Penalty for Boarding (Curves on Ice #3)

4. Olivia

OLIVIA

I have to fight the urge to clap my hand over my mouth to stop myself from flirting with this guy. Did I really just suggest doing regular Pilates classes with Calvin Barrett? The man who makes me feel things I haven't felt in years? I don’t know if my heart—or my panties—can take that.

Just watching Calvin doing the exercises today has been a test of my willpower. The way his muscles flexed and strained, the sheen of sweat on his brow, his shirt clinging to his chiseled torso and the intensity in his expression as he pushed through the burn... It was like my own private show that sent my mind spinning more than once with decidedly unprofessional thoughts.

“I mean, if you want to continue, of course. I’m not your team physician, so I can’t order you to keep it up. But I think working on your ankle mobility and core strength is going to help keep you off that bench, and maybe even set up for future seasons. But no pressure, of course. It's entirely up to you.”

Silence follows, and I press my lips together as I realize I just went off on a ramble when I didn’t need to. God, this man makes me nervous!

Calvin's eyes narrow slightly as he studies me, a slow smile spreading across his face. “Future seasons, huh? You really think this old body has a few more left in it?”

I can't stop my gaze from wandering over his body, taking in the broad shoulders, the defined muscles, the rugged handsomeness that seems to only improve with age. “Old? Please. You're in better shape than most guys half your age. And with the right training and recovery plan, I have no doubt you've got plenty of fight left in you.”

Calvin's grin widens at my words. “Well, with a vote of confidence like that, how could I possibly say no? Especially if it means I get to spend more time with my new favorite doctor.”

I roll my eyes, suppressing the flutter in my chest as we exit the studio. Being around Calvin feels right, but it’s also making little warning bells go off in the back of my mind. I work for the Fury. And while attending a Pilates class with him isn't a direct conflict, I am risking breaching my professional contract by advising an opposing player and by forming this…bond. I’m walking a delicate line that could easily lead to trouble if I'm not cautious.

As we step out into the bright sunshine, I squint and lift a hand to shield my eyes and perhaps put up a barrier between Calvin and me.

“So, doc, when's our next torture session?” he asks, stopping in front of a big, black truck that immediately unlocks at his presence.

“Torture? Come on, Barrett. You're tougher than that,” I say as I take in the impressive vehicle. It suits him perfectly—big, powerful, and undeniably masculine. Just like the man himself. “But if it suits your schedule, we can attend classes here on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays at 6am.”

Calvin nods, opening the back door of his truck to toss his gym bag inside before turning back to me. “I can manage that.”

“OK. See you then,” I say, about to walk away when his big hand wraps around my upper arm and my breath catches involuntarily.

“I know I keep giving you shit, but I actually enjoyed myself in there,” he says, his voice soft and sincere. “Mostly because of the company.”

Calvin's touch sends a shiver down my spine, and I find myself ducking my head and trying to hide my smile. “I'm glad to hear that,” I manage to say, my voice coming out a bit breathier than I intend. “I, um…I enjoyed myself too.”

It’s then that I look up again and find myself immediately caught in his gaze, unable to tear myself away. We’re just frozen here, for…I don’t know how long. But when his eyes drop to my lips, and the distance between us seems to shrink, I start to think, holy shit. Is this man about to kiss me? Right here, outside the studio?

I stop breathing entirely, my mind racing through a thousand scenarios, the two biggest being— Give in, you know you want this , and Step back you crazy bitch. This could get you fired!

They both have solid points, but the first is backed up by my hormones and I find myself leaning in and closing my eyes…

“Oh my god, are you Calvin Barrett?”

A voice pierces the intimate bubble that's formed around Calvin and me, and I nearly jump out of my skin. I open my eyes to see a stunning blonde woman standing a few feet away, her eyes wide with excitement and her cellphone already poised for a selfie in her hand. She's the kind of beautiful that stops traffic, with perfect features and a body that looks like it was sculpted by a great artist and belongs in the Louvre.

Calvin blinks, clearly caught off guard. “Uh...”

“It is you!” The woman rushes over, practically knocking me on my ass to get to him. “I knew it! Oh, I'm such a huge fan. Can I get a picture with you?”

I step clear out of the way, feeling like I've been doused with a bucket of cold water. And as the blonde bombshell drapes herself over Calvin's arm for a photo op, I take this moment to collect myself and escape the awkward situation. My heart is still racing from our near-kiss, but reality sets in—I can't get involved with a player from another team! In fact, I don’t think I should get involved with a player ever. I love my body for the strength it provides and the ability it gives me to help others heal, but no matter how much work I do improving my own self love, I don’t think my ego could survive all these groupies—puck bunnies—waiting in the wings. I take one last look at Calvin, his gaze already diverted to his newfound fan, and shake off any lingering desires before I start walking away from them, putting some much-needed distance between myself and what was about to become a huge mistake.

“OK, universe. I hear your warning. I’ll keep my distance,” I say to no one as I get in my car and head into work, doing my best to keep my mind on the job and far away from what happened in front of the pilates studio this morning. But that’s hard to do when I keep getting texts from him asking what happened and if everything is OK.

By lunch time, I finally give in and text back that I’m fine and I just needed to get to work. It seems to appease him fine enough, and I get through the rest of my day without a peep. But later that night, as I'm curled up on my couch with a glass of wine and a book I'm not really reading, my phone buzzes with yet another text. And while I tell myself I don’t want it to be him, I can’t lie and say that my heart doesn’t do a little happy dance when I see Calvin's name on the screen.

Calvin:

You up?

Me:

I am now, thanks to you. What's up?

Calvin:

Just checking in. How was the rest of your day?

Me:

Oh, you know, the usual. Patients, paperwork, trying not to make a fool of myself in front of pilates studios with attractive hockey players.

The moment I hit send on that, I feel instant regret and tap the message to edit that last line out. But when I see the dots dancing on Clavin’s end, I already know it’s too late, so I gulp down some wine and try not to throw up.

Calvin:

You think you made a fool of yourself?

I stare at the message, my pulse racing as I wonder if I can just ignore his question and pretend like I didn't just spill my guts to him in a text. But then the dots start dancing again and another text pops up on the screen.

Have a drink with me.

I stare at my phone again. A huge part of me wants to say yes, to throw caution to the wind and see where this thing with Calvin could go. But the rational side of my brain, the one that's been hurt before and has learned to guard my heart, tells me it's a bad idea.

Me:

I don't know, Calvin. I think it's best if we keep things professional.

Calvin:

We haven’t been professional from the moment we spoke after the game, Olivia, and you know it.

His words hit me like a puck to the chest, leaving me breathless and unable to deny the truth in them. I do know it, and that's what scares me. I just met the man this weekend, and already I feel so connected to him that if I allow him to get too close, he might just become the reason I breathe. I’m not sure I want that. But then again, how can I say no?

Before I can even contemplate a response, the buzzer to my apartment building sounds, making me jump off the couch in surprise. Setting down my phone, I walk over to the intercom, my chest jolting when a great, hulking hockey player is standing in front of the camera, a bottle of wine in his hand.

“What are you doing here, Calvin?” I ask when I hit the talk button.

“Let me up, Olivia. We need to talk face-to-face.”

The intercom crackles as I hesitate, my heart pounding in my ears. Why Calvin Barrett is standing outside my apartment door holding a bottle of wine like some kind of romantic hero from one of my books is beyond me. But here he is, larger than life and impossible to ignore.

How is this my life right now?

I take a deep breath and hold my finger over the unlock button. “All right, Calvin. I'll let you up.” As I hit the button and the buzz sounds to let him in, I close my eyes and wonder what the hell the universe has in store for me. I thought the message was loud and clear when our kiss got interrupted on the sidewalk this morning. But maybe the message was more ‘not in public’ and we should do those things in private? I don’t know. But what I do know is that in the time it takes Calvin to ride the elevator up to my floor, I brush my teeth, scrape my tongue and gargle enough minty freshness to knock a fly off its course. I even run my fingers through my hair and pinch my cheeks for good measure. By the time I hear his heavy footsteps approaching my door, my heart is beating so hard it’s hitting against my skull. I get one calming breath in before he knocks.