The Penalty Box

by Teagan Kade

  Nolan sits up to match me, the sheet slipping, his abs accordioning tight. He nods down to where the sheet has turned into a makeshift tent between his legs. “Someone begs to differ.”

  I drag my hair behind my ear. “Why do you guys do that?”

  “What?” he smiles.

  “Talk about your dicks like they’re little human beings.”

  “Little?” he chokes.

  I put a finger up. “Okay, poor choice of words considering your, ah, sizeable friend, but the question remains.”

  Nolan looks to me, shrugging. Fuck me, even his hair is messed up perfectly. The guy’s like a real-deal Ken Doll come to life. “You don’t have a name for your…” His eyebrows jump. “You know?”

  I straighten up prairie dog-like. “My vagina, you mean? Ah, no. I call it ‘my vagina’.”

  We both laugh and I honestly didn’t think it would be this easy. I actually expected to wake up alone, the bedroom door ajar, nothing but the breeze to console me. To find him here and excited is a welcome surprise.

  But what now? my cursed head interjects.

  I hadn’t planned this far ahead, so I decide to stick to routine. “I usually head out for a run. You want to join or you too wiped from fucking my brains out?”

  He shakes his head, eyes wide and incredulous. I don’t think he’s used to a girl being so forward, but hell, why dance around it? That’s not me. Like I told him, I know what I want and I go get it. I’m not going to wait for life to come to me. It’s too short for that shit.

  “Sure,” he replies. “We talking a jog around the block?”

  “Something like that,” I respond cryptically, dying to know how hard I can push him. You don’t take home a Ferrari and leave it in the garage, right?

  I climb out of bed and make no attempt to hide my nakedness, letting him get a nice eyeful of my ass as I make my way to the closet, sliding it open.

  “Holy shit,” he says from the bed. “Do you own anything else besides Jordan jerseys?”

  I suppose the row of red matching basketball jerseys would look a little odd to the uninitiated. “What can I say, he was the greatest. I get inspired when I wear his number.”

  His eyes drop to the row of shoes on the floor. “And the kicks to match, I see. What is that there, like three grand worth of sneakers?”

  “Five,” I correct. “Excluding the ones boxed up in the attic.”

  “Some might say you’re obsessed.”

  I select a sports bra from the middle shelf of the closet and sling it on, tugging the bottom to get it into place. I don’t have to look his way to know his eyes are wandering like pinballs let loose. I reach back for the matching leggings, tugging them on while he watches—quite unashamedly, it would seem, that tent in the sheets looking more and more like the Washington monument.

  I select a pair of sneakers, and make my way back to the bed, sitting on the edge. “Well, you going to get dressed or you plan on running in your birthday suit? I know a couple of old ladies around here who’d get a real kick out of that.”

  “I didn’t exactly pack for a morning run.”

  I nod over to the chest of drawers by the wall. “Bottom drawer. Go.”

  He gets up and now it’s my turn to take in the sights, and boy do I like what I see. Those buns alone… Who needs a stress ball when you’ve got those things to squeeze all day?

  He crouches and opens the drawer. “You got a thirteen-year-old living here as well?”

  I laugh because it’s true. “Let’s just say I was a bit of a tomboy growing up, but they’ll fit.”

  He takes out a pair of basketball shorts and a white Space Jam tee, stretching it out. “You’re serious?”

  “It’s that or buck naked, buddy. Suits me fine either way. I don’t mind sharing.”

  He shakes his head and stands, getting the shorts on okay but the shirt’s a different matter. It’s short by a good inch or two, looks more like a crop top someone’s spray-painted onto his upper body.

  I can’t help laughing. “All right then. Shall we?”

  He reaches across to open the bedroom door. “After you, MJ.”

  It’s still crisp outside, Nolan rubbing his hands together to keep warm. “So, where are we headed?”

  I place my hands on my hips and turn towards the hill overlooking Crestfall. “Quick summit run, what do you say?”

  He follows my eyes, matching my stance and looking god damn adorable in that shirt. “Mount Doom?” he says, using the hill’s more affectionate moniker for those poor souls who make the climb frequently. “It’s been a while.”

  “I’m sure you’ll be fine,” I trill, and set off at a brisk pace, Nolan falling in beside me with surprisingly good form.

  There’s a solid fifteen minutes of flat before we hit the base of the mountain and the start of the summit trail. I use the time to probe a bit deeper into the mind of my newfound fixation. “What are your plans after graduation?” I ask. “I bet you’re dying to get out of here, go play in the NHL, maybe jump the border and drown yourself in maple syrup.”

  He laughs back. “I bet you’d love that.”

  “I wouldn’t be opposed, but seriously, what are you going to do?”

  He looks sideways to check the intersection before we cross. “I’ve had a few strong offers, don’t really mind where I end up.”

  “As long as it’s not Arizona,” I add, trying to remember what the worst NHL team is.

  He gives a stunted laugh. “Not exactly a state known for its icy conditions. What about you? What are you planning besides world domination?”

  I notice our running has synchronized, footfalls sounding together on the pavement. “It’s the WNBA for me, hopefully the Olympic team in three years, one or two championship wins, All-Star selection…”

  Nolan can’t stop smiling. “You really don’t do things by halves, do you?”

  “Never say never, because limits, like gears, are often just an illusion.”

  Nolan recognizes the quote. “Now you’re quoting Jordan at me? Come on. Where was your mother, by the way? Didn’t you say you lived with her?”

  “Girls weekend in Palm Springs with her old drinking pals. She flies back tomorrow.”

  “So you do come from money?”

  “You have no idea.”

  “Your father, what does he do?”

  I try to hide the way the words twist at my expression, the sudden tension flooding into me. “Like you said, world domination. He’s a terrible person.”

  Nolan’s eyebrows knot. He licks his lips. “That’s a bit critical, isn’t it?”

  “You don’t know him. Trust me.”

  “I suppose I don’t exactly have the father of the year either, but there was a certain sense of security growing up, at least when my mother was around.”

  “How so?” I ask, curious.

  Nolan’s thrown off guard. I doubt he expected such a deep conversation at six in the morning, probably thought he’d be balls deep by now, not sweating up a different kind of storm.

  “I don’t know,” he replies, huffing. “I suppose they had a strong relationship, marriage, whatever. There was security in that, for all of us. When she passed…” He trails off, looks distant.

  “So commitment is important to you.”

  “It is.”

  “Explains a lot.”

  “Does it?”

  I nod in front of us, “That’s the trailhead. You sure you’re up for this?” I can tell by his breathing there’s the slightest hint of struggle already. Shuttle runs on the ice are one thing, but distance running in the open air is quite another.

  “Let’s do it,” he replies.

  I nod once and set off. I don’t hold back. It’s twenty minutes to the top at full pace and I intend to make every one of them count. Who said you can’t make a King sweat?

  I take the steps fast, two at a time where I can, concentrating on my breathing and that wonderful feeling of freedom running, true running, offers. The
world is waking up but you’re tackling it full on, unafraid.

  Screw it.

  I double my pace. I know I’m pushing myself to the limit but I can’t press down that competitive streak in myself.

  I take a tight bend and power upwards, conscious of Nolan starting to fall behind.

  “No time for birdwatching!” I shout back. “Onwards, ho!”

  That jolts him into action. Before long he’s clipping at my heels—sounds half dead, true, but he’s keeping up all the same.

  My calves are burning and I’m pretty sure I’m going to feel this for days, but I push harder.

  “Wait up…one second.”

  I look back, surprised to see Nolan bent over with his hand up.

  “You good?”

  “I just need…a moment.”

  “Like hell,” I laugh. “Let’s go.”

  I start off and I hear a pained grunt as he starts to pick up pace again.

  “You’re killing me,” he shouts.

  “Push through it,” I yell back, surprisingly euphoric as we crest the final bend. It’s a brutal slog from here to the top. I engage overdrive and grit my teeth, determined to beat my PB.

  I sense Nolan slipping again, about to throw in the towel. “Don’t you dare fucking quit on me, Nolan King!” I shout.

  When we finally come to the flat of the summit, Nolan stumbles past me and collapses to the ground, rolling onto his back with his knees bent and hands holding his head, chest lifting and falling rapidly.

  I’m breathing hard myself, step over him so he’s between my legs. I look down. “Nice job.”

  “Jesus, you’re too much,” he pants.

  “Funny. I hear that a lot.”

  It’s true. Most guys are intimidated by me. I don’t hold back, and it shows, but maybe I did go too far this morning trying to prove what? I’m a badass? I can break him?

  I want to keep seeing him, but if I keep up this level of aggression, I might just push him away. I need to hold back if I want this.

  Ease up, I warn myself. If that’s even possible.

  It’s a quieter, far slower descent. I can tell Nolan’s in pain but doing his best not to let it show.

  I expect him to make a quick getaway when we get back to my place, which is why I’m doubly surprised when he asks me out to dinner before we’ve reached the front door.

  “You sure?” I ask. “You might need medical attention first.”

  “I’m sure.” He smiles.

  I unlock the door and do my best to hide my excitement. I don’t get like this—all giddy and girly, but hell, I’m up for it. “It’s a date then.”

  I let him inside to gather his things and leave, can’t resist a quick slap of that beautiful ass before he’s out the door. “Eight,” I remind him. “I’m a sucker for punctuality. It’s the soul of business, as my father would say.”

  Nolan stops on the bottom step, looking up to me. “Is that what this is, business?”

  And once more I’m reminded of the pleasure both received and given last night, the many curious ways we explored one another. “Guess you’ll have to wait and see.”

  I close the door and press up against the back of it, laughing to myself and, for the first time in a long time, genuinely having no idea what the hell is going to happen.

  CHAPTER THREE

  NOLAN

  One button or two, I consider, fingers hovering around the neck of my shirt.

  The reflection in the mirror doesn’t answer back, thank Christ.

  It’s been a while since I went on an actual date. Usually the King name alone is enough to seal the deal, so to speak, at least for the others. I prefer a slower approach. Or at least I did before Linnea came along and basically took over my brain.

  It’s incredible how much she’s been on my mind today. The sex was amazing, but that’s not what I return to. In truth, I don’t know whether to feel intrigued by her or scared shitless. She’s overwhelming, but I can’t decide if that’s good or bad. If nothing else, she’s determined as hell. That is a trait I can respond to.

  I still expect Titus to suddenly crash into the room and tackle me, a blow-up doll to pop out of the hallway, or any one of his other endless pranks. It’s strange having him in Boston. I’ve got Peyton, Phoenix, and their better halves to fill the space, but it’s not the same without all of us. When he was here, I constantly wished he’d get lost, but now? I can’t make up if his absence if good or bad. Seems I can’t decide any damn thing, even how much chest to show tonight.

  I think of Linnea and dial it back.

  One button.

  Honestly, I never thought I’d see the day where any of my brothers were married off. The world has gone topsy-turvy and I’m not sure I know my place in it anymore. Could Linnea fit into it? Could she be my Erin or Maya? I consider the two girls in question. They’re strong individuals, but Linnea is notched up to eleven. The way she powered up that summit trail… I barely had time to check out her ass let alone keep up.

  I exhale and tug on my shirt in the mirror. “Here goes nothing.”

  I take the Beemer to pick up Linnea. It used to be Dad’s car back in the ’90s, isn’t half as flashy as my brothers’ many show-pony automobiles, but it’s enough for me. I don’t need to stand out like they do.

  Linnea’s waiting out front, but I don’t get a good look at her until I pop the passenger door open.

  She ducks her head, sliding into the passenger seat wearing a tight black halter dress, her hair pulled back into a single, glossy ponytail. She’s wearing makeup—about a quarter as much as my last date, who looked like she’d fallen face-first into rainbow. It’s refreshing. Elegant.

  “You look…” I start, but Linnea reaches across to place a finger on my lips.

  “If it’s a cliché, I don’t want to hear it.” She removes her finger slowly.

  “You can’t be a cliché if you’re one of a kind.”

  She rolls her eyes, laughing and pulling the hem of her dress down her thighs. “All right. Chalk up a point for that one, but do understand I expect this sort of creative conversation the whole night.”

  I start the car and place my hand on top of the steering wheel, the other reaching for the gearshift. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

  Linnea seems surprised we’re headed up the mountain. “If you’re planning a midnight picnic,” she tells me, “I hope you brought bear spray.”

  “No picnic,” I reply, remaining secretive. Phoenix gave me the heads up about this place a while ago. I believe he took Heather here when they first started dating, and that seems to have panned out. I figured I couldn’t do any worse. We’re rather lacking for quality restaurants in Crestfall.

  Half an hour later I pull down a cobblestone drive, the restaurant emerging through the trees looking—like Phoenix said—like an unassuming modern house.

  The opulence is really revealed as I usher Linnea inside. This time I do hang back, take a glance downwards at that gravity-defying ass that was such a handful the night of the party. Thankfully we’re seated before my cock has had time to fully stiffen.

  A waitress arrives and asks about dietary considerations, but we’re good to go. It’s a degustation menu. I ask Linnea if she’d like the matched wine pairings.

  She straightens her dress, and looks—if I can believe it—nervous? “Uh, you decide,” she says, smiling.

  I relax back in my chair. “Really? Because you seem like a girl who knows what she wants.”

  Her lips tighten seductively. “If you are referring to yourself, I already got what I want.”

  “So, if I asked you to take your panties off and meet me in the bathroom, what would you say?”

  She leans over the table and wets her lower lip. “I’d tell you I’m not wearing any panties.”

  And god damn it, my cock’s so hard it’s going to flip the fucking table.

  Five minutes later the waitress arrives with the first pairing.

  Linnea picks up her
glass—more like a fishbowl. “Is this where all you King brothers take the women you’re looking to impress?”

  I laugh. “My brothers are all for the shock-and-awe campaign, yes.”

  “Whereas you prefer the more subtle route of a two-hundred-dollar-a-head meal?”

  “You looked at the prices.”

  “I did.”

  “Good, because you’re paying.”

  She lifts an eyebrow. “What if I don’t have any money?”

  “I will pay and you can pay me back with sexual favors.”

  “You won’t get much for two-hundred dollars, sorry.”

  I smile at the thought. “Is that a fact?”

  She nods. “Let’s steer the conversation to safer waters, shall we?”

  “Why? Because you’re getting wet?” Now I’m starting to feel like my brothers, but this mutual tit-for-tat seems to be working for Linnea and me.

  She puts the wine glass to her lips and drinks slowly from the rim, eyes wavering hot above, lips just parted when she pulls the glass away. “Yes,” she replies slowly. “I am. And you? I suppose you’re packing an erection under there that would put a Louisville slugger to shame, yes?”

  “I am.”

  She seems suddenly embarrassed, placing her glass down and going to pull her hair over her ear…even though it’s done up in a tight pony. “Why don’t you choose the topic of conversation?”

  “All right. Do you want light and fluffy or deep and meaningful?”

  “You choose.”

  I’m puzzled. She seems different, reserved. She was anything but reserved before. “Where do you stand, politically? A lot is riding on this state. People are talking, so what about you?”

  I see her take it in and process, her mouth opening to speak but closing just as fast. She’s thinking it through, dampening down her answer. I can feel it. “I’m neither here nor there,” she smiles. “Politics isn’t really my thing.”

  “It’s not mine either, but you’ve got to have an opinion on the state of this country right now. Come on. Humor me.”

  “I think…” she starts, looking to her plate, “there’s room for improvement.”

  “Such as?” I press, determined to get some kind of spark out of her, something of the fiery go-getter I remember from before, but she’s unwilling to go there.