Page 20 of Off the Post

When I first began playing in the league, I developed an uneasiness when under the watchful eyes of fans and media. Even geared up in my goaltender pads and helmet that protect me like armor, my skin would tighten from the pressure of all eyes being on me. When I’m alone in the net, it’s like I’m an animal in an enclosure at the zoo. But unlike a wolf in a man-made habitat, I can’t seek refuge in a cave when I’m on the ice and the arena lights are on me. My anxiety has grown so bad that I’ve had to ask the team PR rep to help me limit the number of interviews with the media or press.

But I’m enjoying the attention I’m getting from Ali. Contentment curls inside my chest any time a smile plays at her lips or when that pink blush creeps over her neck and cheeks.

It’s cute when she takes a lock of her auburn hair and winds the curl around her finger as she studies her notes or gauges any changes to the photo background that might be needed. My own fingers twitch to touch that hair. The muscles in my jaw clench with the desire to bring those curls to my nose and breathe in the heavenly scent of ginger and cinnamon.

I cast a quick glance in her direction to find her regarding me with quiet blue eyes.

“I don’t know,” Ali says to Joelle, stepping onto the set and moving toward me with a furrowed brow. She waves a hand at my body, her expression twisting in disapproval. “This outerwear doesn’t scream hungry predator.”

My bicep flexes instinctively when her hand lands on my arm, and she snakes it back like she’s been burned.

A searing blaze runs up my arm from that single touch.

“I’m so sorry. I get carried away and forget to ask for permission.” She blushes with a sheepish smile.

My nostrils flare and I huff out a pained laugh. “It’s fine. You can touch.”

She can touch whatever and wherever she wants on my body. A spike of desire hits me square in the groin.

Ali smiles and the tiny lines at the corners of her eyes crinkle. “Hey, Joelle?”

I glance over her shoulder to find the photographer setting up her camera and lighting equipment. Joelle looks up from where she’s bent over the tripod. “Yeah?”

Ali circles around where I stand, a slow perusal of my body, and I can see the wheels turn in her head. She glances behind me at the mountain scenery and motions with a wave toward my chest before leaning in to whisper her request in my ear.

“I have an idea. Can you take off your vest?” It’s discreet and barely audible, but I hear the hitch in her voice.

My own voice betrays me, sounding hoarse and deep. “Ja.”

When I pull the material off my arms and let it drop, leaving my torso uncovered and exposed, a noise escapes Ali’s lips. The sound floods me with desire, my stomach tightening into knots, hands clenching into fists.

She lifts her chin and locks eyes on me but speaks to Joelle. “What do you think about having Soren bare-chested, holding his helmet in the crook of his arm?” The heat in her gaze burns me to the core She tilts her head, raising an eyebrow. “Did you happen to bring your gear and helmet like I asked everyone to?”

I nod, tipping my chin toward the dressing room area. “Ja. In my bag.”

“Great. Would you mind grabbing it while I rearrange things here?”

I go do as she asks—although at this point, honestly, I’d do anything she wants. If she wants me to drop my pants entirely, I’m game. Lie naked on top of a bed of nails? No problem. The pain might be intolerable, but it would deflect from the pain I feel from being this close to her.

The guys all turn to me as I enter the dressing room but say nothing of my state of undress. I unzip my large bag with the Vikings logo and my name on the side and extract one of my favorite hand-painted helmets from last year. It’s decorated with a silver wolf with piercing gold eyes. The rendering feels like my inner spirit.

When I return to the set, I find Ali busily restaging things. It’s fascinating to watch her in action, making course corrections and changes on the fly. You can tell she’s an organized woman but can adapt and change quickly when needed.

The similarities between what she does in her role and my job as a goaltender are not lost on me. As a defender in the net, it’s critical that I’m able to keep up with every nuance in player positions, stick angles, and puck movement out on the ice.

Flexibility is my middle name. On the ice, that is.

Out in the real world, I have difficulty making those course corrections.

And from the looks of it, Ali is required to do the same.

I’m mesmerized as I watch her assess the situation, her entire body moving expressively. Her blue eyes sparkle like sunlight casting off the ocean and her freckles seem to come alive when she’s hit with an idea that adds to the overall set design.

Ali literally bubbles with a joy that I can’t comprehend. I have no inner light to speak of anymore. It was dimmed years ago and is now shrouded in guilt and grief.

The light that exudes from Ali is a lighthouse beacon, and I’m a sailor lost at sea. My soul wants to be saved her bright joy, but I let go of that thought immediately. I’m in no state of mind to start something with her.

Besides, the fact remains—Ali is my teammate’s sister, which means Ali St. Francis is completely off-limits to me anyway.