The Crease: A Rochester Riot Sports Romance Read online

  “Bringing a friend tonight, Kylie?” a voice asked from behind the desk. Kylie turned to face Shawna, one of the instructors, and gave a sheepish smile.

  “Yeah. Just waiting for him. Hope he didn’t get lost on the way here.”

  Shawna returned her smile, adding a raised eyebrow. “Him? You invited a guy to yoga? That’s great. We need more guys in here. He must be in touch with his spiritual side.”

  “Hmm…not really. It was kind of a dare because he lost a bet.”

  Shawna laughed. “He doesn’t like yoga?”

  Kylie bit her lip. “I don’t know. I don’t know him very well. In fact, I just met him a month or so ago. It’s our first time seeing each other outside of work-type situations.”

  “And you thought hot yoga would be a good way to get to know him? Bold move, Kyles.”

  Kyle flipped her hair. “That’s me. Bold.”

  And bubble-headed. Why didn’t I just make a dinner reservation like a normal person? Or buy tickets to a show? Where we wouldn’t even have to look at each other but just sit in awkward silence trying not to touch. Because you always feel like you have something to prove to a guy you feel is above you, that’s why.

  Maybe she wasn’t normal. Maybe she had some sick sense of humor that liked to torture people, make them uncomfortable. Make them show their true colors. Well, after tonight, she’d know if Shredder Politski’s rainbow consisted of primary colors or pastels. Or black. The shade labeled “slow-death of a budding friendship.”

  “Well, I’m going to get the studio set up. Show your friend to the dressing rooms when he gets here,” Shawna said.

  “Thanks.”

  As the instructor exited, Kylie saw a black BMW SUV pull into the lot. For some reason, she’d expected a loaded pickup truck, pimped out with roll bars, fog lights, and big obnoxious tires. And mud flaps with a naked woman. How could anyone forget the pornographic tire protectors? But the more she thought about it, a Beamer seemed to fit too. A tall, tight body unfolded out of the car, a baseball cap covering his pale head as he closed the door and made a mad dash for the door to avoid the rain. Seriously? Did he think a little Minnesota humidity was going to give him a bad hair day?

  Moment of truth. Before this normally tame Thursday night of exercise was over, she’d know exactly what this particular man was made of. She pushed the door open to let him in.

  “You didn’t chicken out,” she said as he slipped inside, a few raindrops spattered on the shoulders of his shirt. He pushed the brim of his Riot cap upward to look at her. Kylie felt a familiar flutter in the region of her heart. Those eyes. They saw right through her.

  Like some extra in The Godfather, she felt made. As if he knew. Knew that Kylie Rose was just one big, fat fraud in the real world. She half-expected him to point, call her out, and tell her to take her sorry ass back to the slums of the Rochester underground. The lighting in the studio was far improved from that of the Blues & Brews, and it revealed much more than she remembered.

  Then he blinked and chased away the dark memories. The warm brown of his eyes swallowed her in their depths, sucking her into a happy place where judgment didn’t exist; only joyful welcome. The long dark eyelashes formed a soft border around them, a feathery fence within which she could play, safe from all harm. For some strange reason, she felt protected from anything evil in this man’s presence. Anything unpleasant that might touch her.

  Then he smiled as those brown orbs looked up and down the length of her pink yoga pants and sports bra clad body. That asymmetrical grin that could light up a darkened street – or bedroom – with its brilliant innocence.

  “I may be many things, but never chicken,” he said. “Hi.”

  Kylie inhaled a giddy breath.

  “Hi.”

  Her outfit suddenly felt tight against her body; her nipples inconveniently waking to attention.

  Please, Lord, don’t let him look down. Don’t let him see the effect he has on me.

  She hadn’t expected that reaction. The next seventy-five minutes might be quite a challenge to get through. She couldn’t help but notice the ridged muscles outlined beneath his Under Armor t-shirt and black, slim-fitting jeans. And the view would be getting better very shortly. She wondered if he sported a six pack or an eight pack. Ah, the joys of discovery.

  He glanced around the chic studio. “You invited me for a workout? We have a gym at the arena, you know. You could have joined me there. It’s state-of-the-art.”

  Kylie scoffed and waved a hand, a knowing smirk lining her features. “Dumbbells and rowing machines? That’s for roid-ragers and The Rock. In here’s where real athletes come to challenge themselves.”

  “Is that so? You gave me a casual dress code,” he said, gesturing to his clothing. “I didn’t know your version of casual actually meant gym gear.”

  “No worries.” She handed him his card key pass and motioned toward the men’s dressing room. “You can leave your clothes in there. There’s a door to the workout floor inside. Class will start in five minutes.”

  Shredder blinked his soft, bunny rabbit browns, a look of confusion on his face. “Leave my clothes? What do I wear for class? Do they have used stuff in that room?”

  Kylie smiled as she backed away toward the women’s. “Not a thing. This is naked hot yoga. I brought an extra mat you can use. See you in there.” She bent her fingers in a flat wave, then disappeared into the dressing room.

  Chapter Six

  Panic swelled in Shredder’s chest, but he willed it down again. It was one thing to be undressed in front of his teammates, the guys who had his back on the ice and off. It was another thing entirely to be exposed in the mixed company of strangers. What if somebody recognized him? There were a lot of die-hard, hardcore hockey fans in Rochester; the chances of remaining incognito were slim. If this got on Instagram or Snapchat, he’d never live it down. He could almost hear his mother’s words of censure over public indecency ringing in his throbbing ears.

  But to leave? To give up and run away? Flee the scene like a castrated pussy in front of a woman? The only woman he’d been attracted to in years?

  Hell. To. The. No.

  He sat on a wooden bench in the well-appointed changing room, controlling his breathing. Panic threatened to accelerate, galloping away with his wounded ego, pride, self-respect, and dignity.

  You can do this, Shred. You’ve faced far worse things than being naked in front of some strangers and come out on the other side. You’re made of sterner stuff than a frightened rabbit. Buck up and show her what you’re made of.

  Leaving floated across his consciousness again. His legs itched with the desire to run. Nothing was stopping him. Except his pride. His first date with Kylie, his first date with any girl in years, and it had to be this? Naked hot yoga? Damn. Why not a nightclub, or a baseball game? Jeez, even one of those escape emporiums would seem simple compared to this. He’d underestimated her. He’d never do it again. Kylie Rose had proven herself a worthy opponent behind the mic and on the street.

  He recalled his appointment that afternoon and chuckled at himself. Doc had indicated he might be a medical miracle so surely he could get through one yoga class. If scalpels and lasers didn’t scare him, why should this? He stood up and began to strip.

  A swinging door led to the workout area, and he tentatively pushed it open a few inches to peer out. His eyes widened at the sight of seven or eight people, mostly women but also a few men gathering onto the mat-covered floor. They seemed completely oblivious to each other’s nudity, bending and stretching as if they were all decked in Lululemon. He noticed the guys were not – excited – in the least, and concentrated on calming the inappropriate rumbling in his crotch. He’d be visible enough as a six-two, two hundred ten pound newbie. He couldn’t even imagine exacerbating the situation by sporting a rod in front of these strangers. And Kylie.

  Kylie.

  Naked.

  Dead kittens. Icicles dripping from my testicles. Janet Reno.


  He remembered posing for the life drawing classes back in college. No one knew it, but he’d been an art minor at his mom’s prodding. She wanted him to be able to help with all the charitable art related activities for the foundation and to do that, he needed to know Monet from Picasso. Though he found it difficult to expose himself even for the sake of creating something beautiful, he overcame. A flash of uncomfortable memory overtook his already racing mind, his discomfiture over the students perusing him while he stood stock-still on a platform. He got through it by reminding himself that the perverted bastard who had nearly ruined his hockey aspirations wasn’t in the room then, and he wasn’t now either. He must summon the same mindset for the next hour or so. He could do it.

  He could.

  He pushed the door open all the way and strode out, gasping for breath as the heated air hit him like a wall. Holy shit, it had to be over a hundred degrees in there. Who in the hell thought this up – exercising in a superheated atmosphere? Silly question. Someone from hell, of course. Beelzebub himself. It would dehydrate you in a matter of minutes and flew in the face of all physical training he ever knew. What he wouldn’t give to be toting the basket of squeeze water bottles for the team right now. It seemed nuts but damned if he would back out now. A deal was a deal; even if it was a deal with the devil.

  If he ever made it out of this, Kylie Rose would find that payback was a bitch. He’d start plotting his revenge strategy the moment his jeans covered his junk again. But he already knew that whatever he planned, it couldn’t even come close to this. He’d pushed the issue, and she’d lit the red light as surely as if she’d presented him with her best slap shot from the blue line, fair and square.

  He found a place on the mats apart from the others as much as possible. No one appeared to even look his way. He didn’t see Kylie yet, as his eyes scanned the room. Suddenly the door to the women’s opened, and Shredder couldn’t suppress a smile.

  Kylie entered the space bold as brass, all five foot two of her, her pink pixie hair tamed behind a black sequined headband. His resolve to clear his mind of any sexual leanings began to desert him, and he commanded his treacherous loins to stand down. Her generous but pert breasts bobbed as she marched toward him, petite pink nipples perched like beacons atop the creamy mounds. His mouth watered before he could stop it as images of licking the erect nubs floated behind the eyelids he’d clamped shut. They flew open again. Naked Kylie Rose presented a visual feast, and he yearned to gorge himself. Between the expanse of her curvy hips, the lovely triangle of her sex was covered in a heart-shaped hedge of – his eyes opened wider – pink pubic hair. Now there was something you just didn’t see every day. His cock twitched involuntarily.

  Holy mother of God.

  He realized his jaw had gone slack and it tightened up on reflex as she took a place on the empty mat next to him. She smiled and winked before pivoting to face front. The moment she took to appraise his own naked form up and down before turning her attention to the instructor was not lost on him. Everywhere her eyes touched, he tingled. For the first time in a long while, he felt proud of his body and encouraged at the same time. That also hadn’t been felt in far too long. He found himself wanting to impress her. It felt imperative.

  He stood with his hands on his hips, not certain what to do first. The instructor remained in the corner of the room, cueing up some music while still wearing a thin robe. He watched somewhat in awe as Kylie reached up in a tall stretch. He knew he was staring but couldn’t help himself. His head swam a little, whether from the sight before him or the oppressive heat, he couldn’t tell which. His eyes followed the ledge of her ribcage and then farther down the smooth, tasty curve of her abdomen where a gold ring protruded from her pierced navel.

  With his staid and controlled upbringing, he yearned to know what it would feel like to be so completely at home in your own body. To own your soul so that it belonged freely to you and not to your well-known, wealthy family. He shook his head. That was just his assumption. For all he knew, Kylie had an iron-fisted father at home pulling the strings as if she were a pinkish marionette. But for now, he’d believe what he wanted to believe.

  She was a nymph, a fresh, foreign thing that tantalized him like Circe’s siren call. So alien, so unlike himself. So hot. Hotter than the room around them. He licked his lips against the onslaught of temperature and swallowed in an attempt to lubricate his parched throat as he imagined them alone in the studio, her naked body prone on her plush yoga mat. Lush and available to satisfy his every whim.

  “What do we do now?” he whispered to her.

  “Follow the instructor,” she whispered back. “Haven’t you ever done yoga before?”

  “Not really. Why the heat? Why no clothes?”

  She swiveled her gaze to meet his. He didn’t miss the note of condescension in her blue-gray eyes. He felt like an idiot.

  “The heat helps detoxify the body and relaxes the muscles. Makes you more flexible and able to move into the postures more easily.”

  “Oh.” He supposed it made sense. He was about to sweat every toxin imaginable out through his pores in this extreme temperature. Even in full goaltending gear, he’d not felt as dripping wet as he did right now. His nervousness didn’t help matters either. “And no clothes? Besides the obvious?”

  A sly grin crept across her lips. “The removal of clothing symbolizes the removal of restraints, inhibitions. Physical nudity symbolizes the nakedness of the soul. You seem like you have a few inhibitions that should be released. In the name of peace and harmony.”

  “Thanks for noticing.”

  A gong sounded, interrupting their whispered banter. The instructor stood at the front of the group and removed her robe. Thin as a reed, her body rippled with toned muscles and tendons. Clearly, there was something to this yoga thing. As soon as he returned home, he’d fire up Google Chrome and research it. Take that back. He’d shower and become his own best friend. He’d never wanted to come more in his life. Toxins could be released through all bodily fluids.

  “Welcome to Kundalini hot yoga,” she said, and everyone moved into their personal space and faced forward. “We will begin with the twelve poses of the sun salute.”

  The gong’s long reverberation faded and segued into a whining tone that slowly escalated into a louder and more piercing note. Shredder’s ears hurt. It sounded like someone drawing a fiddle bow across a piece of sheet metal. When that subsided, the sounds of rippling water and a faraway oboe rose and fell, followed by the return of the tolling gong. He could hardly call it music; certainly it wasn’t Pour Some Sugar On Me. Although, he’d like to. Right over Kylie’s perfect nipples.

  He gave up his critique of the soundtrack and followed the instructor’s, or rather Kylie’s, movements. It struck him that the situation gave him a unique chance to get to know his date in a way generally reserved for a much later stage of a relationship. Where else could you observe every bump, curve, and imperfection of your date’s body, so vicariously and with impunity? Only he didn’t see any imperfection; just silky, faintly freckled skin that undulated with each of her flowing movements.

  After a tall stretch, their hands were brought to a praying position in front of the chest, then down to the sides of their bodies. They bent forward at the waist to about a ninety-degree angle and spread their arms out wide with fingertips pointing upward.

  “This is the Swan pose,” Kylie whispered, her eyes closed as she focused on the routine. “It’s one of my favorites.”

  Sweat dripped off his forehead to land in a growing puddle on the mat. He pictured the entire room turning into a giant slip-and-slide party of human bodily fluids by the end of the night. Shredder prayed no one was covertly taping it or YouTube would explode under the weight of ten million views. He laughed in spite of the gross vision and the oppressive heat.

  Seconds ticked by, each position held for what seemed like an eternity to Shredder. How people could do this on a regular basis seemed beyond
crazy. He did his best to match Kylie’s focus. They bent further forward, bringing their hands flat on the mat in front of their toes; Shredder’s spine hummed in protest. He ignored it, wishing he’d taken a bigger dose of ibuprofen before leaving home.

  Note to self: consume copious amounts of pain killers before any future dates with Kylie Rose.

  Next, she’d probably want to bungee jump or skydive. He watched her fleshy yet compact thighs as they went into a rear lunge with one leg; then the other. This was more familiar to him, rather like mountain climbers, except in slow motion. He admired the smooth expanse of her taut skin as she switched legs, the gentle bump of flexed biceps as she supported her upper body weight with her arms.

  He felt hypnotized as he saw her feet shift to a bracing position and push her ass straight up into the air, her silhouette forming a sort of triangle. My God, suddenly what he wanted more than anything was to be standing right behind her, gliding his palms across those round cheeks and nudging his cock against her puckered entrance. Taking her. Filling her.

  Claiming her.

  Instead, he copied her movements and felt a pain-relieving stretch through his lower back.

  “This is the Downward Facing Dog pose,” she said, her voice low and sexy.

  He snickered at the naughty reference that crossed his mind.

  “I’m enjoying the downward…dog.”

  “Do you find this funny?” she asked.

  “No, no…just…I didn’t know they did yoga doggie-style,” he said, unable to suppress a lingering chuckle.

  She ignored him and transitioned to the next pose, laying her stomach flat on the mat. With her elbows bent and palms at about breast level, she pushed her upper body into a C shape, neck extended and face turned skyward.

  He was thankful to be able to hide his unpredictable organs for at least a few moments this way and did his best to mimic her position. As he curled upward, he realized the move was the counterpart to the previous one, his spine curving the opposite way from the “dog” maneuver. Unbidden, the yin-yang symbol sprang to mind; the concept of balance and equality. The heat and smells of incense in the room must be getting to him, he thought. He was ordinarily the least cerebral person in any crowd.