Chapter 12 Kaeli
Twelve
Kaeli
Ican feel the heat of his gaze searing through me as I finish the set and walk off the stage.
Jodi couldn’t arrange for anyone to sing tonight. No one was available at such short notice. She was having a mental breakdown at the prospect of disappointing the guests and our seniors.
Honestly, I wasn’t very far away from having a brain aneurysm either. That’s when Stacy found us in my office, hyperventilating and mourning the loss of our careers after tonight. But then she suggested that I sing.
For a second, I truly believed that she had lost her mind.
And in panic, I did say that out loud. But she just rolled her eyes at my insolence and said, “I’ve heard you sing once.
Remember when we had a game in Chicago, and we decided to go to a different bar than the rest of the team because we needed a break.
I don’t know if you remember, but you sang your lungs out that night in your inebriated state. ”
“But–” I looked at her like a deer caught in the headlights, nearing its demise.
She gave me a stern look. “Kaeli Reed, put on your big girl panties and get on that stage or else…” she trailed off.
My eyes narrowed at her, “Or else what?”
She seemed to think of a viable threat, and the moment her eyes gleamed with bad intentions, I knew she had me by my metaphorical lady balls. “Or else I will partner you up with Sussanne the next time we have an away game.”
Damn, Sussanne.
She’s the massage therapist for the team and the meanest person.
For her, other women on the team aren’t colleagues; they’re competition.
She’s always trying to put them down, pointing out quirks in their work and flaunting hers.
Thinks she’s above everyone else, and is always trying to be the center of attention and flirting with the players.
It’s a surprise she still has a job here, really.
I gasped at her cruelty, putting my hand on my chest. “You wouldn’t.”
“Try me,” she dared me. And over the years, I’ve learned that it’s always in your best interest not to challenge her. If you do, then it’s your funeral. And I seem to enjoy both my life and my job.
So, with a resigned sigh, I agreed, and that’s how I got Ezra’s eyes stuck to me like a predator eyeing its prey, watching their every move before they lunge and eat them.
Your pussy would like that.
My own eyes widen for a second at that thought as I chide myself for it. Forget about the sexy hunk of a man who has had his eyes stuck on you all night with so much heat behind them. Remember, we hate him.
Liar.
* * *
The next day, the team gave an off day to everyone. Even the players.
As I slump in the chair, biting into the toast I prepared, an overwhelming sense of loneliness sweeps over me like a tide. Lost in thoughts, I sip on my coffee only for it to burn a path down my throat.
Hurting, I drop the mug on the table and make haste to get myself a glass of water as I blow on my burnt tongue. Slamming the glass down on the kitchen counter, I mutter a curse under my breath. “Fuck.”
Side-stepping the counter, I sit at my dining table with five other empty seats as they accusingly stare at me for not using them.
Once done with my breakfast, I head into my home office. This room looks more like mine than the one in the company building. I could never decorate it with personal items and photos lest anyone make the connection between Roman and me.
So, I made sure to have an office at home.
Though sometimes I regret having bought such a huge Victorian house just for myself.
The vastness of it unsettles me, reminding me that I have no friends.
And those that I have are colleagues. With a sigh, I admire my baby pink and white colored walls and slide into my chair.
A very few people who found out that my favorite color is pink were surprised to find that out about me, to say the least. Said that I don’t strike as someone who would prefer the shade.
So, instead of being judged for my choices and preferences at every turn, I chose to hide them away from the world, like everything else about me. I wonder if I’ll ever be able to share my real self with someone and not be judged for it.
Not wanting to dwell down a depressive road, I open my laptop and get to work. I love designing and content creation. It helps me be creative and bring to life the ideas that live inside of me.
Cueing a playlist on my phone filled with all sorts of songs from pop to country, I pour myself into editing and working with shots and clips Jodi and I took of Ezra. I also schedule some posts from yesterday’s event on all our social media channels, some later than the others.
I’ve found that when I schedule a post on a couple of channels and the same post on other channels for the team for a later time, the content gets more traction and the buzz about it stays for longer than usual.
Once done and pressing the sleep button of my laptop for today, I lean back in my chair and stretch my limbs with a tired sigh. Cracking my neck, I pick up my phone to check the time. It’s one in the afternoon. Damn, I’ve been at it for four hours straight.
I walk into the living room and pick up an apple from the fruit basket on the dining table.
Plopping onto the couch with it, I turn on my phone and surf through any pending messages and emails, biting into the fruit in between. Once I’m done responding to everyone, I open up my Instagram.
Scrolling down, I like the posts of people I follow, and some suggested posts. My fingers halt the moment I reach a picture of Ezra. It was posted a couple of weeks ago.
In it, he sits on the edge of a jacuzzi–because, of course, he has one–in his swim shorts as his naked torso reflects the natural light. He raises a drink to his lips as his wet clothes leave nothing to the imagination.
His soaked hair and dripping water droplets on his body only making him more enticing while he shows off his stacked figure in the setting sun. This man is so fine it’s criminal.
I stare at his thick thighs for longer than I should and end up tapping the screen of my phone. “Shit, fuck, no!” I jump up on the floor, the finished apple core falling on the ground, as the red heart pops up on my screen, indicating that I liked it.
“Goddamn it, Kaeli!!! What will you do now?” I yell at myself in my empty home, as my hold on the phone tightens and my eyes squeeze shut. I can’t even un-like it, or I’ll come across a coward.
Pacing the length of my living room floor, I ponder how to get out of it. I suddenly halt when a thought comes to mind. He might not even find out. I mean, he’s such a busy and famous player, and I’m sure he doesn’t have time to check every like on his posts, if he even does it himself.
“Yes, Kaeli. That’s it. You’re good.” Convincing myself, I drop on the couch again. Just as I do, a notification from the devil himself lights up on my screen, and I again jump off the couch.
“Fuck! What do I do now?” I wonder aloud. God, this is a mess. No matter how much I want to, I can’t even ignore him, or he’ll think I’m hiding from him. With a deep breath and calming my racing heart a little, I turn on the phone and open his message.
Ezra: You stalking me now, Feather?
Me: Ah, you wish.
I regret it the moment I press send. “What the hell does it even mean, Kaeli?” I mumble to myself, slumping back on the couch.
Three dots appear, and I bite my lip in anticipation.
I have no idea why he calls me ‘Feather’, yet my heart stutters at the thought that he gave me a nickname, the intention, though unclear.
It takes a full three minutes for him to finally respond, not that I’m counting or anything. No, not me.
Ezra: You’ve no idea how much and then some more.
My breath hitches at the words staring at me, taunting me. I can practically hear him saying those words in that gruff and husky voice of his. Is he…is he flirting with me? No, that can’t be. Right?
Why does the fact that he just might excite me?
No, Kaeli. We don’t like him.
Why not? My brain supplies.
Deciding against analyzing the words I type, I press send before I change my mind.
Me: Are you free?
Ezra: Why?
My fingers hover over the keyboard, chewing on my bottom lip before finally going through with it. It’s not like I’ve got anything better to do.
Me: I was wondering if we could maybe meet at the arena since it’ll be empty.
Me: For shooting some content, of course.
I impatiently wait for his reply, biting my nail as I burrow myself in the softness of the couch. God! He’ll think that I’ve gone crazy.
What was I thinking?! I can imagine him mocking me. Why would he want to be anywhere near me?
Ezra: Of course…
Ezra: What time?
I do a double-take when my phone pings with his message. Rubbing my eyes, I re-read it, unable to believe that he agreed.
I squeal like a pig at the prospect of not being alone all day, even if it’s his company that I’ll have to endure. It’s definitely better than being locked inside and staring holes in my walls.
Me: Now?
Ezra: Now, it is. Meet in 20, Stalker.
I gasp at the name, but the smile on my face doesn’t slip. He’d flip if he saw how maniacal I look with a grin plastered over my face.
* * *
Removing an invisible piece of lint from my shirt and running a hand down my jeans, I walk inside the arena.
The cold air wafts over me, a shudder rolling down my body. I should’ve worn a hoodie, but in my haste to be here and out of my house on time, it slipped my mind. Never mind, I’ll make do.
I find Ezra already there, skating backwards leisurely on the ice.
Walking in through the players tunnel, I stop by the bench and take in how effortlessly he glides over the ice.
Like he learned to skate before he ever walked.
His long limbs perfectly in control as he floats.
It should be impossible for a man so tall and broad to skate as he does.
I’ve seen him at his easiest and in his element when he’s surrounded by the frozen and cold floor beneath his skates.
He’s not in his uniform, just wearing a hoodie and a pair of gray sweatpants, because of course he is.
God, that ass was sculpted to wear those sweats. The soft fabric clinging just enough to hint at the muscles underneath. Casual, careless — but dangerously distracting.
The muscles I had a first row seat to when I woke up in his bed.
The gray sweats do nothing to hide the way his body moves, every shift and stretch a quiet show of strength.
It’s like I’ve become obsessed with how toned he looks. I can’t help but want to touch, touch him.
Being near him alters my brain chemistry. It makes me wanna break some rules and do some very bad things to him.
He must feel the heat of my gaze, because he ceases his actions and glances at me. Either it’s my imagination, or his eyes really light up at the sight of me.
Stop fooling yourself.
Standing right there in the middle of the ice, his gaze glides over me, taking me in from my head to my toes, scrutinizing me or appreciating me, I didn’t know. I resist the urge to shift uncomfortably under his heated gaze.
“Hey,” he greets softly when he comes to a halt in front of me. His lips tilted ever so slightly.
I shift on my heels, finding it impossibly bizarre to be alone with him. Even before, when we were shooting in the video room or somewhere else, there were always people milling around us; we were never truly alone.
Until now.
I clear my throat, remembering he said something. “Hey, yourself.” What the fuck, Kaeli? Hey, yourself? Is that seriously the best you could do? What are you? A nervous teenager crushing on a senior.
No, just a nervous woman with a crush on the hottest man to ever exist.
Not fucking helpful, brain. Before I can hide my discomfort, he notices it as his lips split into a huge cocky grin. “You nervous, Kaeli?” He leans closer, my breath hitching, as he asks in a low rumble this time, “Do I make you nervous?”
My heart palpitates at an inhumane beat.
Why are his words invoking such feelings and reactions in me? Has his voice always been this sexy, or am I just noticing it now?
Before my thoughts wander too far, he smirks at me, enjoying my reaction to him.
His self-assured behavior reminds me of how I actually feel about him. So, my nervousness is replaced by ire in an instant. The corner of my eyes hardens as they narrow at him. “In your dreams, Captain.”
Instead of getting angry, his lips twitch as my gaze falls over them before flicking back to his eyes, the black nearly swallowing the blue. My body gravitating towards him of its own accord.
When did we get so close?
His orbs fall on my parted lips, desire burning in his eyes. Is he going to kiss me? Do I want him to? I guess…
The chiming of my phone brings me out of a trance I was in and stops me from committing a terrible mistake.
I lean back, running a hand through my hair. I clear my throat once again, trying to erase the awkwardness and pretend like our lips weren’t about to touch. Seems like that’s all I do when around him.
I don’t know why this keeps happening to me. But I do know one thing for sure. Calling him here to work with me alone was an atrocious decision-making on my part. And I worry that it might just come bite me in the ass.
Your ass would thank you.
As usual, my brain deems it necessary to comment.
Shrugging my bag off my shoulders, I drop it on the empty bench and take out my camera. Turning back to look at him again, I say, “Let’s get this over with, shall we?”
What the hell did I get myself into?