Page 28 of Penalty Zone

The rest of the world dims in comparison to his megawatt smile. Only the sun can shine brighter, but on a cloudy day, the earth revolves around Caleb.

I sigh and bring my coffee with me on the ice. It feels like armor I can wield to keep my distance from him. A physical reminder that I can’t get emotionally invested in him. He’s not for me. Full stop.

Coach asked me to lace up today to ref an informal scrimmage to make sure the guys don’t actually hit each other.

When Caleb makes a hard-to-reach save, I high-five him. “Your extension and quick reflexes made the difference. Great job.”

The rest of practice is uneventful, and I maintain my professionalism, not letting my thoughts wander inappropriately to Caleb.

“Do you mind if we work a little longer?” Caleb asks with his big, expectant green eyes.

Liska’s doing agility drills at the other end of the rink, so we won’t be alone and I agree. Nothing on this earth scares me more than being alone with Caleb Benz.

“Thanks for all your help with my anxiety. You always know what to do to bring me back from the darkness.” He leans on his stick, and I’m awestruck by his candor.

“The last few years of my career, I worked with a sports psychologist. This position carries a mental weight that the restof the team doesn’t bear. We all need help sometimes, and I’m thankful I’ve been helpful to you.” Telling him I wish I could be more than a mentor and cure for his anxiety is as useless as a fairytale.

“Wow. I would never have guessed. You seemed so confident and indestructible.”

“Now you know the truth behind the mask I wore.” He’s the first and only person who knows that fact, and to cover my discomfort, I redirect his practice.

We work through drills, and his hair’s sweaty. It makes his scent alluringly sharper. It draws me closer until I’m inhaling deeper and longer.

“You’ve got great flexibility, but with some specialized exercises, you could increase it. You’ll get into position faster, and sometimes a fraction of a second makes the save.”

His smile is shy as I talk him through the positions. I readjust the angle of his hips. “Do you feel that in your inner thighs?” I ask.

Caleb makes a strangled sound, and I release the pressure, pulling him up.

“It wasn’t too much.” With his back to my front, he breathlessly turns his head to look at me.

Painstakingly, I uncurl my fingers from his hips and let him go. A soft whimper whooshes out of him, and my cock likes the sound. I’m a grown man, blaming my attraction on my dick as if I’m out of control.

Because I am in control, I put space between us. “Try that again on your own.”

“You’re no fun,” he teases but drops down. The next exercise is standard, but an untrained hockey mind might think it looks like he’s fucking the ice. My mind defies me and drinks in the sight of Caleb thrusting and the way he obeys my instructions.

To distract myself, I swing my gaze to the opposite goal to watch Liska. But he’s gone. The arena shrinks in size, and Caleb fills every crevice of the space. If I still my heart, I can hear each breath and the sounds his mouth makes as he counts to himself.

His pads are off, and his base layer clings to the curves of his muscles. They extend and tighten under the halo of lights. I track each movement, licking my lips.

“Practice clearing the puck.” I line up a few pucks from different positions and hit them one after another. Caleb alternates between hitting them back to me and an imaginary teammate.

He misses a few and smacks them down the ice toward the opposite goal. “It…could…go…all…the…way!” One of the pucks slides into the goal, and he raises his arms in victory. “Score.”

I make sounds to mimic a cheering crowd.

Caleb twirls around me fluidly as if he’s part of the ice. “Skate with me.” His eyes implore me, and I’m stunned speechless. “I’m still amped up and…” He cuts himself off, turning a pretty pink, but finds his resolve. “A few laps, please.”

I reluctantly agree, concerned about all the aches and pains my forty-seven-year-old body experiences in comparison to his.

He takes a leisurely first lap, crossing his skates over one another as if he doesn’t have a care in the world. Suddenly it’s important to set aside all my fears and be in the moment with him.

“Race you.” He cocks his head, motioning down the length of the rink.

Laughter spills out of me, since I can’t remember the last time I raced someone. Decades. “No.”

“C’mon. Let me have this. I’ll be able to brag that I beattheLeo Griffin.” He skates backward ahead of me.

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