I’d wondered if Lindsay would come here after our fallout, and it was another reason I’d stayed away. For some reason, I thought a few extra days without seeing her would help dull my attraction, but the sight of her sent my blood pumping. Her defeated posture deepened the conflicted sensation tugging at my chest, and I couldn’t just leave her like that.
Sitting next to her after losing all the progress we’d made was a form of masochism, and apparently I was into that. That made me smile, because Lindsay had accused me of being a math masochist before.
“Let’s see what we can do about that.” I placed a palm on her open textbook and spun it to face me.
“You don’t have to.”
“Is this my world?”
Her forehead crinkled. “Math? I’m pretty sure we already know the answer to that.”
“Okay. Let me rephrase. Is this my hockey world?”
She swallowed, her eyes fixed on me. “No.”
“Then while I don’t have to help, I can, and I’m going to. We just won’t cross the streams. No worries.”
Since looking at her made my chest feel raw, I focused on the math. Facts that made sense. Answers that were right or wrong. I’d done so well this past week, training until I could hardly lift my arms and increasing my game on the ice. Coach even noticed, and the guy didn’t compliment lightly.
If I were smart, I’d let Lindsay take her chances with the other two tutors in the lab. Only I knew she’d never pass her class that way, and while things might not’ve gone the way I originally hoped, I didn’t want her to fail her class. Something told me she took failure about as well as she took hockey players.
In spite of sticking strictly to math, I became acutely aware of each time she shifted. Of her biting her lip. And okay, when she bent over her paper, I occasionally got a glimpse of cleavage.
We finished going through her assignment and she had the correct answers to all the problems—the last of which she solved without any help from me.
Her eyes flickered from her notebook to me, and just as I was about to take my leave so she could see I would stick to the homework-only arrangement, she said, “If I tell you something, do you promise not to tell math?”
I dragged my finger diagonally across my chest, one way and then the other, crossing my heart.
“Cross your heart and hope to die?” she asked, a huge smile spreading across her face. “Are you in junior high?”
“Obviously.”
“That explains the squeaky voice.”
I lunged for her, and she was the one who squealed, earning us dirty looks from the dynamic math duo at the front.
I leaned in closer and my hand moved to her knee like it couldn’t help itself. Or maybe it was just lacking willpower. That was probably it. “What don’t you want me to tell math?”
“That maybe, just maybe, it’s not as big of a jerk-face as I thought.”
“Jerk-face? Now who’s in junior high?”
She laughed, the light, happy sound hitting me right in the chest. Then she slapped a hand over her mouth as more dirty looks were aimed our way.
“Come on. Before you get us kicked out.” I extended my hand without thinking, but having it out there, sure she wouldn’t take it, made a hollow sensation go through my gut. Here I was setting myself up to fall on my face again, and I didn’t think my pride could take it.
But then she took it and let me pull her to her feet. With her hand in mine that electric zip traveled up my arm and gave my heart a jolt.
We walked through the library and pushed out into the crisp night air. Lindsay sucked in a deep breath and grinned. “Finally. Spring’s been making a play to take over for a while, but that big bully winter kept beating it back. I expected that icy slap that usually comes along once the sun goes down, but I think this warmer night is proof that maybe spring is coming after all. Knock on wood.”
She glanced around and even took a few steps off the path to knock on a tree.
My eyes traced the line of her body, because they couldn’t help themselves. “I wouldn’t peg you as superstitious.”
“Only about the weather. And when it comes to sports.” Her smiled wobbled. “I mean, I used to be when it came to sports. Now I don’t… Well, I hardly watch any.”
The but especially not hockey was unspoken. I wanted to push, but that would be crossing lines. More than that, I wanted to pull her into my arms and kiss her until she forgot why she wanted to avoid hockey in the first place. Holding back the desire to do so was going over about as well as a ref who was on the opposing team’s payroll. Just keep her talking. “Well, it is a nice night.”
Great. Now we were talking about weather. Like strangers. I worried it’d always be this way now, her on one side of the line, me on the other. How was I supposed to avoid talking about hockey when I practically lived and breathed it? Then again, if it meant she and I could spend more time together, I could find other subjects. I was almost sure.
“You wouldn’t happen to…?” She cut her words short and shook her head. “Never mind. Thanks so much for tonight. The truth is, math only makes sense when I’m with you. Can you, like, come sit by me while I take my quizzes and tests?”
I spread my arms. “I do blend right into my surroundings.”
She laughed again as she tipped up her head to look at my face and then her gaze traveled all the way down to my feet. “Yep. Easy to hide for sure. I’ll just keep you in my pocket.”
That sounded fine to me, but I knew it’d come across cheesy as hell if I said so. While I wanted her to learn enough from our sessions to confidently take her tests, there was something about the way she said math only made sense when she was with me that made warmth flood my chest.
“Anyway, thanks again,” she said. “Guess I’ll catch you later.”
“Wait. What were you going to ask? I wouldn’t happen to what?”
Her scrunched nose made it clear she thought I’d let it drop, but as usual, when it came to her, I didn’t hold back, even when I knew better. “Why do you have to notice everything?”
“Maybe you should try being less hot. Less interesting and fun to talk to. Then maybe I wouldn’t.”
“You lie. You do the stoic thing sometimes, but I have a feeling not much escapes your attention.”
I neither confirmed nor denied, deciding to simply do the stoic thing—as she put it.
She licked her lips. “Fine. I just feel like you keep swooping in, and tonight you…honestly, I expected you to treat me differently.” She eyed me, like I might suddenly flip the switch and be a jerk.
“Why would I do that?”
She fiddled with the zipper on her backpack, her gaze focused on the movement. “Because of the party. Because of what you found out, and because of the way I left. I heard you and Brett got into it—and while I’m sure it was about more than me, I—”
“It was about you. I’m not proud that I lost my temper, but he needs to know he can’t treat people like that.” The residual jealousy and anger made me clench my fists. Yes, I hated that she’d ever been with the guy, but more than that, I was still pissed about how crushed she’d looked after he’d run his mouth. “He can’t treat you like that. I won’t let him.”
She put her hand on my arm, soothing the churning going on inside of me. “I worry about you.”
I scowled. “Against Brett? I’m trying not to find that insulting, because I assure you, I could kick his ass in my sleep.”
“In your sleep even?” She raised an eyebrow, the challenge in the arch clear.
“I stand by my statement.” I covered the hand she had on my arm, wanting to hold it there all night. “You don’t need to worry about me. I can take care of myself.”
“Still. Just…be careful. I don’t want you to get in trouble with the team, either.”
The fact that she cared enough to even tell me that sparked the hope I’d tried to abandon this past week. I told myself I was over my crush, but with Lindsay standing r
ight in front of me, there was no way to be over anything, not when everything in me reached for her.
Did I really call our connection tiny the other night?
Clearly I’d been in denial.
It was consuming, which was why it was hard not to demand she admit she felt it, too. I thought I was a patient guy, but right now, holding back took way more effort than usual.
“Anyway, I just feel like I owe you, and I was wondering if you happened to have some time right now to maybe have dinner. With me.” She dropped her hand from my arm and went to fiddling with her zipper again—but this time the one on her jacket. “I’ll even cook—it’s the least I can do to say thanks.”
“I’ll take the thanks and the food, but only on one condition…”
Her shoulders tensed.
“Only if you realize that you don’t owe me anything. I’d much rather you hang out with me because you want to.”
“I want to,” she said. “I always want to. It’s just that I know I shouldn’t.”
Holy shit. Did she finally admit she likes spending time with me? The urge to pull her into my arms and kiss her returned stronger than ever, but I knew I was on a fragile edge, tip too far one way and I’d lose what progress we’d made.
Employing my self-control, I cupped her neck, and used my thumb to tip up her chin and bring her gaze to mine. “Dinner sounds good.”
Chapter Fifteen
Lindsay
I tried to stop myself from doing something foolish that’d make staying in check that much harder, I really did. But I’d been so sure that Ryder would hate me—I hated myself a little for how I’d dropped the bomb on him the other night at the party. No easing him into it, just trying to cause maximum damage before he could reject and hurt me because of who I’d been. Then there was the other thing…
Confession #10: I’m having the hardest time staying away from Ryder Maddox. I like who I am when I’m with him. I like actually having a…dare I say it—friend?
It’d been a long time since I had a true friend, one who knew the good and bad and didn’t seem to mind that I wasn’t perfect. Maybe that was on me. It was entirely possible I’ve projected how I felt on how someone looked at me or reacted and read them wrong. Either way, I wasn’t quite ready to embrace being solo for life with the exception of a cat or five.
I turned to Ryder right before I reached the door to my apartment. He looked even bigger tonight, the streetlight illuminating his profile. My heart skipped a beat when I remembered the way he’d placed his hand on my neck and tipped my face to his, gentle with an edge of possessiveness. The way he’d said he wouldn’t let Brett talk shit about me, like he’d end him if he did.
I swallowed and forced words past my dry throat. “I’m never sure what state my apartment will be in. My roommates and I don’t really talk.”
“Sometimes I think my roommates and I talk too much,” Ryder said, but the affection in his voice made it clear that he liked his roommates, big mouths or not. And since I’d hung around Dane, I knew there was a big mouth involved. Despite trying not to like any hockey players, the guy had a certain charm.
Ryder had an entirely different thing going on, more magnetism and steely determination, with a surprising mix of chivalry thrown in for good, irresistible measure.
Damn hockey players. They’d be much easier to hate if they’d stay in the boxes I’ve checked them into.
“Don’t worry, I’m not going to judge you based off messy apartment or roommates. But your food? Now, that’s another story.” He reached out and squeezed my shoulder, shooting me a teasing grin.
“Be careful, gringo, or I’ll make it so hot you won’t have feeling in your mouth for a week.”
“How could you be sure that I lost feeling in my mouth? Are you volunteering to—”
I slapped a palm over his lips before he said something that tempted me to do some in-depth exploring of that sexy mouth. This was exactly why inviting him over had been a bad idea.
“What? I was just going to say ice my tongue.” The words came out muffled, but the twinkle in his eye was way too clear.
The safe play would’ve been saying thank you for helping me study with a fruit basket. Or, like, a calculator and a notebook. Math nerds liked that kind of thing, right?
But when I spun to unlock the door, he chuckled, his breath stirring my hair, and all I could think about was spending more time with him. After a couple of lonely nights, I didn’t want to stare at the TV alone until I decided it wasn’t too pathetic an hour to go to bed.
Once inside, I gestured to the couch and told him to make himself comfortable. He looked at the couch—which was surprisingly clean—and back at me. “I’ll help in the kitchen.”
“Haven’t you heard that too many chefs spoil the broth?”
“I pride myself on proving people wrong,” he said. “But I’ll leave the chef-ing to you.”
Since he had that determined expression on his face, I shrugged and headed to the kitchen, dropping my backpack on the floor near the counter. I surveyed the contents of my cupboard, looking for ingredients to make something fast and yummy, and cursing myself again for going the spontaneous route.
I grabbed the jar of jalapeños and a can of shredded chicken, checked that I had sour cream—peeling back the lid to make sure it wasn’t expired or moldy—then grabbed the block of mozzarella. “Wanna shred the cheese?”
“I’ve never wanted anything more,” Ryder said, his deep voice somehow turning it into the most wicked-sounding sentence ever.
I tossed the block at him. With lightning fast reflexes he caught it midair, adding a wink in my direction.
My stomach relocated to my chest and I forced myself to focus on cooking. Within a few minutes, I had ingredients simmering in a skillet, the spicy aroma filling the air. I added a splash of lime juice and then spooned the mixture onto a flour tortilla.
“Whoa,” I said, when Ryder was still shredding cheese. I put my hand on his to stop the last inch from being fed into the grater. “You were really serious about how much you wanted to shred cheese.”
His gaze met mine. “I never joke about cheese.”
I bit back a smile, but then I went ahead and let it loose. On the bright side, I wouldn’t have to shred cheese for a month. On the brighter side, it gave me an excuse to sorta hold hands with Ryder.
After spreading cheese over the top of my creation, I smooshed another tortilla on top and browned both sides. A few minutes later, Ryder and I sat on my couch to dig into dinner. I subtly studied him, watching to see what he thought of my chicken quesadillas, and how well he handled the jalapeños.
He licked sauce off his thumb and I got lost in the motion for a moment. “Damn, girl, you can cook.”
“Why do you say it like it’s so shocking?”
“I… You just…”
I bumped his shoulder with mine. “Relax. I’m just busting your balls.” He opened his mouth. “And if you say something about your balls now, I’ll actually bust them, and it won’t be funny, I assure you.”
“I wouldn’t dare.” A mischievous glint entered his eyes. “But if I were going to, I’d say thank you from the bottom of my balls.”
A snort-laugh escaped, completely unappealing, but it made Ryder laugh, too. “The peppers aren’t too hot?”
“I’m a fan of hot. I might need half a gallon of water, though.”
I grabbed a couple of bottles of water from the fridge and then returned to the couch. Ryder’s phone rang and he slid it out of his pocket, glanced at the display, and then frowned and shoved it back in.
Politeness made me refrain from asking who could put that kind of scowl on his face, but just barely.
Since he seemed tenser than he had before the mysterious phone call, I took it upon myself to bring back the lighter, joking Ryder. “So, what do you like to do besides…?”
He raised an eyebrow. “The sport that must not be named?” I nodded, and he ran his hand along his jaw. “Is
it sad that I don’t really know?”
“Well, you have math.”
His eyebrow arched higher. “Math comes naturally. I don’t consider solving problems a hobby.” He shrugged. “My dad put me in skates and handed me a stick as soon as I could walk, and that’s been the focus for as long as I can remember. Don’t get me wrong, I love it. But it’s always been that, gym time, and more of that.”
“You can say hockey,” I said.
“But then you’ll run away screaming.”
I rolled my eyes and gave his arm a little shove.
He grinned, shoved the last bite of his quesadilla into his mouth, and then wiped his hands together. “I played guitar for a while during high school, and sometimes I thought I might have a future as a rock star.”
“Oh yeah?”
“Not really, but it was a nice escape from the pressure of hockey.”
Despite telling him he could use the H-word, I still flinched a bit. I’d conditioned myself to hate hockey so I wouldn’t slip back into old habits, even if it didn’t always prevent me from backsliding a bit.
Ryder’s expression hardened. “Then of course my dad made me quit, because he thought it was interfering with my time on the ice, even though I only played in my room at night, when I was exhausted and needed to stop thinking about hockey for two fucking seconds. He told me if I wasn’t on the ice, I should be visualizing the next game. He played for the NHL, and he expects me to follow in his footsteps.”
“That explains slapping skates on you so young. Talk about a lot of pressure.” Whitney’s article had detailed the many demands on athletes at the college level, so I knew them, but there was a difference between reading it and seeing the toll it took on a guy I was starting to care about.
He shrugged. “It was, but it did get me to where I am. I always regretted quitting guitar, though, and I told myself I’d never let him take away something I loved again. Which is why when he told me majoring in math as a backup was the same as giving myself permission to fail, I told him I was doing it anyway. It’s the smart move. You never know when your career might be cut short, whether it’s an injury, or a trade, or whatever. Maybe I’ll never use it, and maybe I’ll teach math after I retire from the NHL. Who knows? I’d rather have it and not need it than need it and not have it.”
Confessions of a Former Puck Bunny (Taking Shots) Page 9
