While I enjoyed editing the paper, my dream job would be editing novels, and I grumbled that either way I went—which basically came down to who’d actually pay me to read—I couldn’t see how math would help me, or when I’d ever use it.
Unless the only job I can land is editing math textbooks. I shuddered at the thought. Maybe I did have some limits for what I would or wouldn’t edit, salary be damned. Most of the positions in my coveted career field started as internships that didn’t pay much per hour, and the one I had set up for the summer was no different. It wasn’t like I could go to my mom for financial help—her boyfriends didn’t like being reminded that she had a daughter in college, and a lot of times, it felt like she didn’t, either.
Student loans allowed me to go to college, but the amount I’d racked up in the interest of being able to provide for myself made me want to cry. So I’d have to take whatever job I could get to pay off my debt and take care of my bills.
Which brought me back to getting through this stupid GE requirement I’d put off, as if three and a half years of English classes would somehow give me the skills to face a math class. One that Ryder could pass in his sleep.
No thinking about Ryder.
After twenty frustrating minutes of scribbling down equations without the benefit of a hot hockey player sitting next to me to help when I slipped up, I glanced toward Will’s desk. He was our tech guy and a total whiz at computer stuff. Unfortunately, he wasn’t there. I knew he had a huge class load, not to mention all the digital formatting and online stuff for the paper. When I’d asked him before how he was at math, he’d said, “I only do the kind the computer speaks, really. Coding’s my home base.”
Whatever that meant. Wasn’t the benefit of having a computer that you didn’t have to calculate anything yourself? And we were all pretty much walking around with minicomputers in our pockets.
Ooh, maybe Siri can help.
I asked her the equation in front of me, but she told me an obviously wrong answer, choosing to leave out the x, y, and z. If only I had that option, I wouldn’t have gone to her in the first place.
“You suck at math, Siri,” I said, although I didn’t push the button to talk to her first because who was I to judge anyone on math skills? I ran my thumb over the smooth glass of my phone’s screen. After another moment or two of debating, I pulled up Ryder’s information.
Me: What are your open tutoring hours?
I stared at the screen for a couple of seconds, but when no response came, I checked my email. The article I’d been waiting on sat at the top of my inbox. I read through it one more time, noting that my changes were added, fixed a couple of punctuation errors, and then placed it in the layout along with the rest of the articles.
My phone chimed and I picked it up, expecting it to be Ryder.
Instead, my mother’s smiling face beamed up at me. I opened the text for a better look. A guy at least ten years her junior was kissing her cheek and she was holding up a necklace, the dangling rock front and center.
Looks like the boy toy gave her a new necklace.
Growing up, I used to think my mom was so much cooler than my friends’ moms. What I didn’t realize back then was that relying on men to pay for our existence wasn’t actually cool and that it never provided for a stable environment. Honestly, it’d sort of screwed me up, and it took me way too long to see how unhealthy it’d been.
It was why I’d sworn that I’d be in charge of all my interactions with guys. I’d have fun, play the field, and be empowered in the knowledge that I never let love play me for a fool. Independent woman and all that. But then I’d accidentally fallen in love, and it confirmed my theory about attachments equaling weakness. I learned firsthand how letting my guard down weakened who I was, and when things fell apart, I was weak enough to cry over it for longer than I cared to admit, my self-esteem totally gone. Ugh.
That led to the period where I’d taken that hard look at myself and realized I’d let guys use me. And the fact that I’d used them right back didn’t make me feel any better about it.
Going home this past Christmas and watching Mom with her current boyfriend only renewed my theory that love made you weak. She’d been purring over the guy as she dug in her claws and practically begged him to want her back, even if it was only until they’d used each other up, novelty turned to boredom, and one of them decided to move on.
I’d tried to talk to her about it, using the nicest words I could to explain that she was getting older and maybe it was time to find a steady career so she’d have that safety net no matter what happened with her boy toy, but she told me to stop being a buzzkill and asked what I wanted him to buy me, because she had his gold card for the day.
With that icky memory weighing me down, I sent another text to Ryder, desperate to undo everything before I slipped down a bad path.
Me: Never mind. I found another tutor. Thanks for the offer, though. Talk to you later.
I added the “talk to you later” because I felt guilty for lying, even if it was better for both of us in the long run.
As for the strange pang in my chest? I wasn’t sure what that was for, but I was sure it’d go away in time.
Chapter Four
Lindsay
About thirty minutes of mostly fruitless studying later, I decided to pack up for the night. My phone chimed, vibrating in my pocket, and I tugged it out.
Ryder: Nice try. Where are you hiding in the library? I’ll come help you with your math.
A strange mix of offense and happiness churned through me. I still couldn’t believe that even after he’d caught me hiding from him, here he was, texting me anyway. Seriously, what was wrong with him? There had to be dozens of girls who ran toward instead of away from him.
Just ignore it and go home. It’s the safe play.
It was also the rude play, and after his help the other night—not to mention those jokes about how much I offended math and that annoyingly adorable remark about his tutoring skills being off the hook, which who even said that anymore?—I couldn’t do it.
Me: I’m NOT hiding in the library, and I never was, so I have no idea what you’re talking about.
When in doubt, deny, deny, deny. My hiding, my attraction, the fact that I was smiling right now—I plead the fifth to all of it.
Ryder: So you’re hiding at the newspaper office. I just got done with practice. I’ll be there in five.
“No,” I said to the empty room, and I actually considered hiding behind the dusty tree in the corner. If I thought I could do it without sneezing and giving myself away like some cartoon character, I might’ve.
Since I figured it was too late to talk him out of it via text, I leaned over and fluffed my hair in the reflection of my computer monitor. My eyes were most likely cracked out from staring at that screen for hours, more red than white, but my makeshift mirror muted it, which helped with pretending it wasn’t that bad. I dug through the contents of my bag, found lip gloss and breath mints, and did the best freshen up I could manage. Not because I needed to impress the guy, but because I didn’t need to embarrass myself around him more than I already had.
Might as well add “delusional” to my list of finer qualities. I’ll put it on my résumé. The Human Resources That Be will want to hire me for sure when they see that.
Formulating a game plan, I strolled to the front of the room, gripping the strap of my backpack and trying to subdue the nervous butterflies crashing into each other in my gut.
This is ridiculous. He’s just a guy.
Heavy footsteps sounded on the steps and then the door pushed inward. All the oxygen in the room evaporated as Ryder stepped into view. Did he get taller and more ripped since I saw him two nights ago? He practically filled the entire doorframe, his head nearly brushing the top, his massive shoulders doing their best to take up every spare inch of space.
“Hey,” he said, and the fuzzy tingles I already confessed to feeling at the sound of his deep voice erupted
and traveled over my skin.
“I was going to text you, but since you were already on your way…” I reached up and fiddled with the strap of my backpack. “I was just headed home actually. I haven’t had dinner and—”
“I haven’t, either, and I just so happen to know this diner within walking distance. My roommate and his girlfriend go there all the time. Do you know Dane and Megan?”
“Megan Davenport?” Brother to Beck Davenport, number seven, center, and current boyfriend of Whitney’s roommate Lyla.
“Yeah, that’s her.”
“Met her briefly,” I said. “You go ahead and enjoy dinner.”
Ryder crossed his arms, and God help me, it made that sexy line in his forearms stand out. “I’m not going to let you flee this time. See, I noticed you do that, and I know you need math help or you wouldn’t have texted me in the first place. So I’m not really asking.”
Indignation rose, helping smother some of the lust pumping through my body, so I clung to it extra hard. “So you’re resorting to scare tactics for my benefit? Is that what you’re saying?”
Ryder took a few steps closer and my breath caught in my throat. “Are you saying you’re scared of me?”
Yes. Not in the way he was asking, though. There was something about him that felt very secure. Probably all the muscles—seriously, the gym must be his second home. “Anyone ever tell you that you’re kind of intense?”
“Says the girl who has a grudge against math, hockey, and, I’m starting to suspect, fun.”
I gasped and a slow smile spread across his face.
“I’m okay with a challenge. As I mentioned, once I set my mind on something…” He looked me up and down and heat licked at my skin, tracing the same path his eyes did. “I think the first order of business will be working on that grudge against math. Then we’ll shift to the one you have against hockey players.” He ran his fingers across his jaw. “I’d suggest starting by working with the very defenseman who wants to help you with math, and I’m pretty sure that’ll naturally solve the one against having fun.”
I lifted my chin. “I do not have a grudge against fun.” I should probably be more offended at his accusation, even if I had sort of forgotten what it was like to go out, no keeping my guard up, and just enjoy the moments as they came. But he’d said it lightly, more teasing, half challenge for sure, and despite how busy he was, he was offering to tutor me in his spare time.
Tutoring I desperately needed.
I didn’t want to have to owe him one. Lines still needed to be drawn, boundaries kept uncrossed. “What do you charge for private tutoring? If we’re not going to the tutoring center—and honestly I’d rather not—it seems like I should pay you. I wouldn’t want to take advantage of you.”
Mischief danced along the curve of his grin. “Feel free to take advantage of me anytime.”
I shook my head. “Walked right into that one.”
“Yes you did. Now, I’m hungry, you’re hungry, and if it makes you feel better, we’ll pretend the diner is the tutoring center and that we’re on the college’s dime.”
An internal debate took place in my head. That there were other tutors in the sea, so I’d find and pay one of them, even if I couldn’t afford it. Or I’d make do with the gruesome twosome in the tutoring center, because my tuition money already paid for that.
They’ll never get me in B range, my brain whispered. I told it to mind its own business, especially since it always took a break whenever Ryder was around, which was partially to blame for me being in this compromising position in the first place.
“How about this?” Ryder asked, obviously reading my hesitation. “For every tutoring session, we do something fun. That’s the payment plan.”
I arched an eyebrow. “And I suppose you get to decide what’s fun?”
“Well, you and fun aren’t acquainted enough for you to do it. Just consider me your intermediary.”
I shot him a look and let out an exaggerated sigh, but honestly, it wasn’t a bad deal. I supposed I could afford a little fun. Maybe.
He put his hand on the small of my back. “Now come on, neither of us is getting any younger.”
It hit me that he was at least two years younger than I was, which made me feel like my mom all over again. But when he tilted his head toward the exit and gave me a gentle nudge, I decided it was perfectly acceptable for my math tutor to be younger than me, and for me to go on a few fun, friendly outings with said tutor.
The way my blood rushed to the spot where he’d put his hand? Probably not so acceptable, but I was too hungry and too desperate for math help to turn back now.
Chapter Five
Ryder
I pushed into the diner and held the door open for Lindsay. The place had a retro look, everything done in blue, white, and silver, from the big booths to the padded stools lining the bar, and even the large tiles on the floor. Newspaper articles blanketed the wall over the counter, everything Boston-themed, with several covering the Celtics, the Sox, the Pats, and of course, the Bruins.
Growing up, I’d been all about the New York Islanders—hazard of having a father who played for them until his retirement and eventual transition into high school coach so he could personally make my training a living hell. Dane and Hudson were Rangers fans, and we often argued back and forth, debating and defending our teams. But I’d never seen any fans quite as dedicated as Boston’s, regardless of the sport. I still wouldn’t mind a few Islanders articles in the mix, but when in Rome and all. What was really great about this place was the food, the fact that it was open twenty-four hours, and that the owner had a soft spot for hockey players.
Dane spent half his nights here, and no surprise, he was seated in his usual booth. What had changed over the past few months was that he rarely spent his nights here alone anymore. Megan’s strawberry blond head rested on Dane’s shoulder, and they were flicking sugar packets through the napkin holder uprights on the other side of the table.
When I glanced at Lindsay, she had that considering-bolting expression on her face again. What happened to her to make it so her first instinct is to flee?
I didn’t want her to feel like I was always pushing or pulling her, as if she didn’t have an option, but I think she sometimes needed a little push. Admittedly the excuse to touch her again also factored into my decision-making skills. I guided her toward the booths to the left.
I nodded at Kowalski when we neared his table, and he did a double take, his eyes going comically wide. Subtle.
“Bro. Hey.” Kowalski shot Lindsay a cautious smile. “Lindsay.”
The line of her jaw tightened. She sucked in a deep breath and slowly let it out. “Dane Kowalski.”
She and Megan exchanged polite hellos, and I instinctively stuck with the study aspect of our outing. “I’m helping Lindsay with one of her math classes, but we’re also starving, so we figured we’d get a bite to eat while we made our way through her homework.”
“I loathe math,” Lindsay said. “But since I need this stupid class to graduate, and Ryder here is apparently a math enthusiast—or possibly a masochist—I’m at his mercy.”
Megan’s eyes lit up. “Really? I love math. If you ever n—”
Kowalski planted a kiss on her, going a little above and beyond on the PDA, but when he pulled away, Megan had clearly forgotten she was in the middle of a sentence. “You just looked so pretty I couldn’t help myself.” He added a canary-eating grin and then they went back to gazing at each other that way they always did.
I’d accused Kowalski of being a shitty wingman before, but I knew he just came through for me in a big way—my teammate undoubtedly knew as well as I did that if Lindsay could get Megan’s help instead of mine, she’d go that route. Totally selfish to keep her to myself, I knew, but the girl was finally talking to me, and I needed the excuse. If things went south, I’d give her Megan’s info, but I wasn’t about to give up now that I had my foot in the door.
“We’ll le
ave you to it,” I said, nudging Lindsay into a booth a couple of tables away. I scooted beside her instead of taking a seat on the other side, because how could I help her with a table between us? I liked this tutoring excuse more and more and I planned on squeezing every drop out of it.
“I’m kind of surprised that Beck’s okay with his sister dating Dane Kowalski—especially if they make out like that in front of him.” Lindsay’s posture tensed. “Not that I would really know anything about those guys. I’m just assuming. You know. Big brothers and what not. Whitney talks about the team sometimes, and I read her articles, so…” She pressed her lips together. “And I’m done rambling now.”
“Ramble away—I like it. When they first got together it was a big deal, but Davenport adjusted.” That was definitely the CliffsNotes version. The longer version had involved a lot of drama I’d done my best to stay out of. A week or so ago, I’d been worried it’d affect the team right before we all needed to be at our best for playoffs, but so far so good.
Lindsay dragged her fingertips across the edge of the table, focusing on the motion. “I’m not sure what you’ve heard about me, but—”
Larry showed up with the coffee and menus before Lindsay could finish whatever she’d been about to say. I’d heard snippets of conversations here and there, but all I really knew about her was she worked for the paper and hated hockey players.
We ordered and then I turned back to her. “You were saying?”
She stared across the table at the blue vinyl, her finger circling the ring of her mug over and over. “Never mind.”
I wanted to push, but at the same time, I worried she’d shut down, so we started her assignment instead—at least math had solid, irrefutable answers that I knew how to find. A few minutes in, our food arrived, the greasy scent making my stomach rumble.
I poured ketchup on my burger, made a big puddle for my fries, and then moved to put some on Lindsay’s plate.
Confessions of a Former Puck Bunny (Taking Shots) Page 3