by Aven Ellis
“Landy!”
“Landy’s here!”
“Landon!”
Wait. Wait. I only know one Landon. The star player for the Chicago Buffaloes hockey team. He goes by Landy. My best friend Aubrey is dating his best friend on the team, Captain Beckett Riley. So I’ve met him a few times, and while I know he’s the captain of hook ups on that team, I do find him incredibly attractive.
I wrinkle my nose. I’m being crazy. What on earth would Landy Holder be doing here? No. Different Landy.
“Hey, kids, I told you guys I’d be back, remember?”
Oh, I know that sexy, scratchy, like he’s-just-rolled-out-of-bed voice.
And I turn around and find myself staring into the vivid blue eyes of Landy Holder.
Chapter 2
TriviaPlayOrPass!
Is stupefaction a real word?
The second I see Landy, I freeze. My heart does this stupid flutter thing inside my chest, like it always does whenever I see him.
Which is stupid.
Beyond stupid. Stupid squared. No. It’s a higher level of stupid than squared.
Stupid to infinity.
Landy Holder is a player and not just when it comes to hockey. He has a reputation for being a notorious flirt, with pictures all over social media of him with beautiful girls to prove it.
I’ve been with an athlete before. I do not care to go down that road ever again. The road that ended with my heart being shattered by a cheating jerk, and it took me a year to pick up all the pieces and glue myself back together.
Okay, what the hell kind of internal dialogue am I having with myself? What is it about Landy that makes my brain cells evaporate upon sight of him? Like this is even a problem I’d have to contemplate?
We have mutual friends. Period.
His blue eyes widen in surprise.
“Livy?” he says, his voice incredulous. “What are you doing here?”
“Landy, we’re having pretzels!” a little boy yells, running by him.
“No running, Trace,” Sarah chides.
Landy shifts his attention to Trace for a moment. “Awesome, can I have yours?”
“No, these are mine!” Trace yells gleefully, taking a seat with his friends at the table.
“You’re the art teacher,” a little girl says, staring up at me.
I smile at her. “Yes, I’m Ms. Livy.”
She cocks her head to one side, studying me. “Why does your hair stand up, Ms. Livy?”
“What?” I ask, confused.
“Your hair is standing up all over your head,” she insists, pointing at me. “Like you stuck your finger in a light socket.”
No! My hair! I totally forgot about the static, and I run my hands over it, desperately trying to smooth it into place.
A bubble of laughter escapes the little girl’s throat. “Now it’s worse!”
I feel my face grow hot. I glance at Landy, who is studying me.
“Dana, that’s enough, please eat your snack so we can do art,” Darcy says in a firm teacher-like voice.
I’m totally mortified as I face Landy.
A slow, sexy grin spreads across his face.
“It’s not bad,” he says.
Then he winks at me.
GAH!
“So you teach here?” Landy asks as he takes off his gloves.
I’ve given up on my hair and decide to play it cool with my new Albert Einstein look.
“Yes, I’m volunteering to teach art,” I say. “But you—the kids know you. Do you volunteer here?”
Landy’s unbuttoning his luxurious wool overcoat and stops as soon as I ask my question.
“You have to promise not to tell anyone,” Landy says, his eyes meeting mine.
“I won’t,” I assure him.
“No, I mean it. That doesn’t mean you can tell one of your girlfriends with the ‘I’m telling you, but don’t tell anyone else’ line attached to it,” Landy says. “Except for Aubrey. I trust her.”
I smile. I like that he’s so straightforward.
“Stays between us,” I assure him. “With an asterisk of approval to tell Aubrey.”
Landy flashes me his famous smile, the one girls swoon about all over social media.
I mean, yes, okay, I kinda, sorta might have Googled him a couple of times after I met him a few weeks ago. He’s a famous hockey player. And smokin’ hot. With that super cute Canadian accent that pops out on certain words . . .
Curiosity. That’s all this is. It’s very normal to be curious about him.
“Nice move pulling out the punctuation,” he teases, his Canadian accent coming out on the word ‘out.’
“What can I say? I’m thoughtful.”
Landy grins at me. “I appreciate that.”
“It seemed like a moment worthy of an asterisk,” I reply smartly. “But why does this have to stay between us? You volunteering?”
Landy takes off his coat and reveals he’s wearing his navy and gold jersey, the one of the Chicago Buffaloes professional hockey team.
“I do this for the kids,” he says softly. “I don’t want this to be on social media. I don’t want a TV crew following me out here telling the world what a ‘good deed’ I did. Because this isn’t about me. This is about them,” he says, pausing and glancing out at the cafeteria filled with children.
He turns back to me, and I see nothing but sincerity in his eyes. I realize that despite the flirty, player persona, Landy has an affinity toward children. That this twenty-four-year-old hockey player chooses to be here during his free time, and not do it because it’s mandated community relations for the team, but because he enjoys it.
Just like I enjoy teaching art to kids, I think, my heart fluttering again.
“Livy,” Darcy says, coming up to us and interrupting my thoughts, “why don’t you explain the project while they are having snack time? Then we can get started as soon as they’re finished.”
“Oh, yes, I’d love to,” I say. She nods and goes back to circulating among the tables of children. I smile at Landy. “Are you going to participate in making presidential art today?”
“I could use an opt out card because I’m Canadian,” Landy says, smiling at me. But the sparkling, teasing glimmer in his eyes tells me he won’t.
“You just wait. You haven’t lived until you’ve made George Washington hair out of cotton balls,” I say.
Landy laughs. “Well, when you say it like that, it sounds like my life has been lacking until this point. I’m all in.”
I smile and head to the front of the cafeteria, and Landy takes a seat with a group of children at one of the tables, his huge frame towering over them as they squeeze around him, wanting to be as close to their hero as possible.
“Children, quiet, please,” Ms. Darcy says. Sarah and Valerie follow with “sshhhhh” and the cafeteria falls silent. “This is Ms. Livy, and she will be coming in to teach us fun art projects. And today she has something very special planned because we’ve been studying presidents this month in honor of Presidents’ Day. Ms. Livy, do you want to tell us some more?”
Normally I’m very good at speaking in front of groups. After all, I teach art. I have to speak in front of people of all ages all the time.
But suddenly I’m nervous. I know it’s because I can feel Landy staring at me. I’m flustered, and a word hasn’t even escaped my lips yet.
I’m totally going to need to up the stupid level past infinity today.
I clear my throat. “Hello, I’m Ms. Livy, and I’m so excited to be at Morning View today,” I say brightly. “I love art. Does anyone here like art?”
Hands shoot up around the room.
“Who likes working with paint?”
<
br /> “Finger paint!” a boy yells.
“No, with paint brushes,” an older girl insists. “Finger paint is for kindergarten.”
“Finger paint can be for anyone who wants to use it,” I say, nodding. “If finger painting is fun, why not?”
This is one of my goals. To help kids be confident in trying art in all its forms.
“What about clay?” I ask.
“Ooh, I love clay!” a child yells out.
I go through a few other mediums, and for the most part, they’re paying attention.
Including Landy.
His eyes have never left my face, and whenever I’m talking and my gaze moves over him, I feel warm.
I’m pinning this on a natural, female, hormonal reaction to Landy. That has to be it. He’s so damn beautiful, it’s hard not to feel that way in his presence.
“What about making hair out of cotton balls?” I ask, getting to my project.
Some kids laugh, and I smile with them.
“We’re going to make pictures of two of our former presidents today. George Washington and Abraham Lincoln. Which one is from Illinois?” I ask, incorporating history into the lesson.
A ton of hands shoot up in response to that, as Illinois is known as ‘The Land of Lincoln.’
I go on to show them my templates, an outline of Washington’s head and Lincoln’s head. I talk about how they can use yarn or cotton balls for hair and beards, chalk or crayons for coloring, macaroni for a smile. I let them pick the mediums they want, as I want this to be free form and fun.
The coordinators help pass out supplies, and so does Landy. Everyone is chattering and talking about what they are going to do for their president, and my heart fills with happiness as I see how taken they all are with the project.
I stop by Landy’s table, and I see that he is busy gluing cotton balls on his paper to make Washington’s hair.
“What do you think, Ms. Livy?” a little girl asks me, showing how she was coloring George’s skin with an apricot-colored crayon.
“It’s perfect,” I say happily. “Keep going!”
“What about the other presidents?” a little boy asks. “Thomas Jefferson was a president.”
“So was James Madison,” Landy says as he intently squeezes some glue onto a cotton ball. “I learned that last night.”
I stare at him. That was the question on TriviaPlayOrPass! last night.
“You didn’t know he was a president?” another girl asks, her eyes wide.
“I’m from Canada, so I don’t know all the presidents like you do,” Landy says, grinning. “But I have an American friend who didn’t remember he was the fourth president.”
I freeze. My heart is pounding. Scott921 and I talked about this last night. A word I learned last week—stupefaction, meaning astonishment—comes to mind.
Could Landy be Scott921?
No. I’m losing my freaking mind.
This is all a weird coincidence, that’s all. Landy probably doesn’t even know what TriviaPlayOrPass! is. He’s too cool to sit around and play trivia games on his phone.
Right?
“What’s your American friend like?” a little girl asks as she cuts a strip of paper.
“Well,” Landy says, pressing his cotton ball down on the paper, “she likes Zingers.”
I bite down on my lip to keep from gasping out loud. Madison. Zingers. Could Landy really be who I think he is?
“I love Zingers!” a boy yells. “What’s your favorite kind, Landy?”
My heart is beating out of my chest as I wait for his answer.
“No, I’ve never had one. But when I was talking to my friend last night, she said raspberry was her favorite.”
Oh. My. God.
Scott921 is Landon Holder.
Chapter 3
TriviaPlayOrPass!
DesignerA, do you care for a match with Scott921? He’s waiting for your reply . . .
I stare at Landy in complete shock. This can’t be right. Landy—gorgeous, sexy, crazy-talented hockey superstar Landon Holder—is who I’ve been playing in TriviaPlayOrPass?
No. It makes no sense. Flirty playboy Landy is the same guy who has funny, witty conversations with me online? How does he play trivia at night when he’s supposedly busy hooking up with all these women who look like models?
“Ms. Livy, I’m going to make Lincoln’s beard pink!” a little girl declares, giggling and interrupting my thoughts.
“Pink?” Landy interjects, lifting his piercing blue eyes up from his George Washington paper. “That’s silly.”
“I know!” the girl cries gleefully.
“We all know it should be bright green instead of pink,” Landy teases.
I can’t sit here like this. I have to confirm his identity. And if I don’t do it now I’ll go mad thinking about it.
“Scott921,” I blurt out.
Landy’s head immediately whips toward me. A startled expression passes over his gorgeous face.
In that second, I know I’m right.
The funny, interesting Canadian I’ve been playing the past few weeks is indeed Landon Holder.
“W-What?” Landy asks.
I draw a nervous breath. “Are you Scott921?”
“Who is Scott921?” a boy asks, reaching for the glue.
“A nickname,” Landy says, his eyes locked on mine.
“I have a nickname, too,” I say softly. “Mine is DesignerA.”
Landy’s mouth drops open. “Repeat that,” he asks, as if he can’t believe what I said.
“I’m a jewelry designer,” I explain quietly. “And my last name is Adams. DesignerA is my online name.”
Now Landy’s face reflects nothing but astonishment at my revelation.
“You mean . . . This whole time. . . It’s been you?” he asks, shock resonating in his sexy voice.
“Ms. Livy, you have to come see what these kids are doing,” Darcy calls out. “There are some super-creative ideas going on!”
I stand up, trying to ignore how my body has this weird, tremble thing going on as I look at him.
“Yes,” I say, nodding at him. “Excuse me.”
I leave the table, although all I want to do is talk to him. I want to know so much, from why Landy plays trivia and what made him talk to me and did he ever wonder what I was like, too?
I can feel Landy’s eyes burning into my back as I move. I reach the table and try to focus on the children, but my mind is reeling. I’m shaky. And my heart is still pounding excitedly against my ribs.
“Oh, this is fantastic,” I say, forcing my attention to the Abraham Lincoln image in front of me. “I love that you are using the beans for his beard. That provides texture to the art.”
“I like it, too,” the little boy says, squirting some glue onto a dried bean.
“Beans make you fart,” another boy declares, which makes all the kids laugh and a chorus of “ewwwwwwwwwwwh” and “gross” go up.
“Jacob,” Sarah says in a warning tone, “we don’t use that word at school.”
I repress a laugh and smile at the boy using the beans. “I think the beans are brilliant,” I declare.
Reassured by my words, he goes back to gluing them on the paper. I move on to the next paper, helping a girl tie a bow with red ribbon so she can glue it on George Washington’s ponytail. I lean over the table and show her how to tie it, and then we do one together to make sure she can do one on her own.
“Perfect,” I encourage as she finishes.
“Thank you, Ms. Livy,” she says.
“You’re so welcome,” I respond.
I stand back up, and despite trying to be distracted by the children, I’m not. I glance back over to Landy, wh
o is still working on his art. A stream of kids are coming up to him, all of them eager to show their hero their artwork.
I try to reconcile all the things I know about Landy as I study him. Before today I knew him as a hockey superstar. A flirt. One who has legions of female fans—and he seems to enjoy them if social media is an indication.
I take in his profile, with the longish, jet-black hair that is perfectly tousled, the five o’clock shadow shading his jawline, the chiseled cheekbones. As he takes a paper from a child to study, I see the tattoos peeking out from underneath his jersey, the full sleeves that stop at his wrists.
He’s more than gorgeous. Landy’s so beautiful it nearly takes my breath away. The first time I met him, I couldn’t get over the fact that he was more striking in person than he was on TV.
Landy’s always been nothing but a gentleman in the time I’ve been around him. Always getting me another drink, holding doors open, escorting me to my car to make sure I got in safely. The flirt mode he goes into with other women doesn’t come out when I’m around him.
Landy suddenly turns and looks at me. I quickly avert my gaze, as he flat-out caught me staring at him, and heat fills my face.
I go back to moving around the tables, commenting on art and helping, but my mind is firmly on Landy.
As my brain continues to put together what I know about Landy, I realize there are so many more layers to him than what he shows the public. He’s very funny. I mean, I know he’s flirty and charming, but on TriviaPlayOrPass! it was different. He wasn’t trying to charm me. His conversations weren’t flirty. Rather, his comments were witty.
Landy’s smart, too, and it’s a challenge to beat him at trivia. He can answer questions in every category, but I noticed he excelled at science and history-based ones.
So on the flip side of his public persona, he’s funny. Smart. Is a competitive trivia player. He loves children and is comfortable interacting with them.
