Page 22 of Off the Post

With trembling fingers, I set down my iPad and now cold coffee. I uncap the baby oil bottle and pour a generous glob of the stuff onto my palms.

This situation wasn’t on my bingo card during the planning of this calendar shoot. Yet here I am, ready to oil up one of the hottest men in the league.

I’m not sure if this should be considered a special kind of torture or a nice perk of the job.

Either way, I swallow thickly and rub my cold, shaky hands together before placing them on the top of his shoulders.

I peer up at him in apology. “Sorry for my cold fingers.”

A ripple of excitement passes through me at my first touch of his firm skin. Goosebumps form over his heated flesh, which is like touching hot, molten lava.

The temperature of the studio space when we arrived earlier this morning was already cool because it’s in a warehouse with climate control. But Joelle had assumed the guys would get too warm and uncomfortable in their costumes under the glare of the lights, so she requested that we adjust it even more. All that did for me was turn my already cold body parts into freezing icicles.

“Don’t apologize. It feels good,” Soren says with a hum, closing his eyes as if to relish the sensation.

“Bet you didn’t expect to be greased up by a stranger today, did you?” We both laugh at the awkward tension between us.

I glide my hands over the curves of his arms, exploring the sinewy and strong structure of his arms. The soft blond hairs along his forearms tickle my palms, and an involuntary shiver runs down my spine.

A strand of my hair comes loose, falling in front of one eye. I lift my hand from his arm and am about to brush the fallen strand away, my knuckles skimming along my face, but then I realize they’re coated with oil.

Soren notices my dilemma and looks at me questioningly. I blink.

“May I?” He asks the same question I asked of him before we began. A request for consent. And my knees go weak.

His fingers carefully move the hair from my eye, tucking the fallen strand behind my ear. My body lights up like a New Year’s fireworks celebration the moment his fingers brush the shell of my ear.

I mutter my thanks. “I should’ve pulled my hair back earlier, but I had no idea I’d be lubing up a naked goalie and that it’d be such dirty work.”

A bark of laughter bursts from his lungs and I glance up, startled. I literally feel the rumble of noise vibrating through my palms circling his pecs.

Did I just make The Wolf laugh?

His lips twitch with an appreciative smile.

“A partially naked goalie,” he corrects, then adds a wink. “You’re cute.”

“Oh. Um, thanks,” I reply awkwardly. “You are too.”

A weird but electric silence descends between us.

Did I just call this man cute? Awkward is my middle name, and today’s awkwardness is on a whole new level. My brain has short-circuited and refuses to send the correct signals to my mouth.

I continue running my hands over his chest, nervous about what comes next—his abs. I’m a little more than anxious to move my palms across that rippling terrain.

Soren remains motionless except for the slow rise and fall of his chest. I’m not sure how he can remain so calm about this when my heart is speeding.

Biting the proverbial bullet, I follow the tapered lines of his waist, fingers and thumbs gliding over the dips and grooves of those rock-hard abs. I suck my lower lip between my teeth as my hands skim down to his waistband.

Just keep breathing. Don’t get lost in this moment and forget about his wife and kids.

He sucks in a deep breath and I stop, raising a hand to my eyebrow to trace over it with my index finger.

“You got oil on your face,” he says matter-of-factly.

Without asking permission this time, he simply sweeps his knuckles over my forehead and wipes the remnants on the back of his pants. Although it’s gentle and quick, the electrifying shock of his touch practically knocks me on my ass.

“Oh.”