Chapter 4 Max
FOUR
MAX
It’s been three days.
Three days since I had my hands on Starling’s bare shoulder, kneading into a muscle that was tight as a drum…and three days since my body betrayed me in a way I’m still not willing to fully acknowledge.
I’ve worked on hundreds of players, male and female, rookies and vets.
It’s muscle and memory and routine. Clinical.
Automatic. But for some reason, that day with him wasn’t automatic.
His skin was warm under my thumbs, his breath hitching every time I hit the right spot, the sharp line of his jaw tight like he was holding something back. And yeah, my body noticed.
I’ve told myself I imagined the way his gaze dipped. That he wasn’t looking exactly where I think he was looking. Because if he was, then that means he saw something he definitely shouldn’t have seen from his athletic trainer.
Now, standing in the corner of the rink while the crew sets up the backdrop for this charity calendar shoot, I’m replaying that moment in my head like a masochist. And he hasn’t even shown up yet.
I take a sip of black coffee, the bitterness sharp on my tongue, and try to think about literally anything else.
It doesn’t work. The second I hear his laugh from the other side of the room, my chest tightens, and I’m right back in that locker room, his shoulder under my hands, his scent—peppermint and sweat—messing with my head.
This is going to be a long day.
Another one of his laughs fills the air before he does—bright, unfiltered, impossible to ignore. Then he appears.
And it’s…a lot.
Head-to-toe Christmas. Red suspenders over a green thermal that clings in all the wrong—right—places, striped socks pulled up under cuffed pants, and a Santa hat tipped at a cocky angle like it knows it’s part of some dangerous plan.
Glitter clings to him, don’t ask me how, and I’m pretty sure those suspenders have tiny embroidered reindeer on them.
He’s pressing every button I have and doing it like a professional.
“Oh, good,” he says when he spots me in the corner. “My partner in seasonal crime.”
Before I can come up with a reply sharp enough to cut through the minty cloud that follows him, he’s shoving a paper cup into my hand.
“Black coffee is depressing,” he announces. “So I fixed it.”
I glance down. Peppermint latte. My jaw tightens. “I don’t drink—”
“Today you do,” he interrupts, grinning as though he’s just declared a national holiday. “It’s called expanding your horizons, Calder.”
I just stare at the cup. “This is sugar disguised as a beverage.”
“Exactly,” he says, and somehow that one word sounds like a dare.
Behind us, the photographer calls for everyone to get in position, but Eli just leans in, voice low enough that it skims across my skin. “Better drink up. We’re about to make December the hottest month of the year.”
My pulse stutters. I tell myself it’s irritation. It’s not.
The photographer, a woman with an oversized scarf and a camera she clearly knows how to wield like a weapon, claps her hands. “Alright, December boys, you’re up.”
Eli’s already halfway to the set when she adds, “Lose the shirts. We’re doing this one wrapped in lights.”
He looks over his shoulder at me like Christmas just came early. “You heard the lady, Calder.”
I mutter something about charity work and start unbuttoning my shirt. He slips the suspenders from his shoulders and peels his shirt off like he’s been waiting for this all morning, grin never faltering.
The photographer hands Eli a tangled string of fairy lights. “Wrap them around each other—make it look like you’re trying to keep warm.”
“Oh, we can do that,” Eli says, stepping into my space without hesitation.
The first loop goes around my shoulders, the second across my chest, his fingers brushing my skin each time. The lights are cool at first, but every place his hand touches feels like it’s burning. By the third loop, we’re close enough that the mint on his breath is hitting me straight in the lungs.
“Perfect,” the photographer murmurs, snapping away. “Hold that—yes. God, the chemistry between you two is insane. This is hot.”
Eli smirks up at me, clearly feeding off the comment. “Hear that, Calder? We’re hot.”
I force my jaw to stay locked, pretending the camera is the reason my pulse is picking up. It’s not.
“Little more,” the photographer says. “Tilt your head toward him… yes, right there. Now laugh, like you’re in on some private joke.”
Eli laughs easily, like he was born for this, and somehow my mouth curves too—before I can stop it.
“Wow,” the photographer says, lowering the camera just a fraction. “If this doesn’t sell out, nothing will.”
The photographer lowers her camera just long enough to nod at me. “Okay, Calder—your turn. Wrap the lights around him now. Close, like you mean it.”
Eli grins, already holding the end of the string out to me like it’s a gift. “Careful, these are delicate. Like me.”
I take the lights from him, fighting the urge to roll my eyes. “Delicate isn’t the word I’d use for a hockey goalie.”
“What would you use for me?” he asks, tilting his head.
“Relentless. Loud. Borderline hazardous. Not delicate.”
“Flattered,” he says, smirk deepening as I start looping the lights over his shoulders. My knuckles graze the side of his neck, and I feel rather than hear the little hitch in his breath.
“Closer,” the photographer calls. “We want it to sell, you know the people that buy these are looking for sexy hockey players.”
I step in, wrapping the next loop across his chest, careful to keep my face neutral even as I’m very aware of the warmth of him this close.
Eli leans forward just slightly, eyes catching mine. “If you wanted to tie me up, Calder, all you had to do was ask.”
I pause mid-wrap. “We’re in public.”
He grins like I just confirmed something for him. “Didn’t say I’d mind.”
“Eyes up!” the photographer shouts, and I realize mine have drifted lower than they should. I look back up and find him already watching me, blue eyes bright and mischievous, like he knows exactly how much he’s getting under my skin.
“Perfect,” she says, snapping shot after shot. “Don’t move—Calder, tilt your chin toward him just a bit. Eli, keep that grin. Gorgeous. You two could sell anything.”
Eli doesn’t look away from me as I finish wrapping the lights, looping the last strand around his waist. My fingers brush bare skin, and I swear I feel the small shiver that runs over him.
“Good,” the photographer says, circling us for another angle. “Now, Calder, rest your hand on his hip—closer. Yes, just like that.”
It’s meant to be professional. Just a pose. But standing here with him, lights binding us together, peppermint in the air, and those stupid blue eyes locked on mine… it feels like something else entirely.
“You’re enjoying this,” I murmur.
“Maybe,” he says softly, the corner of his mouth curving. “But so are you.”
I don’t answer, but I also don’t step back.
The photographer circles once more, camera clicking in rapid bursts. “Yes—right there. Hold it. You two are magic together.”
Eli’s smirk grows, and I can feel it even when I’m not looking directly at him. The lights are warm now, his body warmer, and the way we’re standing…close doesn’t even begin to cover it.
“Okay,” she says after a few more shots, lowering her camera. “That’s the one. Perfect. You can untangle yourselves—unless you’d rather stay that way.”
Eli looks at me like he’s considering it. “What do you think, Calder? Should we make it a team tradition?”
I shake my head and start unwinding the lights from his waist, careful to keep my touch neutral. It doesn’t work—every time my fingers brush his skin, he’s watching me with those too-blue eyes, and it’s like the room shrinks.
We finish in silence, handing the lights back. She’s already setting up for the next group, but I catch her muttering, “Hot as hell,” under her breath.
Eli grins like he heard it too. “Guess we nailed it.”
I grunt something noncommittal as I tug on my shirt and jacket before grabbing my coffee—and the untouched peppermint latte he shoved into my hand earlier—heading for the side exit before he can say more.
But as I walk away, the scent follows me, curling warm and sweet in the cold air from the paper cup. The phantom heat of those lights, the solid curve of his hip under my hand, and that lingering hit of pure mint from his breath all stick with me.
And I know it’s going to be hours—days, maybe—before I stop thinking about how it felt to have him that close.