Chapter 24 Max
TWENTY-FOUR
MAX
The training room smells like antiseptic and sweat.
I’ve got gloves on, fingers pressed against the slope of Peter’s shoulder as I test for tightness, listening to him talk about some tension during practice.
It’s all muscle memory at this point—ask, press, adjust—but my head isn’t in it. Not fully.
Because every time I blink, I see Eli at the diner, grinning at me as if I was his whole damn joke and the punchline all at once.
I finish with Peter, give him the standard, “Stretch, ice if it gets worse,” and he heads out. I peel off my gloves, flexing my hands as if the tightness running through me could shake free that easily.
My phone buzzes against the counter. I tell myself to ignore it. One more player is waiting, and then two more after that. Focus. Stay professional.
But then I glance down.
Eli: Appointment available? Heard there’s this trainer who gives very thorough check-ups.
My chest tightens. Fuck.
I sit back on the stool, phone warm in my palm. It’s been over an hour since I left him at the diner. I thought maybe—maybe he’d let me fade into routine. Pretend we weren’t sneaking touches under the table, like a couple of kids begging to get caught.
And yet here he is, lighting me up with a handful of words.
Another buzz—
Eli: Pretty sure my groin still needs attention. Also, my lips. They might be bruised.
I drag a hand down my face, bite back the groan clawing its way up my throat. He’s going to kill me. Or worse—he’s going to make me fall harder than I already have.
I’m elbow-deep in tape, wrapping Todd’s ankle, when my phone lights up again on the counter.
I don’t check it. Can’t. Todd’s watching me, waiting for me to finish, and the last thing I need is him catching my face if it’s another one of those texts.
Still, I feel the buzz like a second heartbeat.
By the time Todd leaves, another one flashes across the screen.
Eli: Don’t tell me you forgot about me already.
I’m practically dying over here. Groin, shoulder, lips, bruised pride…the works.
My mouth tightens as I pull Carson in next. He’s got a knot in his calf, and I knead it out while my phone lights up on the counter. Every vibration drills deeper into my chest, splintering my concentration. I catch the next two as they flash on the screen.
Eli: Princesses should never be ignored.
Fine. Guess I’ll just suffer alone.
I bite back a curse, pressing my thumb harder into Carson’s muscle than I mean to. He winces, and I dial it back. Professional. Focus. But all I can picture is Eli sprawled across his ridiculous Christmas bedspread, grinning at his own texts, waiting for me to break.
By the time Carson’s done, I can’t stand it anymore. I snatch up my phone, thumb flying before I can stop myself.
Me: You’re dramatic as hell, you know that? Can’t go one hour without me.
Needy little princess.
I hit send, shove the phone back down, and drag a hand through my hair. My pulse won’t settle, not when I can already imagine his reply, all smug and sunshine, as though he just won something.
And maybe he did. Because he got my full attention, even while I check over the next few guys.
I finish looking over Blue, scribble down a note for Roberts, and move to the door. My phone sits face-down on the counter, but I can still feel the weight of all the messages I’ve ignored. I shove the thought down, open the door, and motion Blue out into the locker room.
“Send the next guy in,” I call, already reaching for a fresh pair of gloves.
Except it’s not one of the guys waiting who steps through.
It’s Eli.
Beanie lopsided, cheeks flushed from the cold. He doesn’t wait for an invitation—just slips past Blue with a dramatic limp and a wince that would earn him a failing grade in theater class.
“Starling,” I snap, heat crawling up my neck as a chorus of groans fires off from the locker room. “There’s a line.”
He presses a hand to his ankle and sighs, full dramatics. “Yeah, well, I tripped on the stairs. Might’ve twisted it. Serious business, Calder. Gotta keep your star goalie on the ice.”
The door clicks shut behind him, cutting off the noise outside. And then it’s just me, him, and the peppermint scent of trouble he always drags in with him.
I exhale a slow breath, fighting the twitch in my mouth that wants to betray me. “You’re unbelievable.”
“Thanks,” he says, already heading for the exam table, his limp forgotten. “I try.”
My phone buzzes against the counter again—another message from him, no doubt coming late due to service in the building—but he’s already here, perched on the exam table like he owns the place. His eyes flick toward the screen before settling on me, smug, blue, and burning.
“Guess you didn’t get my texts,” he says, swinging one leg like a kid who has no idea what patience means.
I snap on the gloves, the sound sharp in the quiet room. “Oh, I got them.” My tone’s flat, but my chest is already tight. “Which ankle?”
He doesn’t answer right away. Instead, he curls his lower lip out in the most obnoxious, deliberate pout I’ve ever seen. Innocent. Except nothing about him is. And God help me, it cracks something in me.
“You didn’t miss me?” His voice is all sugar, soft edges hiding sharp teeth.
I shut my eyes, drag in a deep breath that does absolutely nothing to steady me. He smells like soap and peppermint and something only him—something I can’t fucking shake no matter how hard I try.
I snag his foot, tug his first shoe off, and let it drop to the floor with a wet slap.
He wiggles his toes, brushing them along my thigh like he’s testing me.
Like he knows I won’t push him away. I rotate his left ankle, then do the same to his right.
Steady. Professional. My hands don’t even tremble.
“Feels fine, Starling.”
“Princess,” he corrects, grinning, eyes dancing.
My lips twitch before I can stop them. I shake my head, hoping he doesn’t see the way it slips past my walls. But he does. Of course he does.
And then he bites his bottom lip, slow and obscene, tugging it free until it’s pink and swollen, until my pulse stutters and heat slams low in my gut.
“What about your shoulder? How’s that feel today?”
He ignores my question, but I move my hands to his shoulder, testing the range of motion while I attempt to push away my impulse to kiss him. He goes with it, his eyes alight with mischief.
“Shoulders fine, Calder. And before you ask me to drop my pants, although I’d be up for that, my groin is also good. But what about my lips?” he asks, voice dropping. “Think they need attention too.”
My pulse spikes traitorously as his words hang between us. What about my lips? Jesus Christ.
For half a second, I almost do it. Almost grab him, haul him closer, taste the smug curve of his mouth until he’s gasping my name again. The only thing stopping me is the unlocked door at my back. Anyone could walk in, and Eli deserves more than being caught like some dirty secret.
So I step closer instead. Close enough that his breath mingles with mine, peppermint and sugar and sin. His eyes go wide, lips parting like he’s already won.
“Careful,” I murmur, my mouth a breath from his. “You keep asking, I might not stop.”
He swallows hard, pupils blown, waiting—waiting for me to cave.
But I don’t. Not here. Not now.
I tilt even closer, let my lips brush the air above his, and then—slowly, deliberately—pull back just enough to make him curse under his breath.
“Be a good little princess,” I rasp, “and wait for me in your dorm. I’ll finish the check-up there.”
The sound he makes—half groan, half laugh—punches heat straight through me. He wants me to snap. He wants me ruined. And God help me, I want it too.
Just not with that door still unlocked.
He smirks like he just scored a hat trick and slides his shoes back on, tugging the laces tight with an exaggerated flourish. “Guess I’m all better,” he says, hopping off the table like he didn’t just fake an injury to get my hands on him.
I bite back a groan as he smooths down his shirt and tosses me that look—blue eyes sparking with mischief. “Don’t work too hard, Calder. Wouldn’t want you too tired for my… check-up later.”
Then he swings the door open like he owns the place.
“Starling!” one of the guys in line complains, but Eli just prances past them, waving over his shoulder. “What? Trainer says I’m good to go. He is the expert.”
There’s grumbling, sure, but the thing about Eli is—they can’t help loving him anyway. Even when he’s a menace.
Me? I stand frozen in the center of the room, gloves still on, pulse pounding, pretending like my world isn’t spinning out just because of one stupid sunshine grin and a promise I know I’ll keep the second I’m free.