Page 28 of The Kiss Class

That’s it. My pride and my father’s Yeti Ice Monster warnings aside, I’m tracking down Pierre and he’s going to teach me to flirt and kiss. That shouldn’t be hard since I have to go to the arena to sketch for Professor Fujiyama’s assignment . . . and now an important study of my own.

CHAPTER SIX

When Badaszek’sdaughter left the office earlier, he gave me an earful about honor and respect.

I was raised right, so I know all that. But I’ll admit that I’ve let things in my reputation get a little out of hand.

However, I wasn’t lying when I said Cara was pretty, smart, or funny. And I’m keeping the promises I made.

Coach has no problem working me out hard and putting me through my paces with forecheck drills, edgework, and the most mind-numbing puck-scooping reps ever.

I was already on thin ice from yesterday when Coach told me to clean up my act. It’s a small miracle that I’m laced up and out here.

We seamlessly sold the story of how I’m in love with her and how she’s busy studying to become a lawyer. As I gazed into Cara’s big hazel eyes, I saw a flicker. For a moment, it felt true.

But what bothered me most about what Coach Badaszek said is that he made the right choice in not making meSanta—Claus since he calls everyone, even the jolly man in the red suit, by their last name. Even his daughter, who I learned is Cara.

Cara. Cara Badaszek.

It’s a pretty name for a pretty woman. I give my head a shake, and it rattles in my helmet.

Sure, yesterday, I wouldn’t have objected to some cute female fans sitting on my lap and telling me what they want for Christmas. Today, there’s only one thing, er, person, on my wish list. But that’s the worst idea ever, and I’ve had plenty of those over the years.

There was the bulk Twizzler incident. The rental car race. The jacuzzi and Jell-o.

Quick Hands, aka Lemon, circles, ripping the puck from my control and passing it to Redd.

Vohn bellows my name, and it’s like an avalanche rushes toward me. Not because I biffed the shot. Rather, what not being good enough to play Santa says about my character.

Is sub-Santa who I want to be? I rock back in my skates as my gaze drifts beyond the glass to a figure sitting in the VIP box.

I drag in a breath.

What is Cara doing back here?

When I miss a slot pass, the guys boo. Vohn orders me to do a dozen Dom-Doms. It sounds an awful lot likeDumb Dumb, but it stands forDominate or Dominoand is a pushup punishment for being an idiot. Yes, in skates and gloves. Yep, also on the ice. You eitherdominate the exercise or you fall like adomino. When I’m done, he’s not satisfied and has me do a few laps.

When I whiz past Cara, she’s gazing at a notepad, pencil scratching across the paper. I do another lap. This time, with her head tilted slightly, her teeth sink into her lip as she studies whatever is on the paper. She’d be in the perfect position for akiss if I just lifted her chin ever so slightly . . . and weren’t being made an example for being distracted and dumb on the other side of the boards.

After the visit to Badaszek’s office, I don’t imagine she’ll want a replay of last night. But I wouldn’t mind. Not at all.

Kissing Cara gave me a head rush unlike anything I’ve ever experienced. We won’t discuss my past because, as far as I’m concerned, I’d like to erase it from the record. Nothing and no one compares. Not even a close second. If kissing can be like that, I’ll be kiss-less forevermore unless she gives me another chance.

Badaszek did. But I can’t imagine Cara will, given the comment about how things won’t work between us. What if I want to be boyfriend material?

I haven’t had that desire since I lived the farm boy life up north and didn’t know any different. Then I took on the role of Prince Charming and never stopped playing it, but the script feels old and tired—and not because I’m drenched with sweat under my uniform. I don’t think it fits anymore—the part as Prince Charming, not the uniform.

No one is taking away my cereal milk or my jersey!

As I slide by a third time, fully saturated with sweat, and Cara doesn’t so much as look up at me, I realize I’m being ridiculous. High on my own supply. It’s time for me to return to solid ground and forget about kissing Cara under the Merry Kiss Me arch in town.

New plan. I’m going cold turkey on women. But I could go for some of that turkey-cranberry salad Nat makes for the team. It’s like Christmas dinner, sandwich style.

That’s my singular focus after Vohn reams me out. I shower, change into street clothes, and head to the team galley.

I check to see if there are any more messages from My Dream Girl because maybe we could meet. As friends. Sheseems fun and not single-mindedly clingy like the puck bunnies. Maybe she could help me sort fantasy from reality.

Perhaps I should petition Coach Badaszek and request that they be denied access to the team. That might help my situation and prove that I’m Claus-worthy.

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