Twisted Collide: The new sports romance in the Redville Saints series
Twisted Collide: Chapter 23

She’s too close.

Despite the size of my car, she’s too damn close. The soft smell of her floral perfume accents the air, making me hyperaware of her presence and reminding me of how she tastes, how she moans, and, the worst, how she feels.

All I can think about is tasting her again.

I want to lose myself in her body and never be found.

Having her work with me is officially the worst idea Coach has ever come up with, and obviously not for the reason he would think.

I need to get rid of her, but if I told him this wasn’t working out, she would feel the brunt of it. He would assume, like the rest of the temporary assistants I’ve fired, she did something wrong, but the only thing she’s done wrong is existing because her presence is too much.

My need and desire for her are all-consuming.

It’s all I think about.

I need to taste her one more time.

Maybe sending Molly away was a bad idea. No. She deserves it. She’s put up with my shit for years. She claims she owes me, and it’s the least she can do after I raised her. She claims I gave up my life to take care of her, but that’s the biggest bullshit I’ve ever heard.

Sure, I had to make sacrifices, and yes, some things I did to keep her were not my finest moments, but in truth, Molly gave me a reason to live.

The guilt from my parents’ accident will live with me forever. My penance was making my life about her, and it still is about her.

The fact is, she’s been through hell. My father’s reckless drinking and driving not only resulted in the accident that killed our mother, but it nearly killed Molly too. Now, she’s left with survivor’s guilt, and that isn’t fair. She was an innocent child, and he took that innocence away from her.

My hands on the wheel grip tight enough that my knuckles have turned white.

“Everything okay over there?”

“Just fine.” I stare intently at the road ahead. My anger is still simmering on the surface; I need a distraction, or I’ll head into this interview with fire in my veins. That won’t bode well for the charity. “Where’s home?”

She fidgets in her seat. “Indiana. A small town. Doubt you’ve heard of it.”

“Try me.”

“Harbor Woods.”

I drum my fingers on the steering wheel, trying to place the name. Nope. Nothing. “Yeah, I never heard of it.”

“Told you.”

An awkward silence fills the air. Why is getting information out of her like pulling teeth? She’s closed off, and I don’t like it. You’re one to talk.

“You like working for the team?” Can I be any more cliché with my questions? At this point, I’m better off riding in silence, but for some reason, I can’t stop myself from asking her mundane questions. What the hell is wrong with me? You want to get to know her. I’m pathetic, that’s what.

“It’s fine.” She flicks the radio on loud enough to drown out my questions. Smooth.

I lower it. “Fine?”

She lets out a sigh. It might be dawning on her that I won’t back down easily. “Yeah, I guess. Some parts I like more than others.”

“And those parts are?”

Josephine glances out the window. “I like the marketing aspects. Don’t love the cleaning after smelly players.”

“We don’t all smell.”

She turns back to face me. “Yeah, you do.”

“Ouch.”

From the corner of my eye, it looks like she rolled her eyes at me, but I can’t be sure. “I never said you smelled bad.”

I tap the brakes and come to a stop at the light before glancing in her direction. “And how exactly do I smell, Hellfire?”

She shakes her head. “Not going there.”

We both go silent. The hum of the engine is the only sound present in the car. What is she thinking? She’s probably thinking she wishes I would stop asking her questions. Sorry, Hellfire, no such luck today. I’m on a roll.

“Tell me more about you.”

“Jeez.” She tilts her head back. “What is this, the inquisition? You already know the important things.”

“Come on, Hellfire, throw me a bone.”

“I already told you things about me. Such as my fear of spiders.”

My right hand leaves the wheel and runs through my hair. “You aren’t going to make this easy, are you?”

“Would I be a hellfire if I did?”

She’s got me there, but she still won’t win this battle. “What’s your favorite color?”

She taps her left-hand fingers on the center console. “Blue.”

“Food?”

“You’re intolerable.” She lets out a deep sigh. “Fine, donuts. Happy?”

“No, what did you study in college?”

“Greek mythology,” she answers, her tone clearly annoyed.

“Seriously?”

She squirms in her seat. I wonder if she’s considering bailing on the ride. “Seriously.”

“No wonder you couldn’t replace a job.”

“Now you’re telling me.” This time, she definitely rolls her eyes.

“Who’s your favorite god . . .”

She barks out a laugh, and I turn to face her, catching the smirk that lines her face. “Poseidon.” Clever girl. I stepped right into that.

“How did I know you would say that?”

“’Cause you’re smart. You remind me of him.”

I try to keep my face serious, but it’s no use. My lip curls up. “Do I now?”

“Yep.”

“And how exactly do I remind you of Poseidon?”

“He was grumpy too, but he meant well. Not a full asshole like Ares.”

“Good to know . . . and who are you in this equation.”

“That’s yet to be seen.”

“Why don’t you talk to your dad?”

“And on that note . . .”

From beside me, I see Josephine reach over the console and start fiddling with the radio again. This time, I don’t stop her. It was worth a try. Then a song that I don’t know is playing. She seems to know exactly what song it is by the way she sways in her chair.

I try to keep focused on the road, but it’s hard as her shoulders move seductively.

At the red light, I slow the car down to a stop and turn to look at her. Her eyes are closed, and her mouth is softly singing the lyrics.

This girl is trouble.

She doesn’t even realize it, but she is the sexiest woman I have ever seen, and she’s not even trying.

The way her lips move with each sultry word has my dick hardening in my pants. No one should be this sensual. Especially when she’s merely singing in the car.

Her voice is low, and I can’t make out the lyrics, but fuck, does she sound good.

Luckily for me, the light turns green, and I have to go back to paying attention.

We only need to drive for about five minutes more before we pull up to the little coffee shop, where I will have to answer questions I don’t want to. But I wouldn’t put it past Molly to come back if I don’t, so I’ll suck it up.

The next few minutes are painful.

All I want to do is get out of the car. If Coach only knew what I wanted to do to his daughter, he’d kill me.

Hudson would have no problem with any of this, but fuck, why does she have to be Coach’s kid?

I remember the day I knew Robert would change my life. The rink was cold, the air thick with the scent of ice and sweat. Coach Robert, with his clean shave and country club look, pulled me aside after practice.

“Dane,” he said in his gravelly voice, “you’ve got potential, kid. But potential isn’t enough. You gotta work for it every damn day. You’ve got to want it more than anything.”

I nodded, hanging on his every word. It was more attention and guidance than I had ever received from my father, who preferred to simply push me to live the life he always wanted and couldn’t have. An angry, stoic figure in a sea of cheering parents.

Coach continued, his words sinking deep into my core. “Hockey’s more than just skating and shooting. It’s about heart. It’s about sacrifice. You wanna remain at the top of this level? You gotta give it everything you’ve got. No excuses. Especially for you, Dane. You have your sister to consider.”

His advice wasn’t just about hockey; it was about life. About perseverance, about pushing through the tough times. It was about believing in myself, something I struggled with when Dad’s distant nods were the closest thing I had to approval.

“Listen to your instincts, Dane,” Coach said, clapping a hand on my shoulder. “Trust your teammates, but trust yourself most of all. You’ve got what it takes.”

Those words stuck with me through every game, every practice. They became my mantra, driving me forward even when the odds seemed stacked against us. Coach believed in me and saw something I struggled to see in myself.

Looking back now, I realize that moment with Coach was more than just a pep talk. It was a turning point. It was the moment I realized that I didn’t hate hockey; I hated what it meant to my father. But I wasn’t living for him. I was living for myself, and hockey was as much a part of my life as the air I breathed. I didn’t know any different, and in reality, father aside, I didn’t want to.

He’s been there for me through some of the toughest years. Always encouraging me in ways my father never did.

The distance evaporates, and I make the turn and then throw the car in park.

We hop out and walk inside.

A woman in her early thirties walks right up to me, hand stretched out.

“Hello, Mr. Sinclair. Can I call you Dane?”

No. You can’t, is what I want to say, but something tells me that won’t go over so well.

This woman doesn’t know me, but by the way she looks at me, I think she thinks she will.

“Sure.”

She beams at me and then turns to Josephine, her smile now a straight line.

“Thank you for bringing him . . .”

Josephine takes a step forward and extends her hand. “I’m Josie.”

The woman looks down at her hand like it’s diseased. “Cute,” she says in a patronizing voice.

Is she for real right now?

“Josephine is my temporary assistant while Molly is out of town. She’s Coach Robert’s daughter.”

That wipes the snide smirk right off her face. It also makes Josephine look like she might throw up.

Instantly, I hate that I said it.

The reason I did was to tell this bitch to treat her with respect, but I realize now, more damage was done to Josephine than to the reporter.

“Let’s make this quick,” I say, pointing at a free table. “We have another appointment after this.”

I turn toward Josephine to see if she’ll back me up despite the fact that we don’t have anything after this, but she plays along.

“Yep. Sorry, oh, I forgot your name.”

“Natasha.”

“Yeah, sorry, Natasha, Mr. Sinclair’s schedule is jam-packed. Busy man. So you guys might want to get to it.”

“No problem.” Natasha scurries behind me as I walk to the table.

The moment we get away from Josephine, Natasha is back at it, fluttering her lids at me and licking her lips.

Not acting at all professional.

“She’s a bit young. Don’t you hate nepotism?”

“My sister works for me,” I deadpan.

Her mouth opens and shuts like a guppy.

It takes her a few minutes to right herself before she takes out her recorder.

“So, tell me about your involvement with Saints and Starling Foundation. From what I heard from Coach Robert, this charity is near and dear to your heart.”

It is, more than he knows, more than anyone knows.

I take a deep breath and tell her the watered-down version of why I help raise money to assist people with legal fees.

How I want to make sure that people who don’t have access to funds can still get the representation and advice they need.

Even without money, they don’t need to sell their soul to ensure they are looked after.

They don’t have to do what I did when I had no one to help me.