“Val?” Luke waves a hand in front of my face. “You still with us?”
“Yes. Sorry. Let me just—” I grab the stack of flyers I printed last night, each one carefully designed with photos of the animals and information about the fundraising events. The Spring Carnival. The Valentine’s charity auction.
“These look great,” Luke says, flipping through them. “Very professional. The athletic teams would be stupid not to participate.”
Except one person’s opinion might make all of this irrelevant. One person who thinks the entire rescue operation is a “disaster in the making” and whose dark eyes seem to follow me across campus, whose presence makes my brain short-circuit in ways I absolutely don’t want to analyze.
“Come on,” I say, before I can talk myself out of this. “Let’s go beg some hockey players for help.”
* * *
The sports complex smells like rubber, sweat, and something so masculine that probably shouldn’t be as appealing as it is. Yeah, unfortunately, appealingto me. Luke wrinkles his nose.
“How do they stand it?”
“Pheromones,” I say absently, then realize how that sounds. “I mean—evolutionary biology suggests that humans are moretolerant of scents associated with their own activities and peer groups, so—”
“Val, mate.”
“Right. Less nerding. Got it.”
The hallway leading to the rink is covered in photos of championship teams dating back to the 1970s. Our university has a ridiculously successful hockey program, which makes sense given we’re in Minnesota. Hockey is practically a religion here.
I can hear them before I see them—the sharp crack of sticks hitting pucks and the shouted instructions from Coach Peterson.
My palms are sweating, which is ridiculous. I’m just dropping off information. I don’t even have to talk to most of them.
I definitely don’t have to talk tohim.
“You okay?” Luke asks quietly. “You look like you’re about to face a firing squad.”
“I’m fine.”
“You’re doing the thing where you clutch papers like they’re a shield.”
I look down. He’s right—I’m holding the flyers against my chest like defensive armor.
I force myself to lower them, to breathe normally and to remember that I’m a functional adult human who can handle a simple conversation.
The assistant coach’s office is right before the entrance to the rink. If I’m lucky, I can just—
“Valentine Wylie!”
I freeze. That’s Will Nakagawa’s voice, and there’s no escaping now.
Will skates over to the boards, his face breaking into a genuine smile.
He was my older brother Sasha’s teammate and his good mate. He’s always been kind to me, which somehow makes this worse. If everyone on the team were assholes, this would be easier.
“Hey, Will.” I manage what I hope is a normal smile. “How’s—”
“Is that Valentine Wylie actually venturing into the sports complex?” Another player glides over—Spencer, I think. “What’s the occasion? One of your rabbits take up hockey?”
“I wish,” I say, and I’m surprised to find I mean it. That would be adorable. “Actually, I’m here about a fundraiser. The animal rescue center needs to—”
“Oh, the petting zoo thing!” Spencer grins. “My girlfriend loves that shit. I mean, your place. She spent like an hour with your guinea pigs last week.”
“Technically they’re cavies, not—” I catch Luke’s look. “But yes. That place. We’re trying to organize some fundraising events this spring, and we were hoping some of the athletic teams might want to participate. Good publicity, that sort of thing.”
