“You’re right. I am attracted to you,” she said. “You’re interesting, funny, and I want to keep talking with you. I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone like you, and I’ve wanted to for a long time now. At the same time, getting involved with you is professional suicide.” She let out a long sigh and looked into his eyes at last. “It won’t help your career, either, and maybe that should be a sign to both of us.”

“I feel the same way about you,” he said. “Why is it anyone else’s business but ours?”

“You know it would be,” she said. Her voice dropped again. “I wish it could be different.”

They stared at each other for a few seconds. She was right. The pull of attraction was almost overpowering, and this never happened to him so fast after meeting a woman. He shouldn’t take the chance that they wouldn’t be found out if they tried to meet each other in secret. “I understand,” he said.

He gathered his wet clothes off the hotel room floor, folding them enough to cram them into the plastic bag the hotel typically collected laundry in. They heard a knock at the door.

“I’ll get it,” he told her. She’d wrapped her arms around herself.

The hotel manager handed him another plastic bag. “It’s not stylish, but it will work. If you could return these at your convenience, we’d appreciate it.” Drew reached out to shake his hand. “Are you sure you want to go out in the storm tonight? We have a room available and I can offer you the walk-in rate.”

“I need to get home,” he told the guy. “Thanks for the offer and for the clothes.”

“If there’s anything else I can do, please let me know.”

Drew hurried into the bathroom, shut the door behind him, and started pulling items out of the bag. A doorman’s uniform and a worn but clean Dallas T-shirt that must have been left behind by another guest. He’d still have to go commando, but if he could get downstairs and into a cab, he’d be home in fifteen minutes. The guy had been nice enough to include a small bag of hotel toiletries, including a comb. He used the covered black elastic he always wore on one wrist to pull his hair into a ponytail.

He yanked the polyester pants on, jammed his feet back into his soaking wet cross trainers, and pulled the T-shirt on over his head. He wondered if the team fine would be bigger for the obscene fit of Kendall’s yoga pants or the fact he might be photographed in another team’s merchandise. He left the uniform’s tunic unbuttoned. It didn’t fit well across his chest.

He stared at himself in the mirror. He looked ridiculous. He didn’t want to leave, but he had no choice. It was best for them both if they stayed away from each other.

KENDALL STOOD UP from the couch when Drew emerged from the men’s room. A mismatched hotel bellman’s uniform and ratty old T-shirt looked spectacular on him. He grabbed his wet jacket off of the couch and shrugged into it.

She handed him the plastic bag with the new book he’d bought in it. His fingers brushed hers. It felt like she’d stuck her wet fingers in a power socket. The shock of attraction and lust forced her to struggle for words.

“I . . . I put the Malcolm Gladwell book in there too. Don’t worry about getting it back to me. I hope you’ll enjoy it.”

“I think I will.” He moved a little closer. There was an invisible force field pulling her into his warmth. “How about a hug?”

She knew any further physical contact with him was a stupid, stupid move, but she did it anyway. His hold on her was gentle. The jacket was damp, but she didn’t care. He laid his stubbly cheek against hers and said into her ear, “I hope we’ll see each other again soon.”

She relished the feeling of her arms around his neck, the cool brush of his hair against her skin, and the powerful muscles beneath her hands.

“Sunday afternoon,” she whispered.

“I’ll be the one in the Sharks uniform.”

“I’ll be the one in the Miners’ suite.” She hauled in a breath. “Good luck.”

“You too.” His mouth touched hers in a sweet and fleeting kiss. She wanted more. “Should I call you when I retire from the league?”

She should let go of him. She should push him out of the hotel room, lock the door, and pretend like she never wanted to see him again. She couldn’t. Instead, she nodded.

“Don’t say goodbye,” he murmured. He stroked her cheek with one big hand. He turned to walk away.

She watched the hotel room door shut behind him.

Chapter Three

DREW ENDURED THE equivalent of Mr. Toad’s Wild Ride through the streets of Bellevue on his way home. The cab driver was skilled, but he was having a tough time navigating standing water, streets strewn with tree branches, and random debris that had blown out of people’s yards. Drew heard his phone chirping with e-mails and text messages a few times during the trip home, but he ignored it. He was too busy willing the towering evergreens bent almost double in the wind to stay standing and not hit the car he was traveling in if and when they fell.

He reached into his pocket when the cab driver pulled up in front of his house and handed the guy the two fifty-dollar bills he had in his wallet for a fifteen-dollar trip.

“If I had any idea it was this bad, I would have stayed at the hotel. I’m sorry you had to be out in this. Thank you for driving me home,” he told the guy. “I hope you’ll get back there safely.”

“I’ll be fine.” The guy stared at the money for a moment. “Would you like your change?”

“No. It’s all yours.” He unsnapped his seatbelt. “Thank you again.”

The guy gestured at Drew’s front door. “Get inside where you’re safe, sir. Have a nice evening.”

Drew spotted his teammate Derrick’s car in the driveway as he got out of the cab. The wind blew him sideways up the front walk of his house. He’d been in Seattle for a couple of years now; he’d never seen weather like this before. The wind howled, rain sluiced down in sheets, and he jumped at the rumble of unexpected thunder: It was all he could do to put one foot in front of the other right now.

He grabbed his house keys out of the uniform pants pocket and promptly dropped them onto the mat. “Shit.” He heard thunder rolling again, and the sizzle of lightning lit up the night. He jammed the key in the lock, turned it, and shoved against the door with all his might. It swung open. He managed to get inside the front door of his house, shoved it closed, and checked the alarm system keypad to his left by reflex. It was disabled.

Relief washed over him. He was home, he was safe, and despite his stupidity in driving over in the first place, Derrick (the knucklehead) was safe as well. He could hear the sound of someone (actually, someones) playing video games from his family room.

He laid the bag with the books on the hallway table and dropped the bag with his wet clothing next to it. He’d deal with all of it later.

He grabbed his phone out of his pocket as he padded on almost silent rubber soles toward his family room. Seven texts, four of which were from Derrick. Maybe he’d let Derrick live. He heard his teammate Seth Taylor’s voice.

“Where the hell do you think McCoy is, anyway?”

Drew heard Derrick answering Seth. “Damned if I know. His car’s still in the garage. I talked to him at four o’clock. I told him it was double-points weekend on Xbox Live. Of course it’s the weekend the fucking power goes out.”