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She quickly types the name as her teeth sink into her bottom lip. She brings in her brows. “She only has two in-person classes. Everything else is online.”

I make a face. I wonder why. “How old is she?”

She bites her lip as she looks around. “Twenty-four. She’s finishing her master’s.”

I’m finding Ambrosia and I have a lot in common. Charlotte looks up at me and glares before picking up her phone to cue me to pose. I hold the box for a prop, and she rolls her eyes before my phone dings. She snatches the box from me and then shoos me away. “Don’t make me regret this.”

I look down at the text that holds Ambrosia’s schedule, and I know the smile that takes over is downright wicked, but I see another text on my screen.

It’s from my dad, but he’s texted me from his Coach phone.

Not good.

Coach: I talked to Coach Bannard about you sitting for games that don’t matter against lower-ranked teams. He says you haven’t talked to him about it. I know you want to play, but you guaranteed you’d keep your body safe and wouldn’t play unless you had to.

I hadn’t wanted to ask because I have a plan for getting Ambrosia to come to one of my games. To do that, I need to play. I can’t tell my dad that.

Me: I’ll talk to him.

Before I can read what he has to say, I click back to Charlotte’s text and take in Ambrosia’s schedule. She really isn’t on campus at all, only two days, and I wonder why. Is she not into in-person classes? Maybe she doesn’t want to be around an ex? I wonder if I know him.

I wonder what it would sound like hearing his knees explode under the force of my hockey stick.

Well, that’s one hell of a thought.

“You have nothing to worry about, Char,” I say with a wink. “But Ambrosia sure does.”

Charlotte lets out a groan, Dubai chocolate falling from her lips, and I laugh.

Because I’m not sure if she’s groaning in fear for Ambrosia, or from how good the cookie is. I lean over the desk and kiss her forehead, though she bats me away with the widest grin.

I wink as I head out, looking down at my phone to read her classes. She has in-person on Tuesday and Thursday, which means I only have a day to put my plan in the works. I get a notification that Ambrosia is on her messaging app, so I pull it up quickly.

Me: Question.

AmbrosiaMercer: Shocking. Thought you’d tell me the history of taping a hockey stick.

I snort. Man, I like her.

Me: I can if you’d like.

AmbrosiaMercer: I’ll pass. What’s the question?

Me: I have a friend.

AmbrosiaMercer: Aww, good for you. I hope you play nicely.

Me: You sure are sarcastic.

AmbrosiaMercer: Wow, really? I didn’t know.

I have that goofy smile on my face. Like a heartsick teenager with my first crush. I don’t know what it is about her, but I want to know everything. She gives me these soul-deep fluttering feelings. It’s even better than when I saw a pair of tits for the first time at thirteen. A newly teenage boy doesn’t forget that feeling, but talking to Ambrosia makes me feel that times one hundred.

Goofy grin in full force, I quickly type back.

Me: He said he never sees you on campus.

AmbrosiaMercer: What campus?