Confessions of a Former Puck Bunny (Taking Shots)

by Madsen, Cindi

  “But I’m telling you what happens. Nothing.”

  “Nothing? No tutor student relationship? No friendship? No chance?”

  I opened my mouth to tell him yes to no chance, but it got jumbled in my head because of the yeses and the nos, and the complication that I did need a tutor—more specifically him, as he was the only person who ever spoke math in a way that it almost made sense. Plus, when he put it that way, saying no to friendship would kind of make me feel like a bitch, and I was sick of feeling like that. Almost as much as I was determined to not end up broken again.

  “How about this?” He tightened his grip on my hand and pulled me a step closer. “We stick to tutoring, and maybe work on the fun thing when we can. Let’s call it stress relief time. I think we both could use that, right?” he asked, and I reluctantly nodded, because I still wasn’t sure I could trust myself around him. “And I’d say something horribly cheesy like we only live once, but then I’d have to punch myself in the face, and that’d make me look crazy, and you probably don’t want to be friends with a crazy person.”

  “I don’t know that I’d go calling you sane, for the record.”

  He grinned as if I’d called him endearing, which I hadn’t, even if I was thinking it. “For the record, I’m not sure I trust the definition of sanity from a girl who doesn’t like ketchup.”

  He wasn’t like the other hockey players I used to hang around, I’d give him that. Damn cute guy and his damn backward hat that gave him a sexy boyish look despite his size.

  He walked me over to my car door. “I’ll text you later.”

  “Okay,” I said, because apparently I wasn’t sane anymore, and I was fairly sure it had nothing to do with ketchup. “Oh, wait. Your sweatshirt.” I moved to pull it off, but he put his hands on my shoulders.

  “Keep it for the ride home. Now that you’ve finally warmed up, I’d hate for you to get cold again.” The teasing grin he flashed me was heavy on the implication that he wasn’t only talking about my body temperature. “I’ll get it from you later.”

  Later. As in he and I would be this close again.

  And as he backed away, his gaze staying on mine for a couple of seconds before he spun around, the foolish part of me that had given in to this even more foolish plan, couldn’t wait.

  Chapter Seven

  Ryder

  That stuff I said last night about focusing on playoffs and just seeing how it went with Lindsay was true, but admittedly I mostly said it so she wouldn’t go back to pretending I didn’t exist. But as I dragged my tired ass back and forth on the ice, it hit me that it was truer than I wanted to admit. Especially since admitting it would make Dad right. I’d stayed out too late, and while I’d hit the weights this morning, I did such a sorry job it hardly counted.

  How the hell does Kowalski do it? The guy hardly slept, and he and Megan were always out all hours of the night. Then again, he looked a bit gassed as he skated toward me, and I should’ve easily blocked him, but my limbs dragged a couple of beats behind what my mind told them to do.

  On cue, Coach lit into us and I cringed, hoping I was wrong about where this was going. “Looks like you boys forgot how to play. That’s it. Split into four groups and get on the line. Time for Michigan Miles.”

  I groaned, my entire body getting in on it. Michigan Miles involved a mixture of speed skating with push-ups, the distance farther with every round.

  Hudson shook his head at Kowalski and me as we skated over to him.

  “Bro,” Dane said, “Don’t get all pissy because you weren’t out with your girl last night. I’ve got some time to make up for, and Ox here might actually get lucky this year.”

  “Shut up,” both Hudson and I said at the same time. Kowalski did me a huge favor last night, but the guy never did know when to keep his mouth shut.

  The shrill pierce of the whistle cut through the air and we bolted into action. At the end of every one, I’d pray it’d be the last, but Coach just kept going. By number four I was sure my lunch would make a reappearance, and by number five visions of my bed danced through my head.

  Finally Coach called it and told us to get some water and then come back ready to run plays.

  Dane scrubbed a hand over his face but recovered fairly quickly. He was used to being short on sleep, and he could drag a bit and get away with it because he had two extra years of experience. He and Hudson had played together for so long they practically read each other’s minds, which also made them unstoppable on the ice—especially when Beck was thrown into the mix.

  But I’d barely proven myself, and I couldn’t lose my fragile grip on being one of the starting team—there were guys just lined up and waiting for me to fail so they’d get a chance to shine. If I slipped, I’d never hear the end of it from Dad. He didn’t accept mediocrity in any form. Neither did I.

  Which was probably why—even though I needed to stop thinking about last night—my mind still flashed to Lindsay. That killer smile, holding her hand during the play that made her so happy, and those laughs I managed to eke out of her and the way they’d echoed deep in my chest.

  There was nothing mediocre about that girl, and I wanted more.

  After hockey practice finished having its way with me and I slept a solid eight hours, that was.

  …

  Saturday, while I was mixing up a protein shake for a late breakfast, my phone buzzed.

  Lindsay: I know I’m being extra needy, but yesterday the professor reminded us we have a quiz on Monday, and after studying math for, like, three hours straight—for the record, I didn’t find it even a little bit fun, something I do NOT have a grudge against—I’m still struggling, and I have to get a least a low B to pass the class. Do you have any time today? I know you have a game tonight, but Sundays and Wednesdays are my hell days with the paper coming out the next day. Just an hour would be amazing.

  Lindsay, two seconds later: And I’m rambly even in texts. Sorry.

  Lindsay: Also, I know rambly isn’t actually a word, for the record.

  With one hand, I poured my protein shake into a cup, while I typed with the other.

  Me: For the record, how much caffeine have you had?

  Lindsay: I’ve lost track. I think it’s safe to say a lot.

  I glanced at the time. I had a pregame ritual that involved certain foods and running plays in my head. Distractions weren’t something I allowed on game days. But Lindsay needed my help, and if she was rambling this much in text form, I could only imagine how much fun she’d be in person.

  Me: Come on over.

  Lindsay: How about meet me at the library in, like, thirty? Same table as last time?

  Obviously I’d rather meet here, where we could kick back and have a more intimate setting, but she was still erecting boundaries, and I’d try to respect them until I could get her to change her mind.

  Me: See you then.

  I slammed the shake and headed for the shower. When I came out a few minutes later, Dane scrutinized me from his spot on the couch.

  He spoke around a bite of eggs. “Are you going somewhere?”

  “Yeah, Mom. I am.”

  “But you never go anywhere on game days. You watch game film and do your stoic thing.”

  “I’m doing it somewhere else today.”

  “Is a certain editor going to be there?” he asked. I didn’t answer, and he took that and ran with it. “Bro, I’m impressed. I never thought she’d let her grudge against the hockey team go. You know that’s why Whitney started at the paper in the first place? Lindsay wanted her to make us look bad.”

  I’d heard something about it, but I hadn’t paid much attention—I usually stayed as far away as I could from drama. The only reason I went into the newspaper office was because Hudson asked for my help, and he didn’t ask for help often. But that visit marked the first time in a long time I was interested in anything outside of hockey, the gym, and classes.

  Dane set his empty plate on the coffee table. “I’m not telli
ng you that to make you change your mind. Just…be careful. She might have ulterior motives.”

  “Yes, I’m sure she avoided me for a solid month as part of some grand scheme to take us all down.”

  Dane shrugged. “Hey, I’m just saying. In case you didn’t notice, I tried to help you anyway.”

  “I appreciate that. And just when I almost gave up on you as wingman, too.”

  “The Shakespeare thing was Megan, really. I had to make her swear not to offer Lindsay math tutoring help so you’d have a better chance, and she said she’d only do it because it was you.”

  The door swung open, and speak of the devil, in came Megan—Dane’s pregame ritual was vastly different from mine. His prep started about an hour before the game, and the rest of the time he just lived his life as usual. Sometimes I thought he should focus more, and sometimes I wished I could be more like that.

  I thanked Megan for her help the night of the play and followed it up by asking for a favor. “If I can talk Lindsay into coming to the game, can you save her a spot next to you and the other girls?” I liked the idea of looking up and seeing her in the stands. Of having her there after the game.

  “Sure. She and Whitney are sort of friends, I think, and I had a good time the other night.”

  “Thanks.” With that my time was up, so I hopped in my car and headed to the library. So I wouldn’t totally throw off my game prep, I ran plays in my head.

  By the time I made it to the tutoring center, Lindsay was already there. Jeremy was talking to her, leaning over her as he pointed at problems in her textbook, and a surge of jealousy twisted through me.

  He’s just helping her, I told myself before I got carried away and growled at him. Which was good—I wanted her to pass her class. I just wanted to be the one to help her do it.

  He better be focused on the fucking math. I didn’t like the way he was smiling at her as he explained it, or how close he thought he needed to be to do it.

  I sat down on the other side of Lindsay and shot him a tight smile edged with enough threat that he straightened.

  “Well, I’ll, uh, let Ryder take over,” he said as he backed away. “But if you need any help, I’m usually around.”

  You won’t be after I break your scrawny neck.

  I turned my full attention to Lindsay, scooting even closer than Jeremy had been. “Hey.”

  She bit her lip and smiled. “Hey.”

  “Thinking of replacing me?” I asked it lightly, but suddenly I wanted to know the answer, and there was nothing light about it.

  She glanced at him and lowered her voice. “I have no idea what he was saying. Five minutes in I zoned out and just kept nodding. If I didn’t have you here to help me get ready for the quiz, now would be the moment I’d start having a panic attack.”

  I placed my hand on her knee and gave it a squeeze. “Good thing I’m here now, then.”

  Her tongue darted out to wet her lips and my blood pumped faster. “Good thing.”

  I wanted to inch my hand higher up her thigh, and while I was wishing for things, I also wanted to close the gap between us and kiss the lips I couldn’t stop obsessing about.

  The loud scrape of a chair broke through my hazy thoughts, reminding me we were in a library. No doubt Lindsay had insisted on it so I’d behave myself, but she overestimated how concerned I was about library rules and my desire to behave in public. Whenever I was around her, I wanted to do anything but.

  “You’re doing the intense thing again,” Lindsay whispered.

  “This is my preparing-to-math-so-hard face.”

  She laughed, loud enough that everyone in the room turned. The studious dude in front of us even shushed us, which only made her laugh harder, and then I was laughing, too.

  I scooted my chair as close as possible, even though it still wasn’t nearly close enough. “This is why we should’ve done it at my place.”

  “This is exactly why I can’t go to your place,” she said, and when I asked her to explain, she turned her focus to her book. “Let’s just get through this.”

  For the next hour, I crammed as much information as I could into that pretty head. When her eyes widened to the point that I worried she was short-circuiting from all the information, I grabbed her hand. “You got this. You’re at least better off than a week ago.”

  She stuck out her lips in a pout. “Yeah. But that’s sort of like saying I’m better at math than a rock. Both are true, but neither will necessarily help me pass my class.”

  “Hello, that’s what you have me for.” I ran my thumb over her knuckles. Her gaze dropped to our joined hands, and just like the other night, she pulled away. Guess that meant I had nothing to lose. “So, remember our fun outings payment plan?”

  Suspicion filled the eyes she narrowed on me.

  “Come to the hockey game tonight. I already talked to Megan, and she’d love for you to go with her, Lyla, and Whitney.”

  Her face paled, and she adamantly shook her head. “I can’t. I just…can’t.”

  “Well, now that you’ve explained…” I know Dane said she wanted to take us down, but right now it seemed more like she thought she’d catch the plague from going to a game, not that she was set on our destruction. “Okay. Forget it. I was just joking about you owing me anything, anyway.”

  I scooted my chair out from under the table, but before I could stand, she grabbed my hand. A pained expression crossed her features. “I know that you sacrificed your time to come help me today, which I really, really appreciate. I just can’t go to the game.”

  I almost left it at that. Thursday’s practice proved that spending time with her cost some of my energy and focus, and we had playoffs in a few weeks. This was no time to let up, and if I was smart, I’d walk away. But with her big brown eyes peering at me, her hand clamped around mine, that whispered connection carried over and turned into a full-blown electric-charged pull, and it wasn’t in my nature to simply give up.

  “How about the party at the Quad after?” I brought out the teasing that worked for me the other night. “It’s going to be fun, and I thought we were making strides toward you embracing that kind of thing.”

  She slowly let go of my hand and ran a hand through her hair. “I’m assuming Whitney will be there, too.”

  “She usually is, yeah.” And if she wasn’t planning on it, I was going to do everything in my power to talk her into it.

  Lindsay stared at a spot at the front of the room, an internal struggle showing in her features, and then she looked back at me. “I’ll try to make it.”

  Words my dad had spoken countless times popped into my head: Saying you’ll try is giving yourself permission to fail. Just do it.

  Luckily I knew better than to say that out loud, especially to Lindsay, who would no doubt appreciate it even less than I had growing up. The never-ending pressure to live up to my dad fed into my desire to not just succeed, but to surpass his expectations. After the constant comparisons where I seemed to always fall short, I decided to impress everyone by doing it my own way. Instead of becoming a forward like he’d been, I threw myself into playing defense.

  When he’d told me I was too scrawny to play at the college level, I’d bulked up to prove how far I’d go to make it happen.

  Once I made the team at BC, I thought I’d finally get his approval, but so far, I still fell short. This was the year I was proving myself, once and for all.

  Realizing I was clenching my fists and getting worked up in the opposite way I wanted to do before a game, I shoved those thoughts away and returned my attention to Lindsay.

  “Come find me if you do.” I brushed her hair off her face and dragged my thumb across her cheek. “And for the record, I really hope you do.”

  Chapter Eight

  Lindsay

  Confession #5: I used to see other girls as strictly competition, and I’d measure my assets against theirs and then do whatever it took to win.

  Funny thing about that, it didn’t make yo
u a lot of female friends. Growing up, Mom always claimed girls were just jealous of me like women were jealous of her. Said it like it was our curse to bear. Poor, poor us and our devastating beauty and feminine wiles. Hah!

  Honestly, I think jealousy sometimes factored into the mix, but—thanks to changing up my life and the way I used to live it—I also knew it was frustrating for girls who didn’t want to put themselves way out there, whether by boldly flirting or boldly dressing, or a combination of both. We wanted to be noticed even if we weren’t flashing cleavage and a lot of leg. The problem was that guys noticed cleavage and legs, and they sure as hell noticed someone willing to press said assets up against them while having an “innocent” conversation. When you decide to be one of the girls in the mix not doing those things, it’s about a hundred times harder to snag guys’ attention.

  Do you know how many guys had asked me out since I changed my ways and turned to the more conservative dressing and flirting route? Zero. And okay, not that guys asked me out on actual official dates before, but the second I decided I wasn’t into hooking up anymore, they seemed to lose all interest.

  Only one guy had even bothered inviting me to a party, and the first time he’d done it, I thought it was more of a casual suggestion than actual caring if I went.

  Now that Ryder had asked me to another party, and we were…tutoring friends…here I was, trying on every outfit in my closet, declaring one too revealing and the next too school marm-y.

  Ugh, maybe I should just stay home. I could get a jump-start on my homework or make some progress on the next edition of the Heights… A lame way to spend a Saturday night, but doing so for the last several months hadn’t killed me. I hadn’t exactly been putting myself out there, and now I wondered if I had—if I’d dressed like the typical college girl and went to bars and did some mild flirting—if any guys would’ve bought me drinks. Asked for my number.

  The knock at the door pulled me from the What if game. I stepped out of my bedroom and made my way across the messy living room. I had two roommates—who’d apparently had a party last night—but since I’d considered them competition when I first moved in, our chance to be BFFs had passed me by. Now they hung out with each other and occasionally glanced up when I entered the room. Last year, when I’d come home crying after things went sour with Hudson, they hadn’t even asked me what was wrong. I knew it was my fault for not trying to get to know them better, but it still stung. The reason I’d roomed with them again involved being a creature of habit, and I figured known-and-kind-of-sucky was worse than unknown-and-possibly-super-sucky.