“Trust me. I've watched Olympic gold-standard hockey… and you're not it.”
I wince—not because the insult hurts (none of the Olympic guys could touch my skills on their best day), but because she just admitted she’s been around other hockey players and apparently had no idea who I was.
How’s that even possible?
“Oh, so youarea fan of hockey. Thought you didn't know who I was?”
What the fuck was that?
Did I just toss out a jealous don’t-you-know-who-I-am line?
Idiot.
See. Everything comes out wrong when she’s around.
Her eyes widen, and I render her speechless for a few seconds. “Wow,” she drags the word out, full of disgusted wonder. “I honestly didn’t think I could think any less of you.”
Smooth move, Hendricks.
I step a little closer to her. “So if you’re not here to watch me… what, are you trying to distract me from practice?” I ask in a vain attempt to change the subject.
Her nose scrunches. “Why wouldmebeing here distract you from practice?”
I stare at her. Hard. Long. Trying to telepathically send her the answer that she clearly doesn’t want to hear.
Nothing.
She just blinks at me like I’m speaking Finnish.
I sigh. “No reason.”
“I'mhere because you told me to meet you outside the library at one,” she explains, exasperated. “I waited out there for half an hour, and you didn't show up, so I thought I'd check the rink.” She gestures to my gear. “Lo and behold, you're here, doinganythingexcept working on our assignment.”
“You wanted to meet me at one?”
She nods. “Mhm.”
“I'm sorry, Princess, but I asked you to meet at three.”
“No, you didn't.”
“Yeah, I did. I have practice every single day one to two-thirty. Only exception is game day. I definitely wouldn’t schedule something when I’d be…you know”—I gesture at myself—”here. Especially knowing how much you hate me.”
She inhales sharply, and for the first time, her shoulders actually drop a little. “Shit. Did I get the time wrong?”
“Yeah, you did.”
Ishouldrib her about how hilarious this mix-up is…but she looks genuinely frustrated.
She shakes her hands out before pulling them together anxiously. “I, uh, can’t do after three. I’ve got to get to my job.”
“Your very top-secret job?” I ask, amused. The way I’ve been thinking about what she does that she doesn’t want me to know about is unhealthy as fuck, but I can’t stop myself. The girl’s a mystery to me.
“Yeah. My car is in the shop, so I have to take the bus, which takes an extra hour.”
I look back at the team. We have another forty-five minutes, but I’m willing to miss it to spend time with her.
“Let me talk to Coach McKibbon,” I say gently. “Maybe he’ll let me out early. We can work in the concessions area—save us the walk.”
