Twisted Collide: The new sports romance in the Redville Saints series
Twisted Collide: Chapter 10

A deer caught in headlights, that’s what I am.

The moment I stopped, I saw him, and now I can’t pull my gaze away.

It’s him. Holy shit. It’s him. How is this possible? The look on his face is one of pure shock. And how could it not be? Last night was random. No names and all our talk of hating hockey . . .

Wait.

He said he hated hockey.

Was that real? Or an act.

No. I’m good at deciphering how people are feeling. I can read people well and take in their emotions. That was all real.

He hates hockey, yet he plays for my father.

“Josie,” the man’s—who I now know as the sperm donor—voice cuts through my thoughts and forces me to pull my gaze away from the handsome and sinfully sexy stranger from last night.

I step up to where he is forcing me to turn away from my one-night stand turned awkward first day at work, and look up toward the man I only just met.

Should I call him sperm donor? Dad? Coach? Robert? Mr. Harris?

All of the above.

Since it’s a job, I’ll call him Coach Robert.

Yeah, that’s easier.

Coach Robert nods down at me. “Josie will be interning with us this season.”

A bunch of the guys start to speak at once, and despite my best efforts, I can’t make out what anyone is saying.

How long do I have to be here today? Will he try to speak to me?

My heart rattles in my chest. I hope not . . . yet I do. I want to speak to him.

“Now, listen closely. . .” Coach Robert takes a step forward and looks right at some younger, handsome player. “No one, and I mean no one, will cross me on this. Josie is off-limits.”

His words drop like the bomb that they are. The stranger in front of me goes ramrod straight. If I didn’t know better, I’d mistake him for a statue. His jaw is stiff, and he stares at me like he hates me.

A chill runs up my spine.

What the actual hell?

Does he think I did this on purpose?

Does he think I knew?

Well, if he does, then he has a thing coming for him because I didn’t.

After a few more minutes of the coach yapping about God knows what . . . yes, I know I should be listening, but alas, I have more pressing matters at hand, like why the hottie is giving me death glares.

Finally, the meeting concludes, and the stranger walks. I follow him.

I’m not sure where he’s going, and I’m sure my sperm donor is expecting me, but when I turn my head over my shoulder, I see he’s already preoccupied with the young guy he was staring at during his speech. This must be the team “player.”

Too bad he’s not the one my “father” should be worried about.

“Hey,” I whisper-shout, and surprisingly, he stops.

With slow and wary steps, I make my approach. He turns around to face me. Large blue eyes that only yesterday made my knees weak are now narrowed and hard. Decadent lips are set into a straight line, and the hard-set jaw I’m staring at makes my hands tremble.

He crosses his arms over his chest. “Did you know?”

“Know what?” There are a few different topics he could be speaking on.

“Cut the shit. Did you know who I was?”

I shake my head. “No.”

“I replace that hard to believe,” he snaps. My shoulders straighten, and I stand tall.

I open my mouth, then clamp it shut as I think of what he’s implying. Does he really think I planned this whole thing? I take a deep breath, calming down the storm brewing inside me with the words I want to say before I’m calm enough to speak.

“It’s the truth.” I inhale again. “I had no clue who you were. If you remember, I’m not a fan of hockey?” I lift my brow in challenge. “If anyone was lying last night, it wasn’t me.”

“You want me to believe this is some sort of coincidence?”

“Or fate.”

“Cute,” he chides. “But I don’t believe in that shit.”

“Listen, it is what it is. No harm done. Unless—” I step closer to him, lip tipping up into what I like to consider a sexy smirk.

“There will be no unless,” he says, voice hard and unyielding. “Coach is like a father to me.”

“Must be nice,” I mutter under my breath.

If he hears my comment, he doesn’t let on. Instead, he places his hands in his pockets and is silent for a moment; a second later, his chin lifts, and he meets my stare.

“Nothing happened. You don’t know me.”

“Whatever you say—I don’t even know your name.”

“Good.”

“Wow, if I thought you were grumpy yesterday, it has nothing on this new version.” I shake my head. “I should know your name, so I know who to stay away from.”

He lets out a breath. “Dane.”

“And do you have a last name, Dane?”

“Sinclair.”

“Very well, Dane Sinclair, I’ll avoid you like the plague. Wouldn’t want Dad to know his ‘son’ fucked his daughter.”

“Stop.” He lifts his right hand and runs it through his hair, pulling at the locks. “Are you always this reckless?”

“Isn’t that what you liked about me?” I wink. “I’m a hellfire, after all.”

I’m baiting him. Purposely going against what he’s asked of me. I’ll pretend I don’t know him in front of my father, but right now, I want to make him feel as off-kilter as I am.

“You’re something all right,” he says, shaking his head.

“Don’t forget, I’m also a tightrope walker.”

If looks could kill, I’d be dead. “Do you ever stop?”

“No. Not really, but don’t worry, I’ll get out of your hair.” I turn on my heel but look over my shoulder. “For now.”

“Maybe you can go trace another trident.”

Despite my previous words, I change my mind.

I won’t be leaving him alone.

Not when he’s so much fun to play with, and right now, I need all the fun I can get.