Page 5 of Penalty for Boarding

She holds my gaze, her pupils dilating as if she’s weighing her options. For me, the only option here is her. But when she clears her throat and shifts slightly, I can tell she’s trying to regain control. “Courting trouble? I don’t think so, Mr. Barrett,” she retorts, even though her voice has a tiny wobble to it. “I’mnot one for trouble at all.” I respond by just quirking a brow at her. She clears her throat and juts her chin in the air. “We should probably just focus on the class.” Her eyes stray back to mine. “Wouldn't want you to pull something before we even start.”

“Right, the class. Can't let ourselves get distracted from what the real goal is here.” I hold her eyes, the tension crackling between us, until the instructor calls for class to start and we’re forced to turn our attention to the front of the room.

But even as we begin to warm up with a series of gentle stretches, it’s hard to focus on anything but Olivia. The way her body bends and shifts commands my attention. All I can think about is how I’d like to take advantage of that flexibility of hers in a more horizontal context. I imagine tracing my fingers down her curves, feeling her shudder under my touch. I bet she's got one hell of a grip when she's not busy keeping athletes in top form, and the moment I can get her into a more private setting, I'm eager to find out.

I return my attention to the front of the room, trying to will my wayward thoughts into submission. There's no denying it. Olivia Angelo has gotten under my skin in all the right ways. And I won’t rest until I’ve dug myself deep under hers and she has my baby in her belly.

We transition from the warm-up to the ‘Hundred’ a classic Pilates move that involves lying on your back, lifting your head and shoulders off the mat, and pumping your arms up and down while keeping your legs extended and hovering above the ground. It looks simple enough when the instructor demonstrates, her core engaged and her breathing steady. But as I attempt to mimic her form, my thoughts quickly go from fantasizing about Olivia beneath me to,‘Oh shit, this fucking hurts!’

Now, I have done a million sit-ups and crunches throughout my career. But within about thirty seconds of doing this, my absare quivering and my lower back is straining. I’m even struggling to keep my legs straight.Fuck. This is only the first serious exercise.

“Breathe, Calvin,” Olivia whispers, her voice cutting through the panic in my mind. “The key is to focus on your exhale and let your core do the work.”

I nod, gritting my teeth as I try to follow her advice. We move on to the ‘Roll-Up,’ a move that involves slowly peeling your spine off the mat, vertebra by vertebra, until you're sitting up with your arms reaching toward your toes. Olivia makes it look effortless, her body forming a perfect curve as she rolls up and down. Meanwhile, I feel like a beached whale, my muscles straining and my breath coming in short, choppy bursts. This is no walk in the park.

As the class progresses, each new exercise seems to highlight another area of weakness in my body. The ‘Single Leg Circles’ reveal just how tight my hips are, while the ‘Crisscross’ makes me acutely aware of the imbalance between my left and right obliques. By the time we get to the ‘Teaser,’ a move that involves balancing on your sit bones with your legs extended and your arms reaching forward, I'm drenched in sweat and my muscles are screaming in protest.

I glance over at Olivia, who looks like she's barely broken a sweat. She catches my eye and gives me an encouraging smile. “You’re doing great,” she stage whispers. And while I nod and attempt a smile back, in my mind I’m screaming,What the fuck?

Is this some kind of joke?

I'm certainly not laughing, though I can see the humor in the situation. Here I am, a professional athlete who's spent years honing his body for peak performance on the ice, reduced to a panting, trembling mess by a Pilates class. It’s ridiculous. But I refuse to look the fool by giving up.

Instead, I take a deep breath and try to channel some of that competitive spirit that's served me so well on the ice. I may not be graceful or coordinated, but I'll be damned if I let this class defeat me. With a grunt of effort, I pull myself into the ‘Teaser’ position, my muscles trembling with the exertion while I wonder how completely destroying my core is supposed to help my ankle.

As the class progresses, the instructor calls out, “Side Kicks! Front and back.” Olivia turns to me with a grin. “OK, hotshot. This one's right up your alley. It's great for ankle mobility and leg strength.”

I’d make a smartass remark, but I’m so fucking winded that all I can do is nod. Still, I’m eager to try something that might actually benefit my game. The instructor demonstrates the move, lying on her side with her head resting on her outstretched arm. She lengthens her top leg, pointing her toes before kicking forward and then back, all while maintaining a flexed ankle.

As I get into position, Olivia leans over to adjust my alignment. Her touch is gentle but firm, and I feel a spark of electricity where her hands meet my skin. “Make sure to keep your core engaged and your hips stacked,” she murmurs. “And really focus on that ankle movement, pointing and flexing with each kick.”

I swallow hard, trying to ignore the effect her proximity has on my body. As I start the exercise, I concentrate on isolating the movement in my ankle, feeling the muscles stretch and contract with each kick. It's a strange sensation, but I can tell it's targeting an area that's often neglected in my usual training.

Olivia watches me closely, her eyes tracking my form. “Good, Calvin. You're getting the hang of it. Just make sure to keep that top hip from rolling back as you kick.”

I make the adjustment, and suddenly, the movement feels more fluid and controlled. I can sense the muscles in my legs and core working in harmony, and for a moment, I forget about the burning in my abs and the sweat dripping down my face.

A few more exercises and a cool down later, the class is over and I’m trying to act like I’m not about to die as I sip from my water bottle.

“Nice work, Barrett,” Olivia says, giving me a nod of approval. “Maybe you're not as hopeless as I thought.”

I feign offense, but I can’t hide my grin. This beauty can praise me, put me down, tie me in knots—physically and emotionally—and I'd still come back for more. “I’ll have you know this entire class has been a breeze.”

Olivia laughs, and the sound sends a thrill through me. “A breeze? OK, hotshot. Next time we’ll do a reformer class.”

My brows shoot up. “Next time, huh? That mean you wanna see me again, doc?”

Olivia smirks. “Well, considering your ankle still needs work, and you barely survived your first Pilates class, I think it's safe to say we'll be seeing each other again, Barrett.”

OLIVIA

Ihave to fight the urge to clap my hand over my mouth to stop myself from flirting with this guy. Did I really just suggest doingregularPilates 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!

---