Twisted Collide: The new sports romance in the Redville Saints series
Twisted Collide: Chapter 44

It’s been a week since I’ve had a minute to relax. I can’t wait to get into my bed and sleep. After today’s game, I’m exhausted.

Believe it or not, taking pictures of hot hockey players warming up is hard work.

Do you know how hard it is to remember to click the capture button when someone is gyrating on the ice in front of you?

I deserve a raise.

When I arrive at the house, I park in my usual spot and bypass the house completely, heading to the guesthouse.

When I walk around the back and toward the deck, I’m surprised to see Dane and my father sitting there.

A part of me wants to walk right past them, not even acknowledge that they are there, but I know I can’t. Well, if ignoring their existence isn’t an option, I’ll do the opposite.

Time to make Dane sweat.

With my shoulders pulled back and perfect posture, I stride in their direction.

From where I am, I have a clear shot of him perched on his chair, glass in his hand.

My father is beside him, and he turns his head in my direction just as I lift my hand to wave at Dane. My father must think it’s for him because he waves back.

“Josie, come join us.”

This should be fun.

“Oh, trust me, Robert, I’m coming.” I smile big as I continue to walk toward them, and the closer I get, the more I know this is a bad idea.

As the sun ducks behind the clouds, ready to set into the night, the shimmery rays hit Dane at a perfect angle, highlighting just how handsome he is.

“What are you guys doing?” I ask, trying to turn my thoughts away from how much I want to kiss him.

Dane lifts his glass in response. “Having a drink.”

“After today’s blowout, I invited Dane over,” my father explains.

“Do the other guys know you play favorites?” I retort before I can stop myself. My father chokes at my comment, and Dane looks like his eyes might bug out of their sockets. I’ve been at a point of disadvantage since I got here. I kind of like making Dane sweat outside the bed. As for Robert? Who cares how he feels?

“I don’t play favorites on the ice,” he responds, as if that makes it any better. ”Why don’t you pull up a chair and tell us how you like your new job?”

Dane jumps up from his seat. “I’ll grab it for you,” he says before darting in the direction of a chair and then bringing it back.

My cheeks warm, and I grin up at his hulking figure. “Well, aren’t you the perfect gentleman.”

I take the seat that he placed directly beside him. This close, I see how his Adam’s apple bobs; I want so badly to touch it, to kiss him all over.

But that won’t happen.

With both our hands on the armrest, we are practically touching, but we’re not. It feels like torture.

If I move one inch . . .

No. I can’t.

Dane coughs, and when he does, I swear I feel his pinky touch mine.

It’s in your brain. He didn’t touch you. He wouldn’t risk getting caught.

As if he’s reading my mind, his hand brushes my hand sitting right beside his chair.

When I don’t pull my hand away, he touches my skin again. From where my father sits, he can’t see us, and Dane knows it.

He’s playing dirty, and I can’t say that I hate it. I don’t, I love it.

It feels like my heart will explode with each touch. The tension inside me is almost enough to make me shiver.

“So, Josie,” my father asks, and I need to shake my head to remember what the question is.

“I like it. Well, I like taking pictures. The players”—I look at Dane and smirk—“are a bit much.”

“Hey,” he objects, and I smile bigger.

“What? You are.”

“He’s what?” my father asks.

“Grumpy. Dane is grumpy.”

“That he is, but—”

“It’s fine,” Dane interjects, and I narrow my eyes at him and then at my father.

What was my father going to say? What don’t I know about this man that Robert does?

“How long have you two know each other?” I finally ask. I have gotten bits and pieces of this story, but not enough to paint a picture.

“Since the beginning of my career.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, actually, even before. Before my job at the Saints, I coached the University of Redville team.”

“You did?”

“Yeah.”

Dane is staring intently at me. I obviously can’t decipher his thoughts, but it’s clear as day that he’s confused. He’s realizing I know nothing about my father.

The man he regards as a hero in his life is merely a name and barely that in mine.

“I didn’t realize that Dane played college hockey,” I say more to myself than to anyone.

“Yeah, but not long. I decided to go pro soon after I started college.”

“You were good enough,” my father says proudly.

Is this what my father looks like when he genuinely feels proud of someone? The inside of my chest feels like someone is running a knife inside me. I hold back a sob as I will myself not to cry.

“You didn’t finish college?”

“I didn’t.”

“I had no idea. Did you want a degree? Not that I use mine, but hey, maybe I will someday.”

“College wasn’t in the cards for me. I had other responsibilities and expenses. I needed the money only going pro would give me.” Another small piece of the puzzle is given, yet no matter how hard I try, I can’t seem to see the big picture. Who is Dane Sinclair, and what makes him tick?