Physicals

“We’ll start with physicals. Jessica, please show them to the office,” Belmont announced, his voice cool and unyielding.

Noah blinked, still riding the strange rush of adrenaline that came from being under that man’s gaze. It was like surfacing from deep water, lungs tight, mind spinning. Around him, players began to stir, collecting their bags and following Jessica’s instructions. Noah moved with them, trying to shake off the lingering burn of being watched.

Jessica led them into the locker room and motioned to a row of open cubbies.

“This one’s yours,” she said, patting the nameplate that read RIVERS. “Hooks up top. Gear below. Jerseys in your size should be folded here, we can swap if the fit’s off."

Noah dropped his duffel, the weight slipping off his shoulder with a soft thud. He crouched down to inspect the gear. Clean. New. The orange-and-silver colors of the Crestwick Stormriders gleamed under the fluorescent lights, the tornado logo stitched sharply on the chest of each jersey.

It still didn’t feel real.

He sat down, taking in the space. The sound of other players filling in around him helped calm his nerves, somewhat.

“Hey, you’re the college kid, right?”

Noah looked up. A tall, broad guy with sandy hair and a slightly crooked grin offered a hand.

“Lukas Hanley. Right wing. Heard you lit it up in Oakland."

“Noah Rivers,” he said, shaking his hand. “Thanks. Yeah, I finished up last spring."

“You still studying?” another voice chimed in. A wiry player with quick eyes and a thick Canadian accent. "Name's Mackenzie. Everyone calls me Mac."

“Graduated."

“Damn," Mac said, elbowing another guy nearby. "Thought you were gonna tell us you still had finals next week."

Chuckles rippled around the room.

Noah smiled faintly. He was used to the rookie treatment.

“This whole place feels different,” muttered a deep voice from the opposite bench. A heavily tattooed defenseman with jet-black hair and a jaw like a granite slab was lacing up his shoes. “Belmont’s got some big ideas."

Noah didn’t know how to respond, so he just nodded. He wasn’t sure what he thought of Sterling Belmont yet.

He glanced around the room, taking in the Stormriders roster. He wasn’t the biggest guy here, but he was far from the smallest. On most teams, he stood out—tall, lean but solid. But now he noticed how many others matched his build.

Except for one.

Sterling Belmont.

Noah remembered the man’s stature. Just a fraction taller than him. And the suit, expensive and subtle, hadn’t hidden the physique underneath. That body didn’t belong to a billionaire on spreadsheets and strategy calls. It belonged to someone who knew strength firsthand.

His name was called.

He followed one of the staff into a side room reserved for medical evaluations. The door remained open, just as the others had left it. A show of transparency. A team doctor, flanked by two assistants, nodded as he entered.

“Mr. Rivers. Step in, please. This won’t take long.”

Noah stepped inside. The scent of antiseptic filled the air.

Vitals. Reflexes. Eye tests. Questions about injuries and surgeries. Noah answered easily, confidently. His body had been his life for years. He knew every inch of it, every muscle and scar.

Then came the request to undress.

He didn’t hesitate.

Noah peeled off his shirt, then his pants, standing tall under the bright overhead light. His body was honed, muscular without bulk. He wasn’t shy. Never had been. If anything, he was used to people looking. The rare times he went out, women noticed. Some men too.

He just never gave them a reason to think he cared.

The doctor moved professionally through his checklist. Noah answered each prompt, lifting an arm, breathing in, breathing out.

Then came the last part.

“Okay. Please stand still. This will be quick,” the doctor said, donning gloves.

Noah braced himself as the doctor moved in for the testicular exam. It wasn’t pain, exactly. Just invasive. Intimate in a way that made his skin crawl if he thought about it too long. So he didn’t.

He focused on the far wall. Breathed slowly. Tried to separate.

And that’s when he saw him.

Through the narrow gap in the door, Sterling Belmont was standing in the middle of the locker room. Jessica was beside him, flipping frantically through a file, saying something he didn’t seem to care about.

Because his eyes were on Noah.

Watching him.

Not in passing. Not casually.

Sterling was staring. Deliberately. Intently.

Noah's breath caught in his chest.

There was something unreadable in the owner’s expression. Hunger, maybe. But colder. Calculated. Like he was trying to make sense of something he hadn’t expected.

Was he regretting the signing? Wondering if Noah was worth the price? Or was it something else?

The weight of that gaze pressed into Noah like hands, sliding over every exposed inch of his body. His skin prickled under it.

His pulse stuttered. Heat bloomed low in his gut.

He looked away.

Too late.

His cock twitched in the doctor’s hand.

The doctor made no comment, finishing his exam as if he hadn’t noticed. Noah tried to hold himself steady, tried to pretend the heat crawling up the back of his neck was just embarrassment.

But it wasn’t.

This reaction, this want, was unfamiliar. No man had ever made his body react like that. Not even close.

And yet, Sterling Belmont, silent and still on the other side of that door, had managed it without a word.

Noah swallowed hard and focused on putting his clothes back on. But the memory of that gaze clung to his skin.