I’d always toed the line, with her and dad—with pretty much everything in my life—and what had it earned me?
Out of the corner of my eye I spotted Brett, shooting his mouth off as usual, and anger bubbled up, fast and hot. I kept a tight lid on my anger, always holding myself in check so I’d be in control at all times, but I didn’t feel like holding back tonight.
I charged over, gripped him by the collar, and slammed him into the nearest wall, making the beer in his hand spill down and darken his blue shirt. “Turns out I don’t want to wait for practice.”
“Aw, did she say no to you? That doesn’t usually happen.”
I slammed him again, his head making a satisfying thwack against the wall. “Don’t ever talk to or about Lindsay again, you hear me?”
For the first time ever, that stupid-ass smirk fell off his face and I saw fear flicker through his eyes as he nodded. His big mouth had finally gotten the best of him, and I was happy to be the one to facilitate the lesson.
“Whoa, big guy. I think maybe we better head outside and cool off.”
I recognized Dane’s voice, and the fact that he’d called me big guy instead of bro threw me off for a second. Brett jerked, trying to get free, and I curled my hand tighter in his shirt.
Dane yanked my arm back, and I wheeled on him. He held up his hands. “Just trying to keep you from doing something stupid, bro.”
There was the bro. Something about it broke through my rage. That and the way Megan was standing off to his side, looking at me with wide eyes.
With a shake of my head, I forced myself to release my grip on Brett and he scrambled away. I almost tripped him, not quite done with my spite, but this time, I used my well-honed restraint.
Dane jerked his head in the direction of the exit and I strode toward it, over this party and this night anyway.
The chilly air hit my skin, cooling me down a couple of degrees and bringing with it a sensation of utter stupidity. What was I thinking, going off like that? I didn’t fly off the handle at every little thing—and while Brett deserved what I’d done and more, I hated that I lost my temper because of some prick like him.
Of course, this wasn’t only about him. I thought of Lindsay sleeping with him, and the anger rushed back, churning along with the toxic jealousy in my gut.
Oh sure, sleep with the asshole, but run from me.
I clenched my fists, hating myself for allowing the thought to poke through. When it came down to it, I didn’t know Lindsay, not really. We’d had a tiny connection, and I liked being around her, but I didn’t know why she and everything that happened tonight got under my skin so quickly.
“You good?” Dane asked.
I blew out a long exhale. “I’ll be fine.”
Megan cast a worried glance back toward the Quad. “Where’s Lindsay?”
“Gone,” I said, and the word echoed over and over through my head.
Chapter Twelve
Ryder
Hudson reached into the freezer and pulled out one of our staples—Eggo waffles. Whitney sat on the counter, wearing Hudson’s oversize T-shirt, her bare legs swinging. They both stopped what they were doing when they noticed me.
I sighed. “I’m guessing those looks mean you heard about last night.”
“Dane said something,” Hudson confirmed.
“And Lindsay?” I glanced at Whitney. “Have you talked to her?”
Whitney pressed her lips together and nodded. So yes, and it was bad—and that was without Lindsay hearing about how I almost punched out Brett for basically just standing there being his prick-ish self. Unless of course, Whitney told her what happened, which she probably did, and now Lindsay was most likely thinking she’d dodged a bullet.
God, I really need to stop thinking about her. I rubbed the grit out of my eyes—I’d slept super shitty last night, and now I knew why Dane looked like a zombie half the time. Or had before Megan came along and pumped new life into him.
He strolled in, not looking like a zombie at all, and then slowed when he saw me, his smug, I-had-sex-all-night grin falling right off his face.
“Don’t say it,” I said.
“Bro, I just came in to grab coffee for me and Megan.”
“Megan and me,” Whitney automatically said, then winced. “Sorry.”
Dane shrugged.
“Apparently that’s not just an editor thing, but a writer thing, too, correcting everyone’s grammar,” I mumbled, not realizing I’d said it aloud until everyone looked at me. Even Megan had stepped out of the hallway, a concerned expression on her face. Apprehension and worry wafted off them, as if I was a bomb about to blow.
I still couldn’t pinpoint how I’d lost it so easily. I’d been pissed off, frustrated, and experiencing more jealousy than I’d ever felt before, and I reacted without thinking. One slip among the countless times I shoved down my emotions and held myself back, and suddenly everyone looked at me like I was unstable.
Whitney twisted a strand of hair around her finger. “If it makes you feel better, Lindsay said it was about her. Not you.”
“Baby, that’s never made anyone feel better,” Hudson said, tapping Whitney’s thigh so she’d scoot over and he could grab forks from the drawer underneath her.
“What Hudson said,” I helpfully added. The coffee maker burbled noisily in the background, the scent of it filling the air as Dane pulled out mugs. Megan stepped next to him and he wrapped his arms around her and tucked his chin on her shoulder.
Hudson slammed the drawer closed, causing the silverware to rattle together, and then turned to face me. “Before you go agreeing with me, I’m probably to blame for whatever happened with Lindsay, so if you want to punch someone, hit me.” He spread his arms wide, two forks curled into his right hand. “One free shot.”
“Sounds like a great idea.” I reached past him for a glass and turned to fill it with water from the fridge. If I were going to hit anyone, I’d much rather have thrown the punch last night. The way Brett talked about Lindsay… Evidently that was a hot-button subject I should avoid, because my anger made a reappearance. “Actually, I’m going to go hit the weights. Possibly the punching bag in the gym. I’m guessing you guys are busy.”
Dane gestured at the coffee, as if to say it wasn’t going to drink itself, and Megan added that they had plans to go to the museum of science. “There’s this Women in Science and Engineering series I’m dying to see, and I’m not sure how long it’ll be there. You’re welcome to come along if you want.”
Oh yeah. Being a third wheel today was exactly what I needed. Hard pass. I turned to Hudson.
“Sorry,” Whitney said, wrapping her arms around Hudson’s waist. “We’re going, too. I’ve been promising this guy dinosaur exhibits for a while. You know he’s got a thing for dinos, right?”
Hudson craned his neck and kissed her cheek. “Thanks for outing me.”
She giggled and twisted her head so their lips met.
This lovefest definitely wasn’t helping my mood. I needed to get out of here and release all this pent-up frustration in the gym. “No worries. Whitney, I still owe you for getting Lindsay there. Even if it ended up being a disaster.”
“I’ve got your back.” She gave me a smile filled with a bit too much pity for my liking, but because of her words, I couldn’t hold it against her.
“You should get Hudson’s back, too,” I said, “because he’s getting kind of pudgy after choosing you over the gym all the time.”
Hudson flipped me off, I laughed, and life was back to the way it was supposed to be, no one feeling sorry for me or looking at me like I was about to blow. I grabbed my bag and decided that I needed to go back to my original goals. Stay away from drama, no getting involved with anyone until next year when my spot was more secure, and maybe even then it was better to avoid the complications relationships brought.
With my crush on Lindsay snuffed out, it was time to do what I did best. Shut out everything and everyone and focus on wha
t was important. Hockey, school, and more hockey.
That oughta keep me nice and warm at night.
Chapter Thirteen
Lindsay
My thoughts kept drifting from the words on my computer screen, my focus totally crap today. Whitney had mentioned that even after I’d left that Ryder had almost gotten into a fight with Brett, and while I’d told myself he was fine at least a hundred times, it didn’t stop me from worrying about him.
Like he needs me. I bet it took all of two seconds for one of those girls who’d been eye-humping him to approach and make it clear she’d actually deliver.
I knew how that went, because I’d swooped in to take advantage of a lonely hockey player before. All the self-loathing I thought I’d ridded myself of came rushing back. For so long I’d told myself I’d felt empowered, that I’d been the one in control, but I’d had morning afters where I beat myself up.
Then I’d wonder what drove me to need that validation from guys so much.
Confession #9: I have daddy issues. I hate that I do, but I’m aware that it factors into how hard I’ve sought out male attention in the past.
I didn’t know my dad, and the only father figures I had were the guys my mom clung on to for years here and there. Very few of them looked at me as more than an inconvenience, and when I got older, one of them looked at me a little too long. That was one time I definitely wanted less male attention.
Fortunately Mom noticed before I had to have that awkward conversation with her, and while I’d felt a bit of resentment from her when we moved out of his house, the important thing was she’d taken action and moved. For me. That was one reason I couldn’t bring myself to begrudge her for how I was raised, even though I didn’t want to live my life like that ever again. The other reasons involved the rough way she grew up, poor with an abusive father. She didn’t talk much about it, but she did what she needed to do to escape a bad situation, and she made sure no guy ever laid a hand on me.
Here’s the thing: everyone has issues of some kind. Contrary to popular belief, plenty of the other puck bunnies had loving fathers who paid attention to them. Some of them could also pull off a mutually beneficial no-strings-attached arrangement. For years I told myself that I could, but eventually I faced the truth that I’d acted my way through or regretted most of them.
But again, nobody gets out of this life without a few issues, and I could choose how I dealt with them.
“Lindsay.”
I jumped at Will’s voice, which was opposite of how I usually reacted to his lilting British accent. I put a hand over my racing heart. “Sorry. I didn’t realize you’d come in.”
“I noticed. I brought you some tea.” He placed a steaming cup in front of me and I wrapped my hands around it. Instead of heading for his computer to mainline his tea, like he often did as soon as he got in, he tilted his head and studied me. “What’s up with you? You’re in a bit of a nark, yeah?”
“Um…?” Since he didn’t always bother pronouncing his Rs, I took a shot at what sounded like naack and guessed he’d said narc. “Last I checked, narcing on people who OD’d on caffeinated substances would mean that everyone in the college—and pretty much everyone everywhere—would be locked up.”
He pinched his bottom lip between his fingers and shook his dirty blond mop of hair out of his eyes. “No, I mean like…grumpy. A bad mood. Worse than usual.”
Normally I liked that he gave it to me straight, but today I wasn’t so sure. “I’m often in a bad mood?”
He nodded, clearly not understanding his words had been a tad on the insulting side. “With all the deadlines and such, I get it. Plus, only a little over two months to go on classes, and I’m knackered all the time, too. But this”—he circled a hand around my face—“looks like there’s more than the usual stress.”
“It’s my math class,” I lied, although since I’d gone and ruined things with the one guy who could help me pass it, there was some truth in there, too. At least I’d done well on the quiz today before the inevitable dive my grades would take without Ryder in my life. “I might fail, and then I’ll be totally screwed.”
Will took off his messenger bag, knocking over my cup of pens in the process and sending them sprawling across my desk. I caught the ones I could as he scrambled to pick up the pens that had rolled off the far side and onto the floor.
Once that mess was picked up, he scooted a chair next to me and looked at me expectantly. After a couple of seconds, he said, “Well. Where’s the math? I’m not going to let you fail or get screwed.”
I bit back a laugh. Honestly, I was starting to think that I’d never get screwed again.
But over the next hour, I realized that the only thing harder to understand than math was math in a British accent from a nice guy who was clearly in over his head. I decided that I was quite screwed, and not in the fun way.
…
The fact that I was heading into the library to take my chances with Jeremy—or hell at this point, I’d even take Brittany—showed the level of desperation I’d reached over the past week.
Just as I’d started to grasp the last concept the professor had taught that built on the one our quiz had been on, he thought it was time to throw a whole new one into the mix. He’d barely lectured on it, assigned a butt-load of homework, and left us to his TA, who was one of those smarmy types who thought he was practically a professor. Since the guy was incapable of answering a question without dripping his words in condescension, I was incapable of talking to him without wanting to punch him in the face.
I doubted that’d earn me a passing grade, so after work I’d swallowed my pride and made my way to the tutoring center. Before I committed to stepping through the open doorway, I made sure the coast was clear of any tall, intense hockey players whose killer smiles and sharp wit might strip me of my common sense.
Once I was sure it was safe, I settled at a table near the back and pulled out my books.
“Back again, I see,” Jeremy said with a wide grin on his face, and Brittany fired daggers from her eyes, all aimed at me, not the guy being semi-flirtatious.
Even in the non-sports world, we as women had trouble placing blame where it was due.
“Are you and Brittany an item?” I wasn’t sure why I was suddenly talking like an eighty-year-old, but it was a weird situation, and I didn’t know the proper etiquette for asking a math tutor if he was banging his fellow math tutor.
Pinky up while holding my pencil, maybe?
I laughed at my own joke, and when Jeremy looked at me like I might be losing my mind, I thought there was a good chance he was right. This past week had kicked my ass and come back to gloat.
“We’re, um, hanging out here and there,” he said.
Translation: even I, a scrawny math nerd, am a college guy who doesn’t want to fully commit.
Looked like no guys were safe, so it was a good thing I’d decided to abort any attempt at flirting or casual fun for the rest of the semester. It was just me, my studies, and the paper until mid-May.
Jeremy sat in the chair next to mine and proceeded to “help” me with my homework. I wasn’t sure who was harder to understand—Will, with his British accent and computer coding similes, as if they’d make me go ah, like when you type on the computer and make impossible things happen. I totally get it now! Or Jeremy, with his pencil chewing, elvish speaking ways.
When he left me to work on a problem while he moved to help someone else for a bit, Brittany came over.
The desperation responsible for my being here nudged me closer to the dark side. “Can I, uh, ask you a question about my homework?”
She crossed her arms and looked down her nose at me. “Can you, uh, not hit on my boyfriend?”
“I’ll do my best, but he’s just so sexy.” I batted my eyes and threw my hands over my heart. “I think he ate a whole pencil while he helped me.”
With a loud huff, she spun around and left me alone.
Yeah, I suppose I deser
ved that. Stupid big mouth and my inability to keep it shut. I’d be the type to talk muggers into killing me. I dropped my head on the table. Gave it a light bump for good measure.
I wonder if the paper will let me stay on as editor if I can’t graduate this year. With only one class left to conquer, I could get a full-time job, and then maybe I could afford one more semester.
If I don’t eat, that is, and who needs food?
Good-bye, hard-to-get internship that took so much string pulling that there aren’t any left.
I let my head knock against the table again, not caring if Jeremy and Brittany were discussing my nervous breakdown.
“Having some trouble?” The deep, familiar voice sent fuzzy tingles through my body, because every inch of me was determined to commit mutiny right now.
I was afraid of what I’d feel if I glanced up at Ryder. Afraid I’d see judgment in his eyes, and I wasn’t sure my ego could take him looking at me differently than he used to right now.
Since I could still feel his hulking presence, making me fairly confident he wouldn’t leave until I responded, I lifted my head.
My heart caught as I peered into his ocean-blue eyes. I didn’t see any judgment. More like a softening I didn’t deserve, and I thought that might be worse. Tears crawled up my throat, and if they burst free, I’d just drop out of college and run away and join the circus.
Or whatever the equivalent of the circus was nowadays.
A strip club’s daytime shift, probably. A whimper escaped at that thought and concern flickered through Ryder’s features. He sat in the chair next to me, facing me so that his knees were on either side of me.
“Yes,” I said.
“Yes to what?”
To everything. To whatever you want. To you. “Yes, I am having some trouble.”
Chapter Fourteen
Ryder
I’d almost walked away—simply aborted the plan to help in the math lab even though I hadn’t been able to earlier this week. I’d been too busy pushing my body to the brink with punishing workouts geared toward getting this girl out of my head.
Confessions of a Former Puck Bunny (Taking Shots) Page 8
