“You’re dreaming about me?” His lips twitch but he can’t stop the goofy smile sprawling across his face.
“Scratch that. I meant my nightmares.”
He drops his hands. “Do you really think that if I had the power to hand-pick my partner, I’d choose a girl who looks at me like I’m a walking felony?”
“That’s exactly why I think you did it. You knew my name before I told you.” Then I gesture to his body, waving it around his face. “You’re also sitting down here. Something you’ve never done before.”
He blows out a breath and shakes his head. “I wanted to give you something,” he mutters to himself. Then he leans in and drops his voice just a touch. “I swear, I didn’t plan any of this. I didn’t ask to be your partner. I didn’t bribe Foster. I didn’t… do anything.”
Remorse flickers behind his eyes, and for one stupid beat, I want to believe him.
“You did a hell of a lot,” I deflect.
“Yeah, and I already know I’m never living this down,” he says, running a hand through his hair. “Erik’s gonna have a fucking field day when he hears,” he mutters to himself, facing the opposite direction. I don’t think that was meant for me—but jokes on him, my hearing is freakishly sharp.
He takes a long breath as though he’s bracing for impact.
“For us to…survive this assignment, we’re gonna have to talk, coordinate, and…communicate.” He pauses, and I know where this is going. “Which usually requires…” his hand gestures between us with an almost coy smile.
“No.”
I want to kill him. Not just kill him—flambé him in something tasty like brandy and then feed him to my pet cat, Lucille, back home, because I thought this was all over with. I thought I wouldn’t have to relive the most embarrassing moment of my life again and again.
“You didn’t even let me finish.”
“I don’t need to. You can’t have my number,” I say just as I push my chair out and head straight to Professor Foster. She's sitting behind her desk now, discussing something—probably my demise—with her TA, Kinsey.
“Professor Foster.”
She looks up at me and raises a brow. I close my eyes, trying to think of why I'm up here annoying her again.
“I need a new partner. I can't work with Mr. Hendricks.”
“Why not?”
“Because…”
Shit. Think, Laura.
Any reason other than he accidentally slapped me with his donkey dong and soaked me through.
“Because he's a hockey player.”
Lame. What a lame response.
“So you’re just out here bad-mouthing hockey players?” a deep voice says behind me.
I jump, only then realizing that Scotty isright behind me,clearly having heard every humiliating syllable. His voice is smooth and teasing, and I want to scream.
“I—uh. No. It's not that.”
I turn back to Professor Foster and jab a thumb in Scotty’s direction without looking at him—because eye contact at this proximity might make me kill him. “It’s just that he’s going to be…busy. All the time. With practice, and games. I know what it’s like for hockey players.”
Scotty lets out the tiniest amused exhale. I ignore it with my entire soul.
“I also work long hours,” I tell Professor Foster, desperate now. “I’m worried that we won’t be able to fit in any study time around our schedules.”
“That's life,” Professor Foster says with a shrug so unsympathetic it belongs in a museum labeledNope. “People have commitments. One of your biggest commitments should be getting a good grade in this class. If you don't figure out how to make it work, then it’s an automatic fail.”
