“So, go. Work on your assignment. She’d kill me if I was the reason her best student failed a group assignment.”
Wait, I'm her best student? Nah, it has to be Laura. She's the one always reading.
Coach must see the surprise on my face because he lets out a laugh. “What, you think she doesn't brag about you? First hockey player in years who can actually analyze Shakespeare beyond ‘they die in the end.’ She likes you, so don’t screw it up.”
I can't help the smile that spreads across my face. “Thanks, Coach.”
“Don't get used to it,” he warns, but there's no heat behind it. “Thirty minutes of extra conditioning tomorrow.”
I nod, already skating away. “No problem!”
Thirty minutes of extra conditioning to spend more time with Laura… worth it.
When I turn back toward her, my blood pressure rises immediately because Erik is halfway across the ice, heading straight for Laura. Thankfully, Brooks and Alex distract him.
She’s pacing along the side, looking at her phone when I’m through the door and back to her.
“Good news,” I say.
“I've been granted early release for good behavior.”
“Thank goodness,” she says.
Running a hand through my sweaty hair, I say, “Give me ten minutes to shower and change, and then I'll meet you at the concession area.”
“Fine.” She stands, closing her book. “Ten minutes, Hendricks. Not a second more.”
I raise my hands in surrender. “As you wish, Princess.”
As I skate off, I’m smiling like an idiot. Something about the way she threatens me with bodily harm really does it for me. I’m either a masochist… or hopelessly attracted to her sharp tongue and take-no-shit attitude.
Maybe both.
In the locker room, I speed through my shower routine, barely taking time to properly dry off before throwing on a clean pair of jeans and a Covey U hoodie.
Eight minutes. Not bad.
When I push through the concession doors, Laura is sitting on one of the tables, reading through her handwritten notes. She looks up as I approach, surprise flashing across her face.
“You're early.”
“Don't sound so shocked,” I grin, pulling out the chair opposite her and taking my seat. “I can be punctual when properly motivated.”
She narrows her eyes. “And what's your motivation exactly?”
A dozen stupid jokes rise to the surface, but the look she gives me—braced for disappointment—kills every one of them.
“I respect your time,” I say simply. “And I don't want you to fail this class because of me.”
She narrows her eyes, giving me that look again—the one that implies she’s debating between speaking to me or filing a restraining order.
“Right,” she says. “Respect my time. Of course. Very wholesome of you, Hendricks. Pretty soon you’ll be breaking the internet with a ‘Scotty Hendricks: Surprisingly Responsible?’ headline.”
I grin. “Breaking the internet? That sounds like you’ve been Googling me.”
Her face freezes for half a second, just long enough to incriminate herself.
She fucking did! She fucking looked me up.
