Page 4 of Penalty Zone
We work through a few drills, and he responds well to positive reinforcement. I make mental notes of things to improve his game to discuss another day. Today’s goals are gaining his trust and building rapport.
Mason mentions Caleb every time we talk, but I know nothing of the man. It’s an odd predicament, knowing so many personal details when we’re practically strangers.
Caleb loves to dance and takes my son to clubs, which he usually avoids. Mason keeps to himself, and Caleb drags him out. In college, Mason spent hours in the library, and Caleb studied with him. Caleb rarely drank back in college but has a beer once in a while now. I have extraneous facts but not a full picture of the pro goalie.
My job is to determine whether all the pieces of Caleb Benz fit together to form a man capable of leading an NHL team to win The Cup.
It’s not all on him, but he will be a cornerstone.
Winning The Cup requires more than hockey skills. I know because I never won, and it’s my biggest regret in life.
“Tell me about your pregame ritual,” I say, hoping he’ll confide in me.
“It starts with the team and getting everyone amped up to play. Either Lucky or I get the dance party going. It’s our ritual, andwe can’t play without it.” He crosses his arms, and I have to give him part of myself for him to open up more.
“Excellent. I would listen to rock music to pump myself up and then shadow box.”
Caleb fights a smile. “I can picture that, but I’m the opposite. Once the guys are psyched up, I need some alone time to meditate and center my energy.”
I tilt my head and must look confused.
“It probably seems like new-age woo-woo to you, but it’s my process.”
“Tell me more.” I’m enthralled by his passion for meditation and how it enhances his game.
It’s hazardous to be interested in the way his mind works. Everything about him is fascinating.
Caleb slowly circles me, his eyes traveling the length of my body before he drifts back to the goal.
There’s something dangerous in the way his eyes roam over me. A chill races across the nape of my neck as my fight-or-flight response activates. It’s illogical that a boy I’ve known for years can cause my system to go haywire. But it does. My pulse races, the sound rushing in my ears, drowning out reason.
I don’t run, and I can’t fight him. Caleb’s combination of willingness to please and cunning competitive edge unearths a wild and unhinged part of me.
“Stop,” I bark because my mind needs something to do besides battle my body. He obeys, and desire races to the surface. I shove it back, along with the memory of Mason telling me Caleb’s bisexual. That doesn’t matter.
I’m losing myself to the primal part of me that wants more of something I can’t name. Caleb has no idea he’s provoking a reaction I can’t control.
It breaks free, and I stalk up to him and grab his jersey, twisting and pulling him so our noses are almost touching. Thegreen in his huge, round eyes disappears, replaced with black, and his breath hitches.
Fiery sparks course through me, hating and loving his reaction all at the same time. We’re breathing the same air—out of his mouth into mine and out of my mouth into his. I can’t shake my emotions, so I jerk him side to side.
“Drop and give me twenty.” To my utter shock, Caleb’s on the ice in a pushup position before I can blink.
“Yes, sir,” he says from under long inky lashes and begins counting.
I’ve been dropped from an airplane without a parachute, hurtling through space with no way to recover before I crash. My mind replays all of our interactions. My responses.
Holy shit.
Caleb Benz is submissive and responds to my commands.
He responds as if made for me.
The one man I can’t have seems perfectly tailored to my desires.
My world crashes around me.
Chapter 3
