Page 23 of The Kiss Class

For the third time in the last twenty-four hours, I’m desperate to understand what’s going on. Most importantly, why are there two of the women I kissed last night? Yet, I can hardly believe that either one of them is her.

The doughnut is poisonous. Or I got hit in the head with a puck, am in a coma, and this is a strange hallucination. I got it! This is part of the initiation. Yeah, that’s it. The guys are messing with me.

Then, a vague memory slams into my mind. One of these women is the same one who gave her number to Nolan. Girl of My Dreams wroteGoodnight, Nolan. If that’s her, then why was she texting me?

I’ve bypassed confusion. I stagger backward, the doughnut limp in my hand.

Like a shark spotting prey in the water, Badaszek whips his head in my direction. His glare is unmistakable. “Arsenault, my office. Now.”

As if sensing danger, the two women scurry down the hall, each of them casting a concerned look over their shoulders, but it’s not directed at me.

I’ve been skating since I learned how to walk, but right now, it’s the latter I’ve forgotten how to do. From this vantage point above the arena, I spot the guys gathering on the ice for practice as Vohn gives instructions. I should be down there.

What gives? What’s going on?

Badaszek disappears into his office, and I follow, wishing there was somewhere I could stash the doughnut. Despite how eager I was to eat it before, my stomach is a rock in a pit of tar.

Coach occupies his commander’s chair, and a figure fills one of the two leather guest seats opposite his desk.

“Sit,” he orders.

I obey, lowering slowly, but then I remember this is some kind of set up so I relax, crossing my ankle over my knee. Glancing up, I nearly fall out of the chair even though I’m seated.

I am seeing triple. There are three of them. The woman I kissed last night doubled. And why is she in my coach’s office?

“If this is about last night. I didn’t mean?—”

“Then you acknowledge that you’ve met,” Badaszek says.

Her gaze slides to me and searches my eyes, drawing mineup, down, and all around as the kiss comes back in full and inappropriate detail while seated across from Coach.

Never mind endurance drills, my pulse sets a new record.

“Yeah, of course,” she says, voice faltering.

He eyes the fried pastry with red, green, and white sprinkles in my hand, and says, “Badaszek, it was thoughtful of you to bring doughnuts for everyone this morning, but that’s not going to change what happened.”

“I always bring doughnuts when I visit. It’s my thing, Dadaszek,” she says in a sweetly familiar voice.

I press my head into my hands and rub my face. When I straighten, I open and close my mouth. “I don’t understand. Why’d you call her—?” I go abruptly silent as everything slides into focus. We’ll go with the puck-to-the-head theory because I’ve been awfully slow picking up on what’s going on.

Coach calls everyone by their last name. Apparently, including his daughters, who are triplets. Ted mentioned two are married—McMann and Bannanna, leaving Badaszek with her maiden name. This can only mean one thing.

I kissed my coach’s daughter last night.

This could result in suspension from the team. I can’t be certain about my contract, but it’s an unspoken rule. The coach’s daughter is off-limits. I tell myself it was a one-off thing. Never going to happen again. I’d never seen her until last night. Probably won’t ever see her again.

My eyes are dry from not blinking.

Then they land on Badaszek—the woman, not my coach. I regret that I kissed her, but only because I did so before knowing her name. I can’t very well think of her as having the same one as the guy who puts me through my paces on the ice.

Her eyes catch mine. A lingering moment when I hold my breath passes between us. When she breaks contact, she stares at her hands. My stomach churns, but then I remember herlips, filled with promise. The way they curved against mine and the rush that resulted.

“What do you have to say for yourself, Arsenault?” Coach barks.

Recalling the lie that spewed out of my mouth when I sat in this very chair yesterday, I think fast. Grab a shovel and dig my hole deeper. Who knows, maybe I’ll find treasure down here.

“Coach, this is who I was telling you about. My, um, unrequited love.”

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