Page 12 of Pucking my Enemy Boss

There’s a certain something about her that makes my blood boil as well. She makes me uncomfortable in different ways.

I finish my shower and head back to my locker. The room is empty now, the only sound the faint hum of the rink outside. I dress quickly, my mind still whirling.

I’d better steer clear of Holly Bennett.

3

HOLLY

The scentof roasted beef fills the kitchen, a comforting aroma that contrasts sharply with the chaos of my life. I flip the meat, the sizzle satisfying.

“Fantastic!” My mom's voice fills the room from the laptop speaker, where she’s watching over my cooking. Both my parents are renowned chefs, and it’s still a running joke in the family how I didn’t inherit any of their skills.

Maybe because they weren’t ever around to teach me.

At least my mom had answered the call on their busy tour today, and she’d agreed to guide me through every step of making this.

"You're doing great, sweetheart. Don't forget the rosemary."

I nod, adding a sprig of rosemary to the pan. The kitchen, once a sterile, impersonal space, is beginning to feel like home. Or at least, a temporary home.

I glance at the clock. It's almost dinner time. I wonder if he'll even eat it. I mean, do professional athletes even eat home-cooked meals anymore?

I shake my head, trying to focus on the task at hand. I've spent the last hour in a food haze, my mind wandering asI chopped and stirred. The distraction has been welcome, a temporary escape from the chaos of my new life. Cooking is not my forte, but it’s something stimulating enough to keep me busy—and more importantly, I decided earlier that I need to find a way to placate my new housemate. After stumbling upon a kitchen schedule and noticing that roast beef is a regular meal in this house, I figured it might be my ticket to getting on his good side.

"So, how's Chicago treating you?" Mom asks, her voice breaking through my thoughts.

I force a smile. "It's okay. Different."

"Different how?" she presses.

I hesitate. How do I explain the whirlwind of emotions I've been experiencing?

"It's just ... different," I repeat, lamely.

Mom sighs. "You know, you can always go home."

I appreciate the offer, but I can't go back. My parents are not there. Gran is no longer there. I have no friends left in L.A., so there’s no reason for me to go back there. It’s easier to face this head-on.

"I’m fine here, Mom."

She's quiet for a moment. "I'm proud of you, sweetie. For trying something new."

I smile. It's the first time I've felt a sense of purpose since I moved here.

“How’s Europe?” I ask. “Still enjoying San Sebastian?”

“Oh, it’s wonderful!” Mom’s eyes light up. “San Sebastian is truly a food lover’s paradise. Your father and I are having the time of our lives. He’s actually out signing autographs for some fans right now.”

“Of course he is,” I mutter, a hint of sadness creeping into my voice. It’s always been like this—my parents off on some grand adventure while I’m left to figure things out on my own. But Ican’t blame them. They love what they do, and as long as they’re happy, that’s all that matters.

The timer dings, and I turn off the stove, my hands shaking slightly as I plate the roast beef. Just as I’m finishing, I hear the front door open. My heart skips a beat.

It's him. Footsteps sound across the hardwood floor and he’s in the kitchen before I know it.

“Is that your roommate?” Mom asks, her voice tinged with curiosity. “Say hi for me!”

I shush her quickly, turning to face him. He looks around, and I can practically see the disgust on his face. Great!Just what did I expect from a person like him?

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