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At this time in the day, Penelope should have already finished her time on the ice and showered, so there shouldn't be any danger of me walking in on her. Not that it would be an unwelcome sight for me, but I’d never do that without her consent.
I push through the door and the confirmation that the shower isn’t running means she must already have finished and be back upstairs in her office.
“Penelope?” I call out in question, just to be sure. “Are you in here?” I ask, but there’s no reply.
I head for the showers, listening closely in case she doesn’t hear me. From what I know about her schedule, she is usually up at her desk by seven a.m. sharp. She'd be running unusually late if she was still in the shower.
I undress from my sweat-drenched gym clothes, grabbing the three-in-one shampoo, conditioner, and body wash that I keep in my duffel bag. I wrap a towel around my waist and head for the shower.
The shower floors lack evidence that anyone has showered here this morning, but Penelope misses days from time to time when Sam has early morning meetings. She might not have skated and showered here this morning. That is an easy enough explanation.
I dispose of the towel onto the short teak wood table just inside the large tiled locker room showers.
Walking in further, I reach the chrome faucet plumbed into the wall and twist the handle to the hottest setting that the high-end rain showerhead will go. The spray hits me, warming my already hot skin while the high-pressure water pounds against my sore muscles.
The showers in the apartments are nice… but not this nice.
My head falls forward. My chin falls almost to my chest as I let the water do its work to make me feel human again after trying to keep up with Seven this morning. The guy is an animal, and he barely broke a sweat.
I wash every inch of my body with body wash and then suds up my hair before washing it all off. Now the locker room smells like some fragrance that’s labeled on the bottle as Misty Forest Beast… whatever the hell that means. But it smelled the least off-putting of all the other fragrances they had for this brand.
I’m fully washed down and feeling partly relaxed when I hear the locker room door swing open.
Maybe Wrenley or Conley decided against the morning run? Or maybe one of the assistant coaches came in early.
Either way, none of them are rushing me out of here. I'd stay in here all morning if I didn't have an appointment with the in-house PT to check out my shoulder.
I lean my head back and let the spray continue to run down the top of my head and over my shoulders.
“What the hell are you doing in here!” I hear Penelope screech.
I pull my chin down and step partly out of the water to find a pissed-off Penelope with her arms crossed over her chest and what looks like a duffle bag over her shoulder.
Fuck she looks beautiful in the morning in a pair of sweats and her hair in a messy blonde pile on the top of her head. I can't deny that my cock notices, too, because it twitches at the sight of her, and if she had been watching, she would have seen it.
I’ve wanted the woman standing in front of me for too many years, and there’s no way to hide how my body reacts to her.
“Taking a shower in the player's locker room,” I say with emphasis on the players to remind her that this is still a locker room for the contracted Hawkeyes' hockey team and not the administrative staff. “What are you doing in here?” I ask, not bothering to hide my growing erection.
Her eyes roam over me, and then she takes a deep swallow when she sees how big I get under her wandering eyes.
Penelope
The moment my eyes open and I stare up at the ceiling in my apartment, my stomach turns, and my heart sinks. I don’t have to look at the time to know that the alarm on my phone didn’t go off this morning and I’m late for work.
I fling off the blankets and race for my duffel bag that has my shampoo, conditioner, and makeup in it. I unzip it and then run to my walk-in closet, throwing in the easiest thing I find to make up an outfit: a knee-length spring floral dress, a cardigan, a clean pair of underwear, a bra, and a pair of ballet flats.
With the year well into April, the spring weather isn’t as cold, and I’ve been itching to pull out my dresses.
I grab my bag and sprint for the door to my apartment, heading for the elevator.
Since the stadium is only a couple blocks away, my drive time commute is only a few minutes. Still, since I occasionally run errands or have to drive to pick up lunch for my executives in the office from time to time, I always drive to work instead of walking like most of the players and other Hawkeyes employees who live in The Commons.
Within ten minutes, I push through the doors of the stadium and headed for the locker room.
I don’t have time to skate this morning, but I have just enough time for a quick rinse down as long as I don't wash my hair. I professional bun will have to do to at least look presentable for the executives coming into a meeting with my father, Phil, and Coach Bex this morning.
I head for the locker room, taking as long a stride as possible, and push through the doors the moment I reach them. It’s still around the time I’d usually be getting ready in the morning, and I already know that no one will be in the locker room for another forty-five minutes, at least.
