Page 2 of Penalty for Boarding

Olivia raises an eyebrow, a hint of amusement playing on her lips as she sizes me up. “Cat got your tongue, Barrett?”

Her words snap me out of my trance, and I clear my throat, trying to regain my composure. “Uh, sorry. I just… wasn't expectin’ anyone else to be here.”

She nods, taking a step closer. “I was on my way out when I saw you limping. Thought I'd check in, see if everything's all right.”

Her concern touches me. We're rivals, but in this moment, that doesn't matter. All that matters is the connection I feel, thecertainty that she's the one I've been waiting for my whole life. It's a feeling I've never experienced before, not even during my brief marriage all those years ago. Back then, I thought I knew what it meant to be sure about someone, but standing here with Olivia, I realize how wrong I was. This is different, more intense and undeniable than anything I've ever felt.

“It's just a little sore,” I say, my voice a little rough. “Nothing I can't handle.”

She gives me a knowing look. “Mind if I take a closer look? It's kind of my job.”

“You sure the Fury’s management are OK with you inspectin’ enemy territory?” I tease, trying to keep the mood light while my heart races.

“Oh, please.” She rolls her eyes, her lips twitching into a smile. “You think I care about that nonsense? Sit your ass down and take off your boot.” She gestures to the seating along the wall, her tone carrying a blend of authority and playfulness that’s fucking hot. She's like the perfect storm—intensely focused yet disarmingly charming.

“Yes, ma'am,” I reply with a grin, easing myself down onto the bench. I start to unlace my boot, but my fingers fumble with the task, my mind too preoccupied with the woman standing before me. She notices my struggle and kneels down in front of me, gently batting my hands away.

“Here, let me,” she says, her deft fingers making quick work of the laces. She carefully helps me slide the boot off, her touch sending electric sparks up my leg. I can't help but stare at her, marveling at the concentration on her face as she examines my ankle, her hands gently probing the swollen joint.

“Well, it's definitely inflamed,” she murmurs, looking up at me with those striking blue eyes. I immediately feel like I’m falling into them. “But I don't think it's anything too serious. Youshould probably keep it wrapped for now, just to give it some extra support.”

I nod, trying to focus on her words and not the way her touch is sending sparks through my body. “Yeah, that's probably a good idea.”

She stands up, brushing off her knees before she glances at her watch. “I was just about to head out to dinner. But I should have enough time to wrap it properly for you if you'd like.”

The thought of her hands on my skin again, even in a medical capacity, is enough to make my cock ache.

“That would be amazing,” I say, not just because I know it's the smart thing to do for my ankle, but because I'd agree to just about anything to prolong this moment with my future wife.

OLIVIA

As I lead Calvin through the empty hallways of the arena, I try to tell myself I'm just being a good person here, that my offer to wrap his ankle is nothing more than a professional courtesy. But deep down, I know there's more to it than that.

I glance over my shoulder, taking in the sight of him limping along behind me. Even in pain, he moves with a certain grace, a quiet strength that speaks to years of pushing his body to the limits. My dad was a huge Nighthawks fan, so I've seen Calvin’s career from the beginning—every bone-crushing check, every triumphant goal, and the way he always bounces back up, no matter how hard he falls. I admire his grit. But truth be told, I admire the way his ass fits snugly into those hockey pants even more. The man is a walking fantasy. And if I had my way, I’d definitely be the one helping him out of anything his perfectly sculpted body happens to be wearing.

I shake my head, forcing myself to play it cool as we reach the Fury's locker room. While my dad would have been over the moon if I’d told him I was working for his favorite team, he’s still more than proud that his ‘little girl’—who’s definitely not little byany stretch of the word—does important work inside the sport he loves.

I push the door open and gesture for Calvin to go ahead of me. He limps past, looking at me like I’m his lifeline. When we lock eyes, heat pool low in my belly, and I have to look away and chastise myself for even entertaining the thought of what it would feel like to have him looking at me that way while his rugged body was pressing mine into a mattress. I’m here to do a job, not indulge in fantasies.

“Just through here.” The door swings closed behind us, and I lead him into the treatment room, the smell of antiseptic and liniment hitting my nostrils. It’s a familiar scent, one that usually calms me, grounding me in my work. This room is my safe place, the place where I’m the professional, and I’m in control. But today it feels different, charged. Calvin stumbles a bit as he steps toward the padded table, and I instinctively reach out to steady him. My fingers brush against his strong arm, and a new rush of warmth floods through me. I feel like I’m on heat or something.This is ridiculous!

“Thanks, doc,” he murmurs, a playful smile on his lips as he settles on the edge of the treatment table and looks around the room. “You sure this is OK?”

“What is?”

“My being in here?” His brow furrows as he looks back at me. “I don't want to cause any trouble.”

“You worried someone might see you in here and get the wrong idea?” I arch an eyebrow as I gather some supplies from the drawers. “Trust me, Calvin, no one would look at us and think that. I treat players alone in here all the time, and not a single rumor has done the rounds.” I lower my voice to a conspiratorial tone. “I’m not like they girls they hang pictures of in their lockers.”

“I don't know, doc.” Calvin’s eyes roam over my body in a way that makes me feel suddenly exposed. “Any man with a set of eyes in his head would be havin’ some very rumor-fueling thoughts in this kind of situation.” His eyes return to mine. “Maybe they just respect you too much.”

“Maybe,” I say, the laughter in my tone vanishing. I clear my throat and try to ignore the blush creeping up my neck while I busily arrange my supplies on the tray, telling myself that he’s just teasing, perhaps trying to make me feel better since I’m using my own time to help him out. But the way his gaze lingers on my curves has me wondering if maybe he’s serious. Maybe he really does like what he sees.

I look up at him and almost swoon.God, this man has the most kissable lips. I want him.

“Ah… Why don’t you sit back some more and put your foot on the table?” I suggest, my voice steadier than I feel. “I’ll take a look at that ankle. It’s swollen enough to warrant some attention.”

Calvin complies, shifting back with a graceful ease that belies his size. He props his foot on the table and leans back slightly, his eyes never leaving mine. There’s something happening in the air between us, like a game of chicken where neither of us wants to blink first. It’s…confusing. He’s gorgeous, ripped and rugged, and here I am, a regular-looking person with more squish on my body than most find appealing. It doesn’t make sense…

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