Page 12

Chapter Twelve

Christina

A few days later, I unlock the studio a half hour before Cam is due to arrive and crank up the cool air. We’re meeting in the afternoon just before Maria’s evening classes begin, and while she keeps the air conditioning on, she puts it ten degrees higher when we’re not there. It takes longer to cool down in the afternoons, so here I am, unwilling to admit that my concern over Cam’s adjustment to Texas is the reason I’m catering to a student more than I would otherwise.

I’ve stayed out of the office the past two days because the coaching staff were arguing loudly from the conference room, shuffling names around on the white board and debating their active roster, and which players they’d start for the first pre-season game.

I looked at the stats because not only do I love the game and am an owner, but I adore numbers and how they tell a story. Cam is much stronger on paper than Dan Murphy, although the coaches would also be assessing during training how each player worked with the rest of the team. I may have told myself that my interest in the goalies was because a strong goalie leads to wins.

The roster is due to be published today, but I’m not sure what time. I’m equal parts excited and nervous to see how it unfolds.

Cam’s nerves have been visible as well. He’s been increasingly tight over the past couple practices, his steps smaller, his arms not extending to full stretch. I hope most of that will subside when—if—he is named as the starter. Of course, some of it is from the extended training camp and may or may not change with exhibition games, travel, and an eighty-two-game season.

So instead of trying to nail down form, I’ve kept our focus on trying different music with various dances to determine what feels right. We tried a couple of Christmas songs, but I worried that was exclusionary and he agreed. I’m scrolling through my playlist to find the next ones I want to try when Cam bursts into the studio.

His shoes are off and his bag is still closed, hanging over his shoulder. He takes a few quick steps then slides along the hardwood floor toward me, stopping in front of me like he would on the ice.

Before I can even ask, he says through a huge grin, “Guess who got starting goalie?”

I squeal, “Yes! Cam, that’s awesome.” Without thinking, I throw my arms around him in a hug.

He stills. Then his arms come up without dislodging mine around his biceps, and he holds my waist, pressing me to him as he bends his head to envelop me.

I’ve never been full-length against him like this. I close my eyes and enjoy his post-practice soap and deodorant scent. Under my hands, his back muscles shift and flex. His pecs are like steel against my cheek and I want to bite them, but they’re so hard I probably couldn’t get purchase.

He sucks in a huge breath, and his shirt and muscles rasp against my leotard-covered breasts. My nipples pebble, showing through despite the lining.

He steps back, blinking twice, and I know he’s seen them. His voice husky, he says, “Thank you. It’s only the first step, but thank you.”

Not sure whether I want him to take advantage of my arousal or ignore it, I bluster, “You’ll do great. I’ve seen your stats.”

“Yeah, but at this level? Even against my own team in training, it’s a constant challenge.”

I turn away to start music for our warmup. “That’s what practice and pre-season are for. I have confidence in yo—the team.”

He nods, and we flow through a shortened warmup. As he’s come from practice, his muscles are already looser.

But when we start to dance, he’s distracted and misses a couple of steps.

“Sorry, sorry,” he mutters for the third time.

The song is on repeat, so we restart at the top. A minute in, he twirls me out to extended arms. His frustration seeps into his movements, and he tugs me back in too hard. My feet tangle at the unexpected force, and I begin to tip forward.

Before I can even worry about falling, he’s there holding me. But instead of being my support to get to standing, he bends his knee and takes us both down in a graceful slide. His hand reaches for the floor while the other holds me against him, and I end up sprawled on top of him staring into his eyes. A half-grin crooks the corner of his mouth. “I told you I’d never drop you.”

“So far. I still say you can’t promise that.” I put my hands to his chest to give us some space. My legs are offset with his and I try to put a knee to the floor to take some weight off him.

He tugs me upward, dragging my core over his hip, then grasps my thigh that’s between his and draws it out so I’m straddling him. “There, that’s safer.”

Oh my god, my knee had been nudging his junk. Oops . I gasp, “Sorry.”

“Clearly, I’m too distracted to dance. I apologize, I thought this might be a good outlet and didn’t want to cancel last minute. I should have gotten on the treadmill in the gym but I needed to get out and celebrate, and it’s too damn hot to run outside.” Cam props himself up on his elbows shifting me down back to his pelvis. “Got any other suggestions to work off some excess energy?”

I drop my gaze to his lips. His tongue emerges, licking just the right corner of his top lip and suddenly there’s a growing hardness against my pubic bone. His pectoral muscles twitch under my hands. The craving to scrape my nails down his chest while licking that now-damp corner of his mouth overwhelms me.

His cock burns me through my clothes causing my blood to pulse and contract my muscles. I wonder if he can feel it.

He stares at my chest before he blinks his gaze back to my face. I’m sure my nipples are again sharing their own ideas for activities.

His chest rises under my hands as he asks, “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” I reply with a quiet breath even though my body has already answered his question.

His abs crunch under me and I want to swoon. I’ve always been a sucker for core strength and a six-pack, and I suspect he’s hiding a couple spare under there.

He raises his head and brings one hand to cup the back of my head. His gaze is zeroed in on my mouth and I’m transfixed, ready and willing to be dragged under the deluge. His breath against my lips is a drum brush under the song still on repeat. He flicks a glance up to my eyes, checking again.

I nod, and he refocuses on my mouth, tilting my head to the angle he wants me as he closes the gap between us.

I can’t remember a single one of the many reasons I thought this was a bad idea. All I can process is this magnificent mountain of muscle under me.

I sigh against his lips. They’re lush and plush and I really, really need to stop with the rhyming.

He drags them against mine in short swipes before twisting a little, his tongue coming to lick at me.

I open and press forward, following him down so he’s flat on the floor, my hands roaming his shoulders before playing in his thick hair. I need to consume him.

But I’m not given the chance. His hand fists in my hair over my ponytail, the other sweeping the line of my back to cup my butt and rock me against him gently.

I pull away briefly to gasp before he tugs me forward again and his lips slant under mine, our tongues twining and starving for a taste of every corner of each other’s mouth.

I circle my hips once and we both groan in our chests through the kiss.

I pull my knees up to get better leverage so they’re beside his hips.

“Christina?” Maria’s voice calls from the front room.

“Shit! Shit shit shit shit shit.” I scramble off Cam, covering my mouth with one hand, and race for the stereo in the corner of the room so she can’t see my guilt written on my face.

All the reasons—two no frat rules, he sort of works for me, he’s a damn player on the road half the time, and I don’t even know if he wants kids—come rushing back into my head, and I’m appalled. I yell, “In here, Maria. We’re almost done.”

In my peripheral vision, Cam vaults to his feet and adjusts himself as he joins me.

“I’m sorry.”

“I’m sorry.”

We both apologize at the same time, then both shake our heads to dismiss the other’s statement.

“Look,” I say, still out of breath from the kiss. “I was more wrong, given our positions”—he snickers, and I roll my eyes and continue—“in both places. It won’t happen again.”

In the mirror, Maria’s head pokes around the door, and she scans him from top to toe, making googly eyes at me. I shoo her away.

He glances around but she’s gone. In an undertone, he says, “Would it be so terrible if it did?”

I don’t answer because the truth is that no, no, it would not.

* * * *

“He’s a total smoke show,” Maria is saying as I perch on a barstool at our usual table in Terroir.

Lauren and Nicole are grinning.

I had texted both of them when I’d found him on the roster for the team. They’d agreed being a hockey player explained his extreme flexibility and availability during the business day and immediately demanded a full-length photo, which I ignored. They could make do with the head shot on the team’s website.

Lauren sighs and says, “I suppose I can live without the tool belt in this case. What about Maria’s idea of a shirtless—no, naked—calendar? Please? For us?”

Maria waves a hand. “Don’t worry, I’ll talk to Amy about it as a fundraiser.”

I glare at all of them.

Maria asks, “So what was going on in the studio when I came in yesterday?”

The other two prop their chin in their hands and lean in, elbows on the table, like sponges ready to absorb all the gossip they could get.

“Nothing. Why do you ask?”

“I could see feet on the floor from the door. That’s why I called out.” When Lauren and Nicole frown, trying to follow, she adds, “I saw the bottom of their shoes, the owners clearly lying on top of one another on the floor. By the way, he has really big shoes.”

The other two hoot.

“I tripped. He was, ah, a little overeager on a spin. He caught me on the way down and cushioned my fall.”

The non-dancers ooh and ahh but Maria raises one eyebrow and says, “I doubt that body was much of a cushion…?”

My face heats. “It was enough.”

“Has that happened a lot? I thought you said he was an excellent dancer for an amateur.”

“No, he was distracted. He got the news that he’s starting goalie for at least the pre-season.” When they all straighten and stare at me, I realize my voice has risen in excitement. Oh no.

“Girl.” Maria’s voice is firm. “We talked about hitting that. We did not talk about catching feelings. I can ignore the studio policy, especially if you can please attempt not to violate it right in the damned studio . But you need to consider his career as well as your involvement with the team before you get emotionally involved. And have the conversation about children.”

“I know, I know. I’m trying.”

“Did the horizontal part of the ‘lesson’ help allay some of your fears about sex being painful? And were you able to check if other body parts are similar in size to his feet?”

Heat spreads up my neck to my face.

They all grin at me.

“Yes. He also has very large—” I raise a brow, and they lean in—“hands.”

They boo. Maria balls up her napkin and tosses it at me, and the others follow suit.

I continue. “I definitely wasn’t in my head.”

Nicole groans. “Come on, we’re gonna need more than that!”

I inhale. On the exhale, I rush out, “I was more aroused from his kiss than I was the last time I had sex. How’s that?”

“Yay!” Nicole yells.

Maria raises her glass, and Lauren claps.

My besties are all excited, but I’m still nervous. “You talked me off the ledge about this after my surgery, but I never got to that point with Travis so it’s been a while. Can we run through it again now please?”

“Of course,” they chorus.

“Ok, for all the reasons Maria mentioned, this would have to be casual and secret. I don’t want to overshare about my condition. But should I tell him that sex has been painful in the past?”

“Not necessarily.” Nicole answers. “That could spark questions and ruin the mood.”

“So what do I do if it hurts?”

Maria jumps in. “You just said you were more turned on than ever. Hopefully that means you won’t get in your head. But if you want him to slow down or do something different, just ask. We women are still afraid to advocate for ourselves, whether it’s for orgasms, a haircut, or a raise.”

Lauren has her glass halfway to her mouth, but sticks her first finger out to point at Maria. “She’s not wrong.”

“I rarely am,” Maria says with a smirk.

I roll my eyes, but move on. “Doesn’t that ruin the mood too?”

“If you’re not having fun, there is no mood to ruin.” She raises a brow. “ That’s what you need to remember. And before you ask about his mood, think about this. Any guy you’d want to get naked with should also be the type whose goal would be for you to have as much fun as he does. Hasn’t a guy ever asked—”

“—or told,” Lauren says through a cough.

Maria slides her a look and curls her lip. “Or told, if you like that sort of thing—you to squeeze a little more, go a little deeper, whatever?”

“No.”

“Well, that explains a lot.” Maria’s lips press together in exasperation at the men in my past.

Nicole nearly snorts her wine.

“Probably, but here I am. I only have my own experiences to go on.”

“Nah, you have ours as well,” Lauren says, reaching across to squeeze my clenched fist.

“You can say it nonchalantly. A good lover will sometimes know when you’re not into it, but it’s hard to do that in the beginning. So if something twinges or hurts, or hell just isn’t doing it for you, suggest something else or direct him. ‘Oh, can you do that a little higher please?’ or ‘Oh, you’re so big, give me a minute to adjust?’” Maria goes into a breathy girly voice for the examples, and we all crack up.

Nicole adds, “Yeah, it’s always good to reward good behavior, too. ‘Yes, right there, keep doing that.’ You can do the same for positions. If one isn’t working, ask for another.”

“Whew. I never knew there was so much conversation during sex.”

Lauren reaches across for my hand again. “Hon, the key to any good relationship is communication. That goes for naked time as well as clothed.”

“And for casual as well as serious,” Nicole says with a nod.

Maria adds, “Sometimes the pretty ones don’t care enough, because it’s all come too easy for them their whole life. But if he’s got you that excited from fully-clothed kissing, it’s a good sign.”

I nod. “Ok. I keep reminding myself that the doctor did say nothing should hurt now, too.”

Maria voices the words running through my conscience. “He’s a cowboy to ride, a means to an orgasm or four. Besides, he’s young. I’m sure he’s not looking for anything serious.”

My friends are excellent enablers. It’s against policy, but I rarely break rules. Cam seems interested and worth a few broken rules, based on that hotter than hell kiss.

* * * *

The team’s first pre-season game was on the road, but they’re home tonight.

I’d always planned to attend despite Travis likely being in the owner’s box frequently. Now, I’m more determined than ever to make as many home games as possible to see Cam in goal.

When I enter the suite, Travis and Greg are talking at the bar so I head over to greet my brother. I won’t let my ex-boyfriend deter me. My lip curls for a moment when he does his usual sweep of the room, cataloging who he should talk to next. Amy will be here tonight, and for a moment, I worry about him saying something rude to her. But he’s never been overtly dismissive to her directly. Their paths shouldn’t cross much anyway. I prefer to be in the stadium seating to watch the game uninterrupted, and she’ll hang with me. Travis will be negotiating…whatever it is he negotiates at these things, as though it was a corporate meeting.

I’ve never paid attention to the goalies other than their stats. But now I have a personal connection—a dance connection, I remind myself—and I watch the warmups like they’re the main event. I’m in the first row of suite seats so I lean forward to see better over the rail.

As the teams set up for the faceoff, Cam chonks the ice so he has the perfect amount of traction for his stance. He lowers into a crouch.

He’s nearly unrecognizable from this distance. His warm brown eyes are hidden by the goalie mask, and his trim, tight physique is encased in thick pads. It needs to be with puck speeds over eighty miles an hour.

I salivate, thinking of his quads. How did I not figure out he’s a professional athlete when he easily held such a deep squat for so long in the studio?

At some point, Amy slides in next to me and we trade one-armed hugs.

I mutter under my breath at the D-men to help Cam more. They’re spending way too much time trying to score and not enough back in their own zone. This should be more like soccer where they hang back. Ugh.

I relax when the Tornadoes get control of the puck, even going so far as to grab food from the buffet. When the buzzer goes and everyone around me cheers, I’m lackadaisical in turning to watch the replay, but I rush back to my seat for the faceoff. My attention is centered on Cam in goal.

The St. Louis Sentinels pass and their right wing takes a shot at goal, but it’s slow enough Cam sees it coming a mile away. He catches the puck in his huge glove, and the ref whistle blows. A glove save as his first move in the home opener is a good way to get management’s attention.

I’m inordinately proud, ignoring the fact that I should be equally proud of our goal that took first blood a couple minutes ago. As an owner, I should be—I mean, I am, should Greg ask—invested in all our successes and all our players. I’d like one particular player to be invested—inside me.

I snicker at my own joke.

Amy, who has been sitting beside me, frowns.

She asks, “What on earth are you thinking about? First, you were muttering. Then, you go up and get food while we have control of the puck and miss the first goal, now you’re laughing at nothing. Are you even watching this game?”

“Absolutely. I got distracted. Excuse me, little sister.”

She rolls her eyes and turns back to the game. After a minute, she asks in a casual voice, “So how are the dance practices going with our goalie?”

My eyes dart sideways, but she’s studiously focused on the ice. “Between training camp and the start of play, we haven’t done much yet.”

“Do you know what style you’re aiming for?”

“We’ll work that out in practice.” If I tell her about the kiss, I’ll never hear the end of it. She wants me to get back out there as much as my friends do. “I want to choose a few songs and try different things with them. And Cam should have a say.”

A Sentinels team player crowds Jack Landry and jabs an elbow in his gut without the ref seeing.

“Dammit.” We swear in unison and lean forward.

As other players rush forward, the Sentinel flicks the puck to his center. There’s no way Cam can see the puck with all the skates and sticks in the way. And yet, when their center slaps a one-timer, Cam’s already adjusted his angle, skating a foot further out to block the angles to the goal. He deflects the shot with an outstretched leg, and Jack is there to get the puck directed toward the other end of the ice.

I unclench my fists from the seat arms and lean back with a sigh of relief.

Amy’s spine relaxes against her chair also. “Yeah, I guess you’re watching at least half the game.”

Dammit. I have to stop being this obvious about my obsession with Cameron. At most, he can be a secret fling, and even that is a bad idea.