Her plump little lip trembles. “It’s nothing.”
She looks away, leaning on her arms again. I want to wrap her in my arms, tuck her head under my chin, and just…hold her.
Breathe her in.
But I’m pretty sure she’ll push me off these bleachers.
I mirror her stance, thankful I’m not wearing pads so it’s easier to move. I can’t take my eyes off her, drinking her in as she gnaws on her bottom lip.
Fuck, she’s gorgeous.
I need to know who hurt her.
“What are you listening to?”
She rolls the single AirPod around between her fingers in front of her. “The last podcast my dad did before he passed.”
Okay, maybe she’s sad about her dad. I’ve got this.
“The one about player- and puck-tracking tech?”
The sides of her lips twitch a bit, and I smile. “Yeah, he was so excited to watch playbacks and fooling around with the controls to make the players move.”
I chuckle softly. “I want to do the same thing, but no one ever lets me play.”
When she rewards me with a grin, I want to bottle it up for a rainy day, but the tears flood her lash line. Even with a tear-streaked face, her lashes clumped, and her cheeks red, she is fucking beautiful. I want to capture that mouth again now that I know what it feels like. This time, though, I want to taste her, which is against my usual rules.
I don’t kiss girls, but I want to kiss Ambrosia Mercer.
A fucking lot.
And all the time.
“I remember that podcast,” I force myself to say as I drag my eyes along her smooth skin. She has little scars on her face and a mole right by her lip. It looks pretty damn kissable, that’s for sure. “I love how full of life he is in all his shows.”
She looks away then, nodding. “He is the best.”
I shrug. “I don’t know. I think I like you over him.”
She scoffs, side-eyeing me. “You’ll say anything?—”
“I’m telling the truth,” I insist, and she turns to look at me. I feel my face burning as I admit, “Your dad was amazing, don’t get me wrong, but he wasn’t witty. Like, he was to the point and spat his facts like it was second nature, but they were just facts. You not only give everyone facts, but you make it relatable. You include the listener and make them want to feel what you feel about the game. For me, you’re better.”
She blinks once then twice, before tears fall down her cherubic cheeks. My stomach drops, and before I can stop myself, I’m wiping them away as I try to soothe her. I brush my thumbs along her cheeks, catching the falling tears as I whisper, “Don’t cry. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to offend you or talk down about your dad.”
She shakes her head and swallows hard before meeting my gaze. “It’s not that.” Her watery eyes gut me as I catch another tear. “I’m just having a tough day.”
My heart clenches, not liking the sound of that or the look on her sweet face. “Tell me what happened. Let’s talk it out.”
She looks out at the ice, drawing in a deep breath to fill her lungs, my hands dropping between us. “The other day, one of my professors, Dr. Poncy, caught me in the hall on my way home and accused me of using my adviser to fight my battles, but I didn’t. Professor Koshkin looks over my work for me to make sure I understand what I’ve done right and wrong. We’ve been doing this for as long as I’ve been here, and I guess it rubbed her wrong. I know he wasn’t happy about the grade she gave me, and I don’t know what he said to her, but she came after me. Informed me that if I have an issue, I need to come to her and fight my battles myself and that—” She pauses, pressing her lips together before her eyes fall shut. Her shoulders shake withsilent sobs as her face turns bright red. Unable to handle how upset she is, I reach out, taking her hand in mine.
I need to comfort her.
But I know I can’t just grab her the way I want.
She looks down at our hands as I thread my fingers through hers, stroking my thumb along the back of her thumb. Her eyes fall shut once more, and her shoulders droop, almost like she’s waving her white flag.
A lesser man would capitalize on her state, but not me.
