Page 3 of Penalty Box
“Chief, I swear I wasn’t being reckless.” It took some doing to keep the frayed edge of annoyance out of my voice. “It was a regular weld job, responsibly executed. But the ventilation down here, or lack thereof—”
“Is everything okay?”
The chief and I turned at the same time, but whether his eyes popped out his head like mine did, I couldn’t tell. I was too busy picking my jaw up off the floor.
Because the man standing there was Mason Calder. Last season’s rookie of the year, and teacher’s pet.
And he was wearing nothing but a towel.
“I could ask you the same thing, son.” Chief Ortega’s eyes swept over Mason’s dripping frame from head to perfect toe.
As if he only just realized his absolute state of undress, Mason grabbed the loose knot, low on his hips, where his narrow line of fuzz disappeared. He did that, and I tried to jumpstart my brain.
“I was in the shower when the alarm went off.” He had the audacity to sound sorry about it. “Just wanted to make sure no one was hurt.”
(nothing but a towel)
“Another false alarm,” Ortega replied, and I realized he’d been saving up his personable demeanor for when someone famous entered the chat. “I was just explaining that I have to report this one to the board.”
“And I was just explaining that it wasn’t my fault. I’m contending with oversensitive sensors and Depression-era technology.”
Mason cracked a smile. His black hair was still dripping, and streamlets raced into his stubble, down a jaw that could slice through reinforced steel, wait what?
I gave my delirious brain a stern internal talking-to. Now wasn’t the time to be distracted by six feet of muscle and swagger wrapped in a towel. Especially since he was all of that, and also hockey, which was explicitly out of bounds.
“Does your daughter still play?” His smile widened, signed, sealed, and addressed to Ortega this time.
Startled by the sudden pivot at first, he came back with a simple, “Left wing.”
“Awesome,” Mason said. Then he did the unthinkable, and ran a hand through his wet hair to get it out of his face. Bastard.“I have two prime tickets to our season opener with your name on it. Nothing like a father-daughter hockey date.”
“Sounds a lot like a bribe,” Ortega said, narrowing his eyes. “You’d want to be careful with what you say next.”
I wanted to add that he should also be careful about that grip on his towel. Precarious, at best. The last thing I wanted was a butterfinger mishap to leave me in the unfortunate position of having to look.
“I would never.”
I blinked a few times fast, feeling like he’d caught me out mid-thought. But he was still looking at—and speaking to—Ortega.
And I needed to reel it in. Big time.
Mason continued. “I was just taking advantage of the fact that I ran into you. It would be an honor to have you both at the game, Chief.”
Ortega looked at me, then Mason, then his guys who were clearing out of the maintenance room with an “All clear”.
“Don’t make me regret giving you another last chance,” he said to me.
“You won’t. I mean, I won’t. You won’t regret anything, and I won’t make you regret anything. Scout’s honor.”
I was never a scout. I had no idea why I’d said that. Or why I was rambling.
He just shook his head, and followed his crew down the corridor and through the heavy doors that led back into the arena. It occurred to me once they swung shut, and not a moment sooner, that I’d been left alone with Mason and his towel.
“That was kinda cool,” he said, and did the hand through the hair thing again. Goddamn him. “I’ve never bribed anyone before.”
“Congrats, you’re officially qualified to run for office.”
His laugh played off the empty walls but more than that, it made the droplets on his pecs twitch. Made me want to lick th—
