam II

Knox closed the distance.

His mouth met mine in front of ten thousand screaming spectators and national television cameras.

I had expected it to be a cold, calculated performance... a staged kiss for the arena Kiss Cam to keep up our public contract.

It wasn’t.

My mind traitorously flashed back to that night at the diner, when he had kissed me against the headboard to fool Harold Orwell. But this wasn’t like that. This was hotter, deeper, and far more breathless than I remembered.

The moment his lips touched mine, the deafening roar of the arena faded into a dull background hum. His large gloved hand tightened firmly around my waist, pulling me tight against his broad chest, his massive frame completely shielding me from the icy draft of the rink.

His mouth was warm, demanding, and breathless from the game, moving against mine with an unscripted intensity that sent a sudden, dizzying shockwave straight through my veins.

My breath hitched sharply in my throat. My heart slammed against my ribs so hard it was almost painful. Without thinking, my hand reached up, my fingers clutching tightly into the heavy black fabric of his athletic pullover.

Every nerve ending in my body went hyper-aware, hyper-focused on the heat of his lips and the firm pressure of his hand against my waist.

I could feel the bright neon glow of the overhead Jumbotron washing over my closed eyelids, and the entire Briar bench went insane, pounding their hockey sticks against the plexiglass boards in a deafening barrage of cheers.

When Knox finally pulled back, he didn’t move away immediately.

His forehead rested against mine for two long seconds, his chest heaving under his pullover, his eyes locked onto mine with a fierce, unreadable heat that left me completely breathless.

"Contract compliance, Bennett," Knox whispered against my lips.

My heart was hammering against my ribs like a trapped bird. "We... we are going to revisit that soon."

Knox let out a low, breathless smirk. He released my waist, stepped back onto the ice, and latched the glass bench door shut behind him without taking his dark eyes off mine for a single second.

I stood frozen on the black rubber matting, my lips tingling, my mind spinning in wild, chaotic circles.

Over Knox’s broad shoulder, my eyes caught a sudden movement in the concourse aisle.

Vanessa Orwell was standing ten rows up in the arena stairs. Her arms were folded tightly over her tailored cream coat, and the condescending smile she usually wore had been completely wiped from her face as her blue eyes went wide with shock.

I pulled my heavy coat tighter around my shoulders, held her stare for three seconds, and looked right past her.

—

By four o’clock, the energy in the post-game corridor was loud and chaotic.

The Briar locker room doors were propped open, loud hip-hop music echoing down the concrete hallway as players celebrated their 3-2 rivalry victory over Western State.

A tight cluster of sports reporters and campus bloggers were gathered near the entrance, holding microphones and recorders high.

I stood near the drinking fountain a few yards away, waiting for the team to pack their gear bags.

Knox stepped out of the locker room wearing his black Briar tracksuit, his wet dark hair pushed back from his forehead. He carried his heavy gear bag slung over one broad shoulder.

A reporter instantly thrust a microphone toward his face. "Sheridan! Great breakaway goal tonight. What was the story behind that Kiss Cam moment at the bench?"

Knox stopped, crossing his broad arms over his chest as a cool, unbothered smirk touched his lips.

"Just making sure my girl gets her credit," Knox replied smoothly. "She keeps me eligible, I win games."

Milo and Bear walked past the media cluster, howling with laughter. Bear slapped Knox’s shoulder, grinning wildly. "Damn, Sheridan! Didn’t know you had romantic moves like that!"

"Shut up, Bear," Knox grunted dryly, though the corner of his mouth twitched slightly.

His eyes shifted across the narrow hallway, locking directly onto mine. He didn’t say another word to the reporters. He just grabbed his gear bag, hoisted it over his shoulder, and walked past the media line straight toward me.

"Ready to head back to the hotel?" Knox asked in a low voice as he stopped right beside me.

I looked up at him, keeping my face completely neutral despite the lingering flutter in my chest. "Lead the way, Captain."

—

By ten o’clock that night, Room 402 at the Grand Summit Hotel was quiet.

The hotel technicians had fixed the central heating earlier in the afternoon, and a steady stream of warm air now filled the executive suite.

I sat on the edge of the small leather couch in the sitting room, my laptop open on my knees as I finished typing up my notes. My fingers moved across the keyboard, but my mind kept drifting back to the heat of his lips against mine at the bench.

The bedroom door clicked open. Knox walked out wearing dark sweatpants and a plain grey t-shirt, a white towel draped over his shoulders as he dried his wet hair.

He stopped near the armchair, tossing the towel onto the armrest as he looked over at me.

"You’re still working?" Knox asked, his rough voice breaking the quiet room.

"Just wrapping up," I said, closing my laptop screen and setting it on the table.

Knox leaned his broad shoulder against the doorframe, crossing his arms over his chest as he studied me in the dim light of the sitting room.

"So," he began in a low voice, carrying a subtle, lingering edge. "Has your friend from home seen the Kiss Cam clip yet?"

I paused, looking up at him from the couch. "Drew?"

"Yeah. Drew," Knox said flatly, a lazy, unreadable glint in his dark eyes. "The guy who texts you at one in the morning."

"He hasn’t called," I replied evenly.

"Yet," Knox corrected softly, stepping out of the doorway. He leaned against the back of the armchair, his dark eyes locked onto mine. "Because if I were a guy who sent texts like that, watching another man kiss you on national television would definitely have me blowing up your phone."

My breath hitched in my throat as I held his stare. "It was contract compliance, Sheridan. Isn’t that what you told the reporters in the hallway?"

Knox’s dark eyes narrowed slightly, a slow, dangerous smirk spreading across his lips as he leaned in just an inch. "Is that what it felt like to you, Bennett?" he whispered.

Before I could even open my mouth to answer, a loud vibration suddenly shattered the silence.

BZZZ. BZZZ. BZZZ.

My phone, resting flat on the glass coffee table beside my elbow, vibrated violently.

The screen lit up brightly in the dim room, displaying the incoming caller ID in bold letters: Drew

Knox looked down at the vibrating phone screen, then looked back up at me with a slow, insufferable smirk.

"Told ya," Knox murmured softly.

He uncrossed his arms, turned on his heel, and strolled back into the bedroom, leaving the door cracked behind him as I picked up the phone.