Page 4 of Major Penalty

Is this what stage fright feels like?

A long, circular table stretches across the room, filled with men.

Huge, intimidating, unbelievably attractive men.

All eyes swing to me.

I grip my tablet tighter. Focus. Their faces blur together except one—the captain’s. I’ve seen photos of him with my father countless times. Rowan, I believe. His green eyes are reassuring as he looks at me, leaning back in his chair.

Tina strides in first, confidence radiating off her as she leads the way. “Okay, everyone, listen up!” The room falls silent. “You were told you were getting a new PTA, as Dr. Mathews has been looking for one for a while. Meet your new physical therapist assistant, Irene!”

“Hey, everyone!” I step forward, my nerves clawing at me like a wild cat. “I’m really excited to be here.” And it’s the truth. I am excited, though right now, the scales are tipping more toward anxious. But I hope that’ll change as soon as I start settling in. This feels worse than my first day in college. At least there, I didn’t have a room full of elite-level hockey players all staring at me, sizing me up.

The response is immediate—a wave of noise.

“Finally, a cute one!” a man with a buzzcut and kind hazel eyes barks my way, his laugh booming like a cannon.

“Hot doc alert,” a blond guy to his right adds, grinning widely.

“Welcome to the team, Doc!” someone else yells.

“Thank you.” I let out a nervous laugh, not knowing who to address first.

“Stop scaring her, Jesus.” A tall, muscular guy with a twin-braided beard laughs, and the rest of the room joins in.

But just when my nerves are starting to relax, I feel it.

A stare. Different. Heavier. Darker. I don’t want to look at the dark silhouette that’s been leaning against the wall the entire time. But I look anyway. And there he is—the man from earlier. His thick muscular arms are crossed over a broad chest, and he’s put on a black shirt that’s clinging to every sharp line of muscle. Standing taller than everyone else, his presence demands attention.

He looks like he doesn’t belong in this room or even on the ice. He belongs on a battlefield. And far, far away from me. I’m used to examining peers, regular people, not…this.

His muscles ripple under his black shirt, each movement whispering power and danger. Wavy black hair, wind-blown back, exposes his light blue eyes under heavy dark brows, giving him an even more menacing look.

His heavy-lidded gaze drags down my body, slow and lazy. My breath hitches, and I feel my cheeks flush, heat rising to my skin.

Why does it feel like he’s stripping me bare with just a look? The laughter around me fades into a distant hum, and all I can see is him. He still hasn’t said a single word to me, yet I feel like he doesn’t have to. I feel it all.

His hair is still damp. His tattoos gleam under the lights, stretching over his arms and hands—hands that were just demolishing a punching bag like it had personally offended him.

His gaze is still locked on me, then it drags over my body. Not flirtatious but not…not flirtatious either.

Like he’s deciding something, like he’s figuring out what to do with me.

And for some insane reason, my stomach does a weird, treacherous flip. I don’t even realize I’m staring back until Tina nudges me.

“You good?” she murmurs, amused. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

I let out a small, breathless laugh and shake my head.

“Nope. Just…big room. A lot of people. No ghosts.”

Lie.

Because the ghost?

He’s still staring.

And the worst part?

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