Page 18

Leo

All week, I’ve been coaching Caleb and struggling not to kiss him again. His lips were so soft under mine, and he melted into my chest, working his way into my heart.

The team went out to celebrate their win, but I stayed at the hotel. Watching Caleb dance did things to my body that aren’t allowed. If I long for a man, I should pick someone unfamiliar with hockey who will provide an orgasm, not a complication.

I care too much about my reputation and how I’ll be perceived in history. All I’ve ever wanted is to be known as one of the best players in the league. Having a male partner meant giving that up. Now I’m not so sure.

Even though I crave the rough touch of a man and solid thighs, the thought of finding someone random sickens me.

The hotel bar is basic with low lights, bad carpeting, and a meager selection of alcohol. To pass the time, I sip a whiskey. It burns on the way down and spreads through my system.

It’s not hard to understand why and who I actually want.

I’ve been in an adult role for most of my life, and I’m wildly attracted to his carefree nature.

I can’t suddenly act as if I don’t know right from wrong.

Sometimes it’s a gray area, but this isn’t confusing.

Things are crystal clear when I’m away from Caleb.

When he’s close, my mind and body forget everything else.

Of all the men in the world, I choose him. I can’t lie and pretend it’s purely physical. He’s such a dichotomy of personality traits, and his talent is intoxicating.

The loud voices in the lobby draw my attention, and the team trickles in, all smiles and playful taunts.

“If you refuse to let me dress like you, gimme a ride.” Lucky jumps on Drake’s back and Drake reaches back to hold him up under the ass. I envy them. They’re completely unconcerned about other people’s opinions.

“We can only have one twinning couple on the team.” Caleb points finger guns at Ace and Grayson, who are wearing dark-gray pants and zip-up black Enforcers’ hoodies.

“We aren’t a couple,” Ace grumbles.

“The birthday boy needs another song,” Gray says, and they all start singing “Happy birthday” to Caleb.

My brain short-circuits—it’s Caleb’s birthday. For some reason, I feel like I should have known that to celebrate with him. No. But a pang in my chest says otherwise.

The elevator dings, and their voices fade as the door closes. The next group comes in, and Mason sees me and waves with a genuine smile. That’s huge progress.

There’s only one couple left in the bar with me, and the bartender’s doing inventory. It’s time to pay my tab and get to bed. I can send Caleb a happy birthday text when I get to my room.

In the elevator, I take out my card and realize I left the paper with the room number on the dresser. I can’t remember if I’m in room 501 or 510.

“Leo?” Caleb asks, coming out of a room a few doors down. “Everything alright?”

Disregarding the skip in my heartbeat, words tumble out without my permission. “Happy birthday, I’m sorry I didn’t know and say something sooner. I hope you enjoyed the night.”

A smile spreads across his face. He rocks on his heels and clasps his hands behind his back. “It was good, but it’s not over yet.” He tilts his head with a devilish gleam in his eyes.

“Oh.” I refuse to read that as an invitation. We can’t kiss again, and I have to deal with another matter. “I forgot which room is mine. I’m going back down to the front desk.” The whiskey has me talking too much.

He slings an arm around my shoulder, laughing. “Call from my room.”

The relief is short-lived after he shuts his door. The two of us are in his room—alone. I duck into the bathroom and lock the door. The bright lights above the mirror spotlight the gray hair on my temples. The signs of aging glare at me.

I intend to exit quickly, but Caleb’s suitcase is near the bathroom and he’s standing between me and the door.

“I can call down for you,” he offers.

“I can do it,” I say, striding over to the phone between the beds. Scanning the numbers next to the buttons, I hit the front desk. It rings and rings and rings.

“Try again in a minute. The person’s probably helping someone.” Caleb sits on the far bed, and I sit across from him.

The air between us is heavy with all the unsaid things and emotions. I’m afraid my tongue has been loosened, so I pick up the phone to dial the front desk again.

It rings and rings.

Caleb rises and riffles through his duffle bag, pulling out a black velvet pouch.

I’m transfixed, wondering what could be in the bag, and keep the ringing phone to my ear as if moving will stop him.

He unclasps a leather rope chain from under his shirt and slides a black hexagon stone about an inch and a half long into the pouch.

His eyes cut to mine as I stare and don’t look away.

The phone makes a blaring series of beeps, and I jerk it from my ear, placing it back in the cradle.

“What type of stone is that?” I ask.

“Nothing. It’s nothing. I don’t have anything.” He shoves the velvet pouch in a side pocket of his duffle and straightens with a guilty expression.

Now my curiosity rages. “It’s an interesting nothing.” I smile, hoping to seem nonjudgmental.

Caleb paces around the room. “Believe me, you don’t want to know.”

That statement is the equivalent of waving a red cape at a bull. But pushing him to tell me seems wrong given our power dynamic, so I shrug wordlessly.

He continues to pace and mutters under his breath.

“Fine. It’s black onyx for focus and physical discipline.” He throws his hands up in the air as if he’s admitting something shameful.

I sit forward with my elbows on my knees. “Does it work?” I’ve heard of crystals with healing powers, but I’ve never known anyone to use them.

“I…umm…it…they… No one has ever asked me that before.” He sinks onto the bed across from me. There isn’t much space, so our legs are inches apart, and I’m hyperaware of how far I’d have to move to brush against him.

“Really? That’s the most important part, don’t you think?” I shift back, leaning on my hands to give us more separation and to stop inhaling his amber scent. I might do something stupid if I get too close.

Caleb’s lips slowly turn up as his green eyes sparkle. “Everyone thinks I’m a bit crazy, but it goes along with being a goalie. Sometimes I wonder if I picked the position just because goalies are known for being eccentric and it fits with my nontraditional upbringing.”

“Mason loves your family,” I offer, unsure of his concerns.

“He likes that, as wacky as they are, they’re predictable and dependable. They’re stuck in their routine, and it’s comforting to him. He’s willing to overlook the kooky to experience that.” He mimics my posture and leans back as well.

His words land hard even though it’s clear he’s not insulting me, but I traveled all the time when Mason was young and then his mom left to see the world when he was in his teens.

“I can understand the appeal. It’s a strange thing being a parent. You want your child to have the things you didn’t have growing up, but then you create other problems, and the cycle goes on.” I tip my head back and focus on the ceiling instead of Caleb.

“What were you avoiding from your past with Mason?” he asks, leaning forward so his elbows are on his knees, closing some of the distance between us.

My body sags, and it suddenly feels like I can tell him and he’ll understand. “I grew up poor, and my family viewed my hockey as an investment with the unspoken expectation that I would support the family as soon as I made money. It was a gamble, but it paid off.

“I never wanted Mason to worry about money or responsibilities other than being a kid, school, and, if he chose, sports. I was thrilled when he followed my footsteps to play hockey.”

“Does Mason know that?” He cocks his head to the side.

“I’ve told him I grew up poor and showed him the rundown house we lived in when I was young.” Those memories are best left in the past.

“That’s not the same as telling him you wanted better for him and why,” he says without laying blame.

Again, I’m struck by his wisdom at such a young age. His stare turns my insides into a quaking mess. I grab the phone like a lifeline and call the front desk again. The ringing is loud in the quiet room.

“They’re probably on break.” He glances at the clock. “Try again in ten minutes. I’ll find something to watch.”

He scoots up to rest against the headboard and powers on the TV, picking hockey highlights.

I take off my shoes and recline on the other bed. We watch a rookie score his first NHL goal and take the puck.

“After my first NHL save, I took the puck home. We won, and I brought it to the next game, which we also won. When we had a few road games, I left the puck home, and Montreal didn’t win a single game that trip.

I brought that puck to every game for the rest of my career.

” I don’t look at him as I speak, but it’s my way of telling him we all have our superstitions.

“Do you still have it?”

My neck cracks as I rotate it to look at him. “It’s in my house in Montreal. I keep meaning to get a display case for it.”

His grin takes over his face, and he rolls on his side to face me and props the pillows under his head.

“I have six crystals and wear one every game. I choose which one depending on how I feel or what I think the game requires.”

I lie facing him, and it feels like intimate pillow talk with a section of floor between us as we share pieces of ourselves.

“How did you get into them?” I ask instead of urging him to show me his collection.

“My mom is into alternative healing. So is my dad, but my mom is all in. They own a business and offer services as well as merchandise.”

“That doesn’t sound kooky.” It’s difficult to be different when you’re young. I hated being the poor kid.

“Imagine a ’70s free love and rainbows explosion in a storefront. I swear the place hasn’t changed since she opened it. It sticks out.” He grimaces.