“Speaking as someone who’s benefited from your tutelage, I can confidently say you’d be an amazing math teacher if you ever wanted to go that direction. I totally get where you’re coming from, too.” I bit my lip. “While we’re confessing secret career desires and backups, I want to edit novels. That’s why I majored in English, but I minored in journalism, just in case. Don’t get me wrong, I enjoy the work I do at the newspaper, but it’s not my passion. I want to take a great novel and make it more amazing, and see it all packaged and pretty on a bookshelf.”
“A girl with as much passion as you should do what she loves.”
“Easy to say. Harder to find a job—especially one that pays right off the bat. That’s why I wanted to put my eggs in more than one basket, and having a backup isn’t giving yourself permission to fail, it’s giving yourself permission to succeed with options. It sucks that your dad can’t see that.”
“That was him on the phone. Whenever he calls, I know I’m going to hear about how I’m not training hard enough, or playing like I should, or who knows what else. He obviously didn’t get the memo that he’s not my coach anymore. Don’t get me wrong, it’s not that I don’t appreciate everything he’s taught me, and the doors that’ve opened because of him, but sometimes…” Ryder shook his head. “Never mind. This really isn’t what I want to be talking about. Let’s switch to a happier subject.”
“When I tried to say never mind earlier, you didn’t let me get away with it.”
“Yeah, but I’m bigger than you.”
I crossed my arms. “And I’m scarier.”
Ryder studied me for several seconds, as if sizing me up for scariness, so I put on the best stank face I could, which only made him laugh.
“That’s it,” I said. “You and me. Thumb wrestle, right now.”
He held out his hand. I kind of thought he’d laugh it off, but since I never was one to back down, I took it. We did the mandatory countdown. When he immediately pinned my thumb, I lurched up and pushed my body weight into him, twisting out of his grip.
“Cheater!”
“Sore loser.” Apparently I was in junior high tonight. Add the major crush I was nursing and I might as well go back to being fourteen and flirting with hockey players that were way too old for me. Of course, Ryder was borderline too young.
Suddenly he wrapped both arms around me and yanked me to him. Keeping my arms pinned, he moved his lips by my ear. “Who’s what now?”
I tried to break free, but it was like trying to break a massive chain. After a moment or two of struggling, I gave up and sagged against him. His hold changed, one arm going loosely around my waist.
He slowly curled the fingers of my right hand into his and then tucked his chin on my shoulder. “I’m not afraid of you, Lindsay Rivera. And I don’t give a damn who you used to be—just in case you were worried.”
I opened my mouth to insist I wasn’t, but the words lodged in my throat. I twisted my head to look at him. I could see the stubble lining his strong jaw, and I wondered if it was weird to be turned on by the Adam’s apple in a guy’s neck?
Did I care?
“Do you really think we can be friends?” I asked, my voice just above a whisper. “That we can keep from crossing the streams?”
“That depends,” he said, his deep voice rumbling through me and sending my heart racing. “Are you going to be this fun and easy to talk to when we hang out as friends? Like actually embrace it?”
“Hey, if math and I can form a peace treaty, surely fun and I can work things out.”
His laughter skated across my neck and he tightened his grip on me, his fingers curving around my waist. All my blood rushed toward that spot, hoping and waiting for more, despite telling my body not to go there. Friends was one thing. Crossing lines was another, one I still had to keep myself from doing for my own protection, regardless of the way the guy set my body on fire.
“I’m not quite ready to give up on friends or fun.” He pressed his lips to the back my head, not kissing, but simply resting them there—and yet my skin hummed, from the point of contact all the way down to my toes. “Or you.”
I turned into his embrace, resting my head on his shoulder and bringing our joined hands to my chest. “Over this past week, I’ve come to the same conclusion about you.”
A grin spread across his face. Then he whispered, “Just when I think I’m out…”
“He pulls me back in,” I finished.
Chapter Sixteen
Ryder
Ignoring Dad only worked so long, and considering how persistent he was, worked probably wasn’t the right word.
“Why haven’t you answered my calls?” he asked the second I picked up.
I crossed campus, weaving around the other students rushing up and down the sidewalks. “Gym, school, hockey practice, repeat.”
“I certainly hope that’s it, and you’re not getting caught up in the college party scene.”
It’d been engrained in me that partying equaled playing like shit, so I always kept myself from getting more than a light buzz, even in the off-season—off-season was meant for keeping in shape for the next season. Partying had never been my MO, anyway. Then again, neither had going for unattainable women who made it hard to think about anything else. During today’s classes I could hardly focus, stuck on the way Lindsay curled up on my lap last night. Guess I was expanding my horizons.
Not that dear old dad would see it that way, which was why I’d make sure he never found out how much time I was spending with her, even though I knew it was starting to cut into school and what I could give at the gym and during practice, and I couldn’t afford getting carried away.
“I wanted to let you know that I’ll be there for the game against Minnesota.”
Goodie. So that was the game I’d get a lecture after. It was quarterfinals for the Hockey East Tournament, too, which was probably why he felt the need to come watch. He’d always been controlling about my training, and what I hadn’t told Lindsay last night was that he’d gone so far as to pawn my guitar after our argument about it. I hadn’t so much quit as he took away the option, and while I’d wanted to fight him on it, I knew I’d never get anywhere with him.
Plus, emotions only gave him more ammo. Care too much, he took things away. Get sad over something or dare to talk back, and he’d toughen me up or teach me respect with hockey drills that pushed me to puking or passing out.
I’d spent so much of my life trying to make him proud, but losing battles like the one with the guitar was one of the reasons I fought so hard to major in the subject I wanted, despite it being the harder route. My decision was part resentment and part wanting to prove myself.
Now I wondered if I’d ever have his approval. I wished I didn’t care either way, but I couldn’t seem to stop wanting it.
“Oh, and your mom’s fundraising event is this weekend. You haven’t forgotten, have you?”
Damn—I had forgotten. “It’s on my calendar.” That much was true at least, even if I rarely paid attention to anything besides when hockey practice or games were. Usually Mom called to remind me, and I vaguely remembered her mentioning it last week, but I’d been distracted. Too bad my schedule was online, because it’d be really convenient to have the ability to lie to my parents about it. I suppose the fact that Mom and Dad were acting civil enough toward each other for him to know about her event was at least something. They split over a decade ago, which meant I got marched out as her entire family, my presence needing to make up for her being a divorcee in government.
So on top of everything else, I’d have to don a suit and tie and go put on a show for all the people Mom was trying to impress. After living in New York for Dad’s career while they were married, Mom said it was her turn, throwing the guilt trip of his affair that eventually caused the divorce into the mix to get her way. She and I had returned to her hometown of Hartford, Connecticut so she could run for mayor and carry on the legacy her father started. Dad follow
ed after his retirement from the NHL so he could take up coaching—or as I often referred to it, torturing me—my last three years of high school.
“I tried to get you out of it by explaining that with playoffs so close you couldn’t afford distractions,” Dad said, “but you know your mother.”
I did. She always pushed girls at me at those events, too, something that had caused friction with Dad in the past, because I should be focused on my future career. Mom insisted the girls were driven enough to have their own lives to focus on, which made them good matches who wouldn’t interfere with hockey—she usually sneered something like “unlike those puck bunnies you were so fond of” to ensure he’d think twice about pushing again.
So far, the attempted setups were mostly with her friends’ privileged daughters, who thought I was either a brute or a novelty. The women at the party who went for me of their own free will and choice were usually the cocktail waitresses close to my age. With the exception of that one who hadn’t been very close to my age, but handsy enough to make me reconsider how fast ladies over forty could move.
“Will you be there?” I asked Dad.
“No. Your mother would rather I stay away from them.” She and I both, but I liked to make sure. Without him there, though…I entertained the idea of taking Lindsay. Mom wouldn’t say anything to Dad if I asked her not to—in fact, she’d relish knowing something he didn’t.
The hard part would be getting Lindsay to go with me. Even as friends, she’d probably be hesitant. But hopefully I could convince her hoity-toity political fundraisers weren’t crossing the streams. It sure as hell wasn’t my world. More like a foreign planet I had to visit to keep Mom happy, and it’d be much easier to face with Lindsay by my side.
At least Mom’s approval was easy. Just show up, smile for the people and make polite small talk, and then we could both go back to our regularly scheduled lives.
I wrapped up things with my dad and changed course, heading for the newspaper office instead of the library.
Visiting Lindsay at work was a tricky line, especially since we’d just seen each other last night. But I decided to seize the moment—we didn’t have a whole lot to spare, and would have even less once playoffs started next week, when I truly would need to focus on hockey and nothing else.
I walked up the steps to the newspaper office and pushed inside. I had a speech all prepared, but the second Lindsay glanced up from her computer and smiled across the room at me, it flew right out of my head.
Fortunately, it came back to me by the time I reached her desk. “So, I have a favor to ask—think about it as a favor to a friend.” I put my hands up. “Not that you owe me. I don’t want you to feel like you do, so maybe I shouldn’t have brought that up at all. Anyway, my mom has this stuffy political event in Hartford this weekend, and I have to go, and it would suck a whole lot less if you went with me.” I rubbed the back of my neck, where my skin grew hotter and hotter. “I’m doing a shitty job of selling this, aren’t I?”
Her eyebrows had inched higher with each word. “I didn’t know that you even knew that many words. Aren’t you afraid you’ll hit your quota for the day and not be allowed to speak anymore?”
I laughed and shrugged. “I’ve saved up a few extra through the years.” I wanted to reach out and grab her hand like I had last night. But a desk stood between us, and there were too many people looking our way. I caught Whitney’s curious expression and gave her a nod.
She smiled and waved, and I turned back to Lindsay. “It’s Friday night at seven, and it’s a dressy occasion. So a dress. Or if you’re making a play for Congress, I suppose you could get away with a power suit.”
“Well, when am I not making a play for Congress? Still, I might go traditional this one time.”
That led to me thinking about her legs, and how they’d look in a dress, and it was a sight I definitely wanted to see. Then I realized she wasn’t saying hell no to going.
“Does that mean you’ll go?”
“Isn’t that what friends are for? Getting you through boring events?”
“Pretty sure it says that if you look up the word in the dictionary.” I was also sure that I’d spend the entire night waiting for the right opening to get out of the friend zone.
This girl’s already mine. She just doesn’t know it yet.
Chapter Seventeen
Lindsay
There were times when Radiohead’s “Creep” went through my head, the lyrics “I don’t belong here,” playing on repeat.
Standing in a room big enough for a hockey rink—if all those pesky tables were removed and no one minded that the chandeliers and wall sconces would end up destroyed by pucks—opulence dripping off every surface, the song was blaring. I was also questioning my fuchsia minidress. Far too poor for a shopping spree, or whatever it was called when you couldn’t even afford one dress—shopping spre?—anyway, I’d dug this number out of my closet. It was from my puck bunny days, back when showing off my assets and gaining attention was the main goal.
Confession #11: Tiny dresses, the even tinier underwear needed to pull them off, and super-high heels aren’t exactly comfortable, especially if you’re out of practice wearing them.
*side note: The heels and thong combo do nice things for your legs and your ass, even if they also left me dying to kick off my shoes and pick a wedgie that would never go away in front of all these fancy-pants people.
Most every other woman in the room wore a full-length gown that screamed money, their jewels accenting the money aspect.
My courage and can-do attitude faded and my steps faltered.
Ryder put his hand on my elbow, steadying me. “You okay?”
“It’s…wow.”
“It’s always a bit overwhelming at first. Then you get used to it.” He slid his arm around my waist and drew me close. “I know I told you that you looked nice when I picked you up, but I was holding back. You look stunning. Like I forgot my name for a few seconds when I first saw you, and I’m starting to lose my grasp on it again now.”
The compliment sent an exquisite swirl of electricity through me, and I decided that having sore feet and a perma-wedgie was a small price to pay to get that kind of reaction from Ryder. “In a place like this, I’m guessing you want to go by Ox.”
He chuckled, and the sound danced across my tense muscles and loosened them.
“While we’re on the subject, this whole look you’ve got going on…” I gestured to the suit, crisp white shirt, and black tie. As polished as the tailored suit was, it couldn’t hide how massive he was, and there was something very hot about the barely contained badass vibe. “Damn.”
“Damn, you say?”
I nodded, curled closer to him, and ran my hands down his lapels. “You sure clean up nice. Not that I mind when you’re dirty.” Oops, that last bit sort of popped out.
Heat filled the eyes homed in on me, spreading that fiery blaze through every inch of my body. “I’ll keep both of those things in mind.”
Honestly, ever since our easy night on the couch, I was constantly anticipating the next time I’d see him. My stomach had completed a full somersault when he’d come into the newspaper office and asked me to attend this event with him. He’d claimed he was doing a shitty job of selling it, but with how hot he’d looked, his hand rubbing his neck in a way that only accentuated the muscles in his arms, I’d wanted to throw myself at him and say I didn’t care about lines anymore. So obviously going somewhere with him was a no-brainer. Even if I should use my brain and listen to it when it said spending time together would only make my attraction to him worse.
“Ryder.” A brunette in a glittering gold gown approached. Her smile turned stiff when she noticed me.
I should’ve at least put a jacket over the dress.
Suddenly I felt naked, and with the added judgment coming from the woman I assumed was Ryder’s mom, I was rethinking my choice of outfit all over again. Too late to do anything about it now.
“Mom.” He gave her a polite hug and kissed her cheek. Then he turned back to me. “This is Lindsay. Lindsay, this is my mom, Sharon Maddox.”
She studied me, her lips pursing. “You look so familiar,” she said, and I couldn’t get a good read on her. I’d experienced plenty of disdain and passive aggressive behavior from women of all ages before, but this wasn’t quite that. Clearly she wasn’t thrilled with my being here, but she did appear to be trying to place me.
“This is definitely my first time at an event like this,” I said.
“Maybe I know your parents?”
I shook my head. “Neither of them live here, either.” I didn’t think now was the time to go into the fact that I didn’t actually know if my dad did, because that’d require knowing him in the first place.
“Oh. Well.” She casually tossed her hand up. “Maybe you just have one of those faces.”
How did one properly respond to that?
“Honey,” Sharon said, placing her hand on Ryder’s arm—the one not wrapped around my waist. “Can I borrow you for a moment? I need to introduce you to some people. I’m sure Lindsay understands?”
Sure. Lindsay understood. She also loved when people made statements she couldn’t contradict without looking like a bitch. “Totally. I’ll just go—”
“I’d rather she come along,” Ryder said, his arm remaining firmly around my waist. “She might as well meet everyone, too.”
Sharon looked like she wanted to argue, but instead her smile turned sharper. “Of course. That’s fine.”
It quickly became clear that had Ryder been unaccompanied, both his mom and the freaking first lady of Connecticut were hoping to throw the governor’s daughter at him. Caroline Cunningham didn’t match him at all. For one, she was way too demure. And timid. Ryder needed someone who’d speak her mind.
Confessions of a Former Puck Bunny (Taking Shots) Page 10