“I did. Like three times, but you didn’t hear me.” He points to the headphones now resting around my neck. “Obviously, now I know why.”
“And you still chose to come in anyway, so what exactly was the point of knocking?” I grumble with a scoff.
“To be polite,” he supplies, clearly not understanding my rhetorical question. Then again, he’s too busy looking over my shoulder at the sketchbook on my desk, which I promptly flip closed to halt his nosiness.
Not that it stops him.
“What are you doing anyway?”
“Getting really annoyed with you,” I bite out instantly. “Now, will you get out of my room so I can work in peace?”
For a few seconds, we just stare at each other in silence. Him, without a single thought behind his sapphire eyes, and me, with the fury that could disintegrate the sun.
Because he doesn’t. Fucking. Leave.
“Did you take one-too-many pucks to the head and need me to spell it out for you?Leave.”
“I need a favor first,” he insists.
Oh, sweet Jesus.
My molars grind together, knowing there’s a ninety-eight percent chance that the next words to leave his mouth will instantly rile me up and send me flying off the handle. Yet, despite my better judgment, I arch a brow and nod for him to continue anyway.
Anything to get him out of here as soon as possible.
There’s a brief moment of hesitancy in his gaze before it promptly drops to the floor. Almost like he’s embarrassed. Which is…strange.
Clearing his throat, he murmurs, “Coach called me into his office after practice yesterday and—”
Annoyed, I roll my eyes. “If this is about hockey, then—”
“—told me I might lose my eligibility.”
My brows collide, and I blink a few times, not having expected this turn of events.
Well, that’s not entirely true. I’ve seen the video of Camden’s nude dancing escapades going around online—much to my dismay, having lived it once already—and knew Uncle Trevor wouldn’t take it lightly. Not when it reflects poorly on him as a coach, the program, the school in general…
The annoyance that was simmering in my stomach turns into more of a boil, and I’m hit with a realization of what this favoris likely to be. It’s a pretty typical one since the beginning of time when people find out I’m fromthatReed family.
Me wanting nothing to do with the sport they’re famous for doesn’t even matter; the proximity and connection is more than enough of a draw.
Crossing my arms, I lean back in my chair and scoff.
“And what? You want me to talk him out of it because he’s my uncle? You think I have that kind of sway with him?” I ask incredulously. “Besides, you should know the stupid shit you do would come back to bite you. I mean, who the fuck dances naked on a FaceTime call?”
“I told you it was because I lost a bet, but that’s not—”
“Okay, well since we live in the age of screenshots and screen recordings, thesmartthing to do would’ve been to wear a ski mask. Or film from the neck down, or I don’t know, dosomethingto hide your identity.”
“Shit, that would’ve been a good idea,” he murmurs, though more to himself than me, before returning to the conversation at hand. “But no, talking to Coach on my behalf wasn’t what I was gonna ask. It’s not even about the video.”
His admission is as much of a surprise as his appearance in my bedroom, but it’s not enough to keep me from eyeing him warily. The heat of suspicion still lingers low in my gut as I try to work out this turn of events. After all, what else could the hockey team’s hotshot goalie need from me, if not the benefits that come with my last name?
And unfortunately, my curiosity gets the best of me yet again.
“Then, what is it?” I ask with a sigh.
A sheepish, embarrassed look returns as he nudges the edge of my rug with his foot. “I need help studying for one of my classes. And I also have these make-up assignments to do before the end of the month because I failed the midterm.”
