by Stacey Lynn
“How much did you have to give Lizzie to tell you?”
She’s been hanging at the hockey house since the night of the party. I didn’t even see her last weekend until she strolled through our door late Sunday night. She came home wearing flannel plaid pants eight sizes too large for her, courtesy of the hockey goalie, who I’ve now learned has a first name of Garrett. I’m not surprised she’s run into Jude a time or two, but I’ve resolved not to ask.
“I’m feeling highly underestimated here, Katie. Maybe she gave the information away simply because I charmed it out of her.”
If it was anyone else, I wouldn’t doubt his abilities to charm a girl with a smile and a wink, but I’ve known Lizzie too long. She’s too loyal.
“Kate,” I correct on instinct. His smile seems to widen. Despite needing to study and get back in the zone he’s so quickly destroyed, and because I’m no longer thinking of anything but the man across from me, I lean forward. “You bought her alcohol for tonight, didn’t you?”
He lifts his ball cap, swipes a hand through his long black hair and resettles the cap. “It’s possible. But dang, you are bad for my ego.”
“I think your ego is doing just fine.”
Jude places his hand to his chest and shakes his head. “Never again. Never again will I be the same. You wound me.”
He’s too much. Too good looking. Too smart. Too fun to be around. But he’ll also be gone too soon, and most likely leaving my heart in tatters if I don’t work to protect it.
Against my better judgment, I made the mistake of Googling Jude Taylor earlier this week. It came after the fifth text message and third missed call. I blame the red wine I had for making me turn to the internet to get my Jude fix.
Turns out he has every reason to be confident in his hockey abilities, and he definitely wasn’t exaggerating when he said he’s one of the top five most watched wingers. He’s the third born of four sons in the Taylor family. Their father, John Taylor, Sr. is a former New York Rangers player. His older brother, John Taylor, Jr. currently following their dad’s footsteps and playing for the Rangers. Jude has already been drafted to his older brother Jason’s team in North Carolina. And their youngest brother Joey is on a full-ride athletic scholarship to Wisconsin, where his first-year stats rival Jude’s current ones. Assuming Jude doesn’t get injured his last season here in Chicago, he’s primed to follow in his family’s footsteps.
The Taylor family is iconic in the hockey world.
I come from a woman who proclaimed herself a hippie long after it was cool, barely held down a job, carted me to twelve cities, and even more schools in the eighteen years I lived at home, which never really existed outside Sharla’s 1993 maroon-colored Buick LeSabre.
Jude Taylor and I don’t only come from different tax brackets and different cities… he and I are worlds apart. Knowing what his future looks like, and what I want out of my life, I’m more determined to have nothing to do with him.
It’s that reminder that snaps me back to the present with the sting of a rubber band at my inner wrist.
I can easily fall for this guy. It’d just make me stupid to do so.
My smile falls from his teasing. “I need to get back to studying.”
His head tips to the side and his lips push out. He opens his mouth to say something, and then his expression changes back to his playful smirk. “Why do you think I’m here?”
He keeps his gaze on me as he digs into his backpack and pulls out a thick notebook. Then he grabs his phone, sticks his own earbuds into his ears, and grabs his laptop, flipping it open.
“You’re looking at me funny,” he says, eyes bouncing from his laptop to me. “Hard to peel your eyes off something this sexy, isn’t it?”
I laugh softly. He’s too much. He’s also correct. “Are you really going to study or are you going to distract me?”
Truthfully, he can distract me by his presence even if he is studying. That’s not entirely his fault though, it’s my libido’s. It’s been on hyper-drive since his hug and the texts about wanting to kiss me.
“Studying, beautiful. I’ve got a history final at eight a.m. tomorrow.”
History. It’s never interested me. “What’s your major?”
“History. Secondary education. If the whole hockey thing doesn’t pan out I want to be a high school teacher.”
“Seriously?” It’s… I’m well, stunned.
“Yeah, why not? Then I can coach high school or the youth leagues.”
He’s genuine. And honest. And I’m struck again with the fact I’ve misjudged him. I wouldn’t have thought a guy who comes from a family like his, one who’s probably worth millions, would want to be a teacher.
“You’re a good man, Jude,” I admit, my voice soft and unable to hide my awe at the simplicity of the life he’s just painted for me.
Not like it’ll happen. Barring some career-ending injury, he’ll be making millions and flying across ice in arenas all over two countries faster than I can finish my Physical Therapy Graduate Program.
He flashes me a look. “Don’t look so surprised, Katie.”
I wrinkle my nose but don’t correct him. I only let my friends call me Katie, mostly because it sounds like such a little girl name. He takes the victory and nods toward my own book.
“What about you? What’s your major?”
My pen taps on my book. “Biology for now. After I graduate, I’m staying here for graduate school for their physical therapy program.”
“Physical therapy, huh? Why? You want to get your hands all over sore, muscled men for a living?”
There’s an amused glimmer in his icy blue eyes peeking out beneath the bill of his ball cap.
“And to think… I was just beginning to like you, Jude Taylor.”
He doesn’t hesitate. “You like me. You might not want to, but you do. And I plan on sticking around until I can find out why and get you to change your mind.”
It’s a promise in his steely eyes, fierce determination etched on the features of his beautiful face.
I take it more of a threat. And for the first time since I’ve met Jude, I realize he terrifies the crap out of me.
Chapter Five
Jude insists on walking me home after the librarians start kicking out students in harsh, stern whispers. Not that I blame them. They let us stay well past the normal closing hour of midnight. Our backpacks are hitched over our shoulders. He strolls across the campus in a thick coat, hands shoved into his pockets and his ball cap pulled low on his head.
I’m bundled in a scarf, thick wool hat, and my favorite mittens and I can still feel the bite of the freezing wind through my down feather coat. My teeth chatter within minutes, making conversation difficult, and I have to hustle double time to keep up with Jude’s long strides.
“Thanks for walking me home,” I say as we turn the corner to the block where my apartment is up ahead. On the third floor, the lights to our living room are still burning bright and dozens of shadows flicker across the windows. Lizzie’s party is apparently still in full swing. “That was nice of you. Are you this protective of all the girls in your life?”
I mean it as a tease, but Jude scowls. His jaw hardens and I wonder if I’ve upset him because he pulls his hands out of his pockets and grips the straps to his backpack. Looking straight ahead, he says, “My brother’s wife was mugged a couple years ago walking home from the store. Broad daylight. She was pulled into an alley and beaten. My family was traveling, so I was the one who could get to the hospital first.”
“Oh, Jude.” I stop on the sidewalk. The freezing air turns burning hot. “I’m so sorry. Was she… is she okay?”
A muscle tics at the side of his nose. “She was fine. I mean after a few days, and they didn’t… they didn’t violate her, but they could have. And it happened in the middle of the damn day on the streets of New York. Scary shit.”
I have no words. There’s nothing I can say except another pithy I’m sorry.
“How is she no
w?” I ask instead, because I can’t imagine how easy it would be to recover from something that scary. I have my own scars and fears, and I haven’t experienced anything like that.
“She’s good. Firecracker, my brother calls her.” It’s on the tip of my tongue to ask which brother, but I’m not going to share my stalker-status with him just yet.
“Well, thank you, again.” I turn and head toward my apartment and he catches up in an easy stride.
“You’re not going to ask?”
“Ask what?”
“About my family? My brother? His wife?”
Am I that easy to read? “Why would I?”
He examines me. I can feel the weight of his stare on me as I keep my focus on my apartment up ahead. “Never mind.”
There’s laughter in his tone, but I ignore it. I’ve either surprised him or I amuse him, and right now, neither is good.
We reach the stairs and he stays on the sidewalk, scanning the empty street and walkways while I dig my keys out of my coat pocket. Had I been walking alone, they would have already been in my hand. It takes me a moment of fumbling with them through my thick mittens. Once I have my keys out and ready, I turn back to Jude.
“Thanks again for the walk home. And I guess the company wasn’t too bad either.”
He rolls his eyes at my sass. “Come to my game Friday. It’s our last one before break. Come see me play.”
I’m surprised by his sudden invitation and it takes me a minute. I should say no. I want to say yes. It’s best if I don’t go, though, and fortunately, I have a good reason.
“I have plans Friday afternoon. Unbreakable.”
“What are they?”
I debate. If I tell him it’s a date will he back off? It’s not really a lie. Being dishonest after he just shared something so personal feels too mean. I don’t want to hurt him, but I can’t offer him anything. “I’m a Big Sister… with the Big Brother/Big Sister program. Friday afternoons are our days.”
“Really?” He jerks back and grins, surprising the hell out of me. Usually, the response I get is a wrinkled, confused look with the question Why? He doesn’t even think to ask. “That’s awesome. Fun stuff, I bet. You should bring your little sister to the game then. Teach her all about the best sport in the league, the best team in college… the best senior on the team, too.”
“Dubiak?” I ask, mostly because besides Wolfboy—and that’s not his real name—Dubiak’s is the only name I remember from the other night, and that’s Lizzie’s fault. She’s been singing his praises about the size of his stick all week.
“No, twerp. Me.” His chin tips up. “Come to the game. Even if you’re late. It’ll be fun.”
Hockey is fun to watch and I’ve already been to some of their games, a couple years ago before I paid any attention to who is who. Not that that’s changed much until the last week.
“We’ll see. She’s not much of a sports fan.” I can’t promise it and I won’t. Nora, my little sister, who I’ve seen almost weekly for two years now, usually chooses what we do. Some times we hang out at my apartment watching movies and eating popcorn. Other times we go to movies. In the summer we hang at the beach along Lake Shore Drive. I take her ice skating and we window shop on Michigan Avenue. Her mom is a single parent and is a hard-working woman, she just doesn’t have a lot of support to help raise her daughter.
I have the door unlocked, thanking him again for walking me home. After we say good night and I’m finally able to peel my attention off his too-darn-good-looking face to leave him, he calls my name.
“What?”
“Do me a favor?” he asks, stepping back and grinning. I shouldn’t ask. The look on his face tells me it’ll be trouble if I do.
I can’t help myself. He’s irresistible. “What?”
“Dream of me tonight.” He winks and steps back.
I know, like the week before, I will. Not because he told me to, but because I’ve dreamed about him every night since we met.
But I’m never telling Jude that.
Chapter Six
“Okay Tara. Give her a hug for me, will you? Have her call me when she’s feeling better. Now that finals are done, I can spend time with her over the holidays. Give you a night out if you need one, too.”
“You’re too kind, Kate. You’re not our babysitter, you know.” At eleven, Nora doesn’t need one anyway, but I’ve never had a little sister, and the girl is pretty cool.
“I know, Tara, but I don’t mind. You’ll give her that hug?”
“I will. She’s really bummed to miss today.”
I am, too. Not only because I enjoy the days I spend with Nora. Being a Big Sister has helped me equally, if not more than it’s helped Nora. At least, I hope it’s helped her. But considering my mom and I were always moving and rarely had two pennies to rub together, I never exactly experienced a fun and carefree childhood either. Being able to give that to Nora is also like getting to have it for myself for the first time ever.
I’m also bummed, because in my peripheral line of sight, Lizzie is doing a happy dance, hips swaying in faux leather leggings and an oversized gray Chicago College sweatshirt. She frowned when Tara called to let me know Nora isn’t feeling well, but my roommate has recovered from that sadness quickly.
“I’m not going to the game with you.”
“Oh come on! You have to. And now you don’t have plans and you don’t have anything to do.”
I cross my arms. “I can find something to do.”
“Yeah?” She pops out a hip and slaps her hand on it. “With who when your only friend is going to be at the game.”
“I have other friends.” Sort of. I mean, I have acquaintances and classmates, but it’s not like we all hang out frequently. And I’m definitely not close enough to many people to call them up last minute to make last minute Friday plans. Besides, everyone from my classes are probably at the game.
The hockey game.
“Are you going to pout and whine until I say yes?”
She takes a drink from her wineglass and grins. “It’s like you know me or something.”
“I know you, all right,” I mutter and pour my own glass. The game isn’t for hours, but Lizzie’s been dressed and ready since lunchtime. Which is surprising. She keeps insisting she and Garrett are a fling, something to pass the time when they have it during his season, but she seems awfully smitten. “And sometimes I don’t like you all that much.”
“Please. I’m your favorite.”
“That’s because you’re my only friend, remember?” I toss the words back to her and in true Lizzie form, she throws back her head and laughs. Nothing fazes this girl.
It’s weird.
She’s weird too, doing another hip shimmy shake dance across the living room.
“You’re coming to the hockey game! And we’re going to drink and relax because finals are done, so now we can party for weeks!”
She can. I can’t. I’ll be spending my holiday break working in the training facility, inventorying and helping order supplies, and assisting with the few student-athletes who are on campus. Which, except for a few days, will mostly be the hockey team.
Suddenly, I can’t escape them.
Unfortunately, I don’t have excuses Lizzie will buy. I have a few days off here and there, and nothing to do tomorrow other than laundry and scrubbing the microwave, cleaning out the refrigerator. Fun stuff.
Plus, although I don’t want to admit it to Lizzie even though she knows me better than I know myself most days, I really want to see Jude play. After learning about his family, I’m curious to see what he’s like.
“Fine,” I huff, pretending to be put out by her pouting. “I’ll go. But you’re buying dinner. And I’m having a few more drinks beforehand.”
They don’t sell alcohol at the college arena, but something tells me I’m going to wish they did. A little buzz before I show up is necessary.
Because what is Jude going to say if he sees me?
Let’s hope he never finds out.
He’s amazing. Jude glides across the ice with lightning-fast speeds, and his accuracy to find that tiny little puck flying his way is more than impressive. I’ve been squirming in my seat for the last two periods. Chicago is doing an incredible job of defending the net against the University of Minnesota. One of the top five teams in the country, we’re tied at two with three minutes to go. Jude’s already scored one goal.
Garrett has blocked over two dozen shots, only letting two by, and it’s obvious that each time he does, he’s frustrated with himself for not stopping it. Lizzie has stood next to me, grabbing my hand and jumping up and down, cheering on his name. I’m quite certain Jude has turned his attention in her direction more than once.
But there’s no way he’s seen me in the packed student section. Lizzie pushed and shoved us through the crowded seats until we were only a few rows up across the ice from the home team’s bench. It’s amazing really, how easily and quickly she gets her way all the time.
Ice dust flies into the air as someone from Minnesota comes to an abrupt stop and I’m certain the ice flying through the air will ruin Jude’s concentration, but like so much else when it comes to him, I’m dead wrong. He snags the puck and takes off across the midline, slapping his stick back and forth, dribbling the puck with such ease and quickness everything blurs as he moves. He passes it to their left wing, Richardson, leaving the center behind them, blocking the other team.
In less than a few seconds, the puck is back in Jude’s possession and I’m not even sure how it happens, but I’m on my feet, squeezing Lizzie’s hand and yelling right along with the hundreds, possibly thousands packing the arena.
“Jude! Jude! Jude!” We all chant his name, and I swear, a tingle occurs at the tops of my thighs. Seeing him like this, in his element, it’s impossible to deny how completely sexy and athletic and absolutely amazing this man is.
He pulls back his stick, slaps it forward. A hush falls right before the light on the top of the goal goes off, indicating he’s scored and the entire crowd loses their minds. He did it. With twenty-five seconds left on the clock, Jude has scored the goal that puts us in the lead.
