Beg Me Like You Mean It, Captain

I skated toward the photographer, the sudden friction of my blades cutting sharply into the ice.

There was no way I was letting a photo like that make it to the jumbotron without inspecting the damage first.

"Let me see that," I said, forcing a calm, professional tone as I leaned over the digital monitor where the director and photographer were hovering.

On the high-definition screen, the shot loaded instantly. My breath hitched in my throat.

The camera had captured the exact split second before the flash fully blinded us.

Because we were supposed to be sharing a ’tactical look,’ our faces were turned toward one another, but the framing made it look entirely too intimate. Reid was towering over me, his smoky grey eyes fixed on my face with a dark, heavy intensity that looked less like team chemistry and more like outright possession.

And me? My jaw was tight, my lips slightly parted as I stared back up at him. The camera had caught the exact moment his thumb had pressed against my neck, capturing a look in my eyes that was entirely too raw.

It didn’t look like two teammates planning a play. It looked like a predator pinning his prey under the stadium lights, and the raw vulnerability on my face made my stomach do a violent flip.

"Oh, this is gold," the marketing director beamed, tapping the screen with a manicured fingernail. "Look at that tension! The fans are going to absolutely lose their minds. The contrast between your calm look and McCoy’s aggressive frame is perfect for the rivalry campaign."

The expression on my face was far from calm.

"Don’t you think it’s a bit... much?" I managed to say, my voice tightly controlled as I kept my eyes glued to the screen. "It looks a little unstructured for a captain’s promo. Maybe we should use one of the standard shoulder-to-shoulder shots."

"Nonsense, Evans," the director dismissed with a wave of her hand. "This is exactly the kind of engagement we need. It makes the first line look fierce, connected, and completely in sync. It’s going up on the main jumbotron during the pre-game introductions tonight."

A soft spray of ice announced Reid skating up right behind me. He leaned over my shoulder, his broad chest pressing lightly against my back as he looked at the monitor.

I could feel the low, amused vibration in his chest before he even spoke.

"I think it looks great, Cap," Reid murmured, his voice laced with that same insufferable, snobbish satisfaction.

He stared at the screen, his eyes lingering on the way his hand gripped my shoulder padding.

"The synergy is right there on display. It gives a real good look at how well we... cooperate."

I gritted my teeth, my hands clenching into fists inside my heavy gloves. He was doing it on purpose, rubbing it in my face that the entire stadium was going to look at a snapshot of my submission tonight, and they would all cheer for it without having any idea what they were actually witnessing.

Yes, it was all for clout and if this was on another day, if this were before the retreat, I wouldn’t have cared but... there is just so much weighing on my mind and my body keeps reacting to Reid’s proximity.

How could I possibly ignore it?

But if I make a big deal out of it now, I’ll only come off as suspicious. I can’t do anything about it.

I had to swallow the bitter taste of my own helplessness. I forced my hands to relax inside my gloves, forcing a cold, indifferent mask to stay firmly on my face.

​"If marketing thinks it sells tickets, then do whatever you want," I said, my tone flat and entirely dismissive as I straightened up, stepping away from the monitor—and away from the stifling heat of Reid’s chest against my back. "I’m heading to the main rink for the morning skate."

​"That’s the spirit, Cap!" the director called out, completely missing the tight strain in my jaw as she turned back to the photographer to finalize the layout.

​I didn’t wait for Reid. I dug my blades into the ice and skated hard toward the exit tunnel, the sharp clack-clack of my steel on the rubber mats outside the rink sounding like a countdown.

My body was still humming from his proximity, a faint, embarrassing shiver lingering along my ribs where his fingers had gripped my shoulder pad.

It was terrifying how quickly my defenses dissolved whenever he got within arm’s reach.

​"Don’t skate off too fast, Evans," Reid’s voice echoed in the concrete corridor behind me, his longer strides easily closing the gap. He wasn’t even using his full speed, just gliding along with that lazy, natural grace that made me want to smash my stick against the wall. "We still have to give the media team our pre-game warm-up footage."

​"I have a hockey game to focus on, McCoy," I gritted out, not turning around as I pushed through the heavy doors leading to the main arena bowl. "And so do you. If you miss a single assignment on the backcheck tonight because you’re too busy admiring your own face on the jumbotron, Coach Devin will have your ass on the bench before the first period is over."

​"I won’t miss a thing," Reid chuckled, stepping onto the main ice right beside me.

The stadium was vast and empty right now, the thousands of empty blue seats staring down at us under the house lights, waiting for the evening to arrive.

He leaned on his stick, looking out over the clean sheet before his smoky grey eyes cut back to the side of my face. "I’m exceptionally good at keeping my eyes on my target."

​I ignored the underlying threat in his words, gripping my stick until my palms ached. The pressure was mounting from every direction. I have to focus on the game.

​I blew a sharp breath into the cold air, watching it cloud before my eyes, and slid into my stride.

No matter what Reid did, and no matter what picture went up on that jumbotron, the second that puck dropped tonight, I was the Captain. And I was going to play like my life depended on it.