NA

training session. Bored and restless in my dorm, I dec

, relying on my vague memory of the

was slightly ajar, think

, humid air hit me-a mixture of swe

spacious locker room, with rows of hock

omeone w

ust stepped out of the shower, a single w

nd powerful, marked by faint, jagged scars from his years of battling on the ice. Drople

sheer physical presence of the man in front of me left my mind completely blank. I sh

o sense my gaze

s met, my breath c

essed into a line that radiated a cold, unapproachable air. His most striking feature was his eyes

th appraisal and displeasure, as if I were an unwe

is chest and abdominal muscles were perfectly defined

t. He simply stared at me. The

e was nothing hurried in his movements, yet every step carried an unmistakable pr

her

against the doorframe. His gaze never left mi

ith the same ruthless composure he might have sh

was colder than his gaze

acing. I was embarrassed at being caught staring, yet the

his eyes. The intimidating silence made my rebellious streak stir, but b

drew ran over, his face paling when

ously. "Director Bennett, I'm so sorry. She's... she's my si

, surprised. So this well-built man was the

rew's tense face to my curious

id flatly. "The next time she wanders into a p

us, he turned and walked t

me out of the locker r

ave me a heart attack!" Andrew breathe

mper," I muttered, still savori

, his voice full of awe. "He was a star player in the NHL, retired due to injury, and b

d by his "legendary" status. Still, I had to

m now on, you hear me?"

d distr