Page 10 of Penalty for Boarding

The feeling is very mutual, doc. See you tonight.

I put my phone away, a giddy smile playing on my lips. Yes, this thing with Calvin is a risk. Yes, it's complicated and messy and could blow up in our faces at any moment. But it's also real and raw and so very worth it. So, fuck it. I'm done worrying over this. I'm ready to dive in headfirst and see where this crazy, beautiful ride takes us.

CALVIN

6:55pm. Olivia should be here any minute. I told the concierge downstairs that I’m expecting her, and to send her straight up. Would it be weird if I just opened the door and stood there waiting to see her walk off the elevator? It would, wouldn’t it…

God, I’ve got it bad. I'm so desperate to see her and make a good impression that I’ve spent the last hour tidying my already spotless apartment. But now I'm second-guessing every choice. Is it too sterile now? Should I have kept some of the clutter for a more relaxed look? Or would that make it too busy? And the lighting... Is it too dim? Too bright? Does it smell OK in here? I may have gone a bit overboard with the air freshener…

I reach a hand up to rake my fingers through my hair and wince as the movement sends a bolt of pain shooting through my shoulder. I bite back a groan, trying to stretch out the kinks in my neck, but every muscle protests. It's like my entire body has staged a revolt after yesterday's Pilates class.

I try to roll my shoulders, hoping to ease some of the tension, but the simple motion has me gritting my teeth. Even my abs ache, the muscles quivering with the effort of just standing upright. I feel like I've been hit by a truck, every joint creaking and every fiber screaming in agony.

Training today was a killer, but I pushed through it—even though my teammates were teasing me for skating like an old man. Whatever. I can take a ribbing from them. But I can't let Olivia see me like this. I don't want her to think I'm some kind of weakling who can't handle a little stretching. I'm a professional athlete, for fuck's sake. I've taken hits that would knock a lesser man out cold. I should be able to breeze through a Pilates class without feeling like I'm on death's door the next day.

So I take a deep breath, ignoring the twinge in my ribs, and try to plaster on a neutral expression. I lean against the kitchen counter, aiming for casual nonchalance, but even that simple act sends a fresh wave of pain radiating through my hips and lower back. Maybe I should just sit down. Cleaning this place had been a workout in itself, but if I collapse onto the couch now, there’s no way I’ll have the energy to host Olivia properly. I glance at the clock again—six fifty-eight. She could walk in any second, and I want to be ready.

With a reluctant sigh, I shuffle back to the living room, contemplating calling Olivia and shifting the location of our date to a Japanese Onsen instead. Then the doorbell rings. I straighten up, suppressing yet another wince, and make my way to the door, each step feeling like a Herculean effort.

“Be a fucking man, Barrett,” I coach myself, as I reach for the door, fix a smile on my face, and pull it open.

The moment I see her, the only sensation in my body is the feeling of my dick twitching awake. She’s stunning. A goddamn vision in a simple sundress and a fitted cardigan to keep her warm. Her dark hair is tied back again, but a few tendrils have escaped, framing her strong face and accentuating her intense blue eyes.

Olivia's eyes meet mine, and she smiles in a way that has me suppressing a groan.Fuck dinner. I’d rather just feast on her.

“Hey,” she says after a while of me just staring at her and getting hard.

“You look…” I shake my head slowly as I step aside to let her in. “…fucking amazing in that dress.”

She ducks her head, a pretty blush coloring her cheeks. “Thank you. You don't look so bad yourself.” She gives my pec a playful punch, and I almost cry out in pain. And although I manage to suppress the sound, I don’t manage to hide the wince that flashes across my face.

“Are you OK?” she asks, her brow furrowing as she searches my expression.

I grin as I close the door behind her. “I’m totally fine. I feel great, actually. Dinner's almost ready.”

I take her hand, leading her toward the kitchen, trying to walk as fluidly as possible despite the stiffness in my legs. Each step feels like I'm wading through wet cement.

As we enter the kitchen, Olivia's eyes watch me closely and I let go of her hand and move over to the bottle of wine I have breathing on the counter. When I pick it up and gesture as a way to offer her a glass, she just raises an eyebrow, her expression growing even more skeptical when the bottle quivers slightly from my aching arm.

“Are you sure you're OK, Calvin?” she asks, tilting her head a little. “You seem a bit... off.”

“Me? Off? No, no, I'm peachy,” I assure her, my voice coming out slightly higher-pitched than usual. “Why do you ask?”

Olivia crosses her arms, giving me a pointed look. “Well, for starters, you're walking like you’re a robot. And now you're talking to me through gritted teeth while you hang onto that counter for dear life. That's not exactly normal behavior, even for you.”

I let out a forced laugh, waving off her concerns. “What? No, I'm just... I'm just excited to see you, that's all. You know, a little nervous energy.”

She doesn't look convinced, but before she can press further, I lift the wine bottle again, hoping to distract her with a drink. But as I reach for it, a sudden, intense cramp seizes my shoulder, causing me to let out a yelp of pain. The bottle slips from my grasp, and I watch in horror as it tumbles toward the floor.

But before it can shatter, Olivia's hand shoots out, catching it deftly just inches from the ground. She straightens up, holding the bottle securely, and fixes me with a stern, yet slightly amused, look.

“Calvin Barrett, you are a terrible liar,” she says, shaking her head. “Now, are you going to tell me what's really going on, or do I have to drag it out of you?”

I sigh, knowing the jig is up. I can't hide anything from this woman, even if I wanted to. And if I'm being honest with myself, I don't want to. I want her to know me, the real me, even if that means admitting that soccer moms are tougher than me.

“All right, you got me,” I concede, holding up my hands in surrender. “That Pilates class yesterday... it kicked my ass. Like, really kicked my ass. I'm sore in places I didn't even know existed.”

Olivia's eyes widen as a smile plays across her lips. I can tell she’s on the verge of laughing, but she’s being kind enough to hold it in. “Oh, Calvin,” she says, setting the wine bottle safely on the counter. “Why didn't you just tell me?”

---