Page 1 of All Your Pucking Secrets

1

ECHO

The moment my friend Cassie utters the word “hockey player,” I mentally shut down. I watch her lips move as she, Anita, and Ryan exchange gossip, but I don’t hear a thing they say.

“Echo?” Cassie nudges me with her elbow. “Are you even listening?”

“Of course,” I reply automatically. “Hot jock. Hockey. Salacious details.”

“Uh-huh.” She doesn’t look impressed.

“Leave her alone,” Ryan says. “You know she doesn’t care about sports. Or guys.”

I hide my wince. It isn’t that I don’t care about those things; more like hockey has some terrible associations for me. And as for overly handsome hockey players…well, I’ve had enough of those assholes to last a lifetime.

“But she cares about me.” Cassie pouts. “Don’t you, sweetie?”

“I do,” I say. “Sorry. I’ll try harder to listen.”

Ryan leans back in his stool at the coffee bar and meets my eyes, his expression concerned. I force a smile in response. I’ve never told any of my friends why I don’t share their enthusiasm for jocks, but somehow, Ryan has always seemed to understand that it’s more than just a personal preference.

“Good.” Cassie opens her mouth to resume her story, but a waiter interrupts her.

“Oat milk flat white?” he asks.

Ryan accepts the drink.

“Skinny caramel mocha?”

I take it, then empty a sachet of sugar into the coffee while the waiter delivers the rest of the drinks. I stir and scoop up a spoonful of foam. If you ask me, frothy coffee is ten times better than any muscle-bound hockey player ever could be.

I glance across the counter toward the entrance, and everything inside me freezes. My stomach tightens, and I struggle to draw in a breath.

There, leaning against the column beside the sliding door, is the man primarily responsible for my aversion to hockey players.

Tyler Kinsey.

His eyes meet mine, the pale blue so intense I can barely stand to hold his gaze. Meanwhile, my heart hammers wildly against the inside of my ribcage, trying to break free.

What the hell is he doing in a coffee shop in Newbury, Oregon? He should be at a big-name college with all his rich friends. Not slumming it with us.

I glare so he won’t get any ideas about coming over here.

“I told you,” Cassie murmurs. “I know hockey players aren’t your type, but even you have to admit he’s hot.”

“Wait, what?” I tear my gaze away from his and turn to face my friend.

She looks at me like I’m crazy. “The transfer student. Tyler. Totally gorgeous.”

My eyes fly back to him, then skitter away as I realize he’s still staring at me. Cassie is right. He looks incredible. But then, he always did. He’s like one of those poisonous butterflies: so pretty that you can’t tell how lethal he is until it’s too late.

“Um…” I try to summon a response, but my heart is beating harder and harder, and it’s all I can do to hear anything outside my own pulse.

My throat constricts and it feels as though I’m breathing through a thick layer of fabric, my lungs laboring with the effort.

“Whoa.” Ryan’s hand lands on my back, and he pushes gently, guiding my head downward, toward the bar. I rest my forehead on the wooden surface and count as I inhale.

One, two, three, four.

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