Page 36 of Puck Block

“Taytum Elizabeth.”

My head whips toward the familiar smoothness of Ford’s voice, and my pulse quickens.

What is he doing here?

His one eyebrow is raised beneath the hood of his Bexley U hoodie from the front row, and his jaw tenses the second he knows I see him.

“Excuse me, do I know you?” I ask, acting confused.

I put my back to Ford and slowly make my way over to Claire, pretending he isn’t there. She laughs under her breath when I pretend to engage in a full-on conversation with her, but I feel his glare against the back of my head like he’s forcefully tugging on my hair.

Claire’s eyes widened. “He’s climbing on stage.”

“He better not be,” I seethe.

“Are you forgetting something?” His breath is warm against the back of my neck, and all it would take is one step back, and I’d likely run into his chest.

I peer behind my shoulder. “The stage is for dancers only.”

Ford grins mischievously, and I spin around quickly to put my hands on his arms. “That was not an invitation for you to start showing off your dance skills.”

“Afraid I’ll be better than you?” he asks, lowering his voice.

I sigh. “What are you doing here? Professor Petit is going to scold you in a few seconds if you don’t get off this stage.”

She won’t, because she loves Ford. But I threaten it anyway.

Ford unpeels my fingers from his arms and crosses them against his chest. “Your meter went off.”

Yeah, I know.There is a perfectly valid reason as to why I’m not rushing off to inject myself, but that isn’t something he needs to be privy to.

“I know,” I say.

His eyebrows crawl to his hairline. “Well?”

I fumble with my explanation. “I was just practicing one more–”

He cuts me off. “Your arabesques are amazing. You don’t need to practice them or prove yourself to anyone on this stage.Now go check your sugar level and do what you’re supposed to do.”

My lips clamp shut. I sigh with frustration and attempt to irritate him. “You may be the only hockey player that knows what an arabesque is.”

It doesn’t work. He steps closer to me. “And you may be the only female at Bexley U that doesn’t know how to get a date.”

I gasp. A smirk slowly curves onto his face, and I’m pretty sure every ballet dancer in our vicinity is fanning themselves at the sight of it. I go to smack him lightly, but he catches my sore wrist in his grip and holds it steady.

“Don’t you worry,” he says through a smile. “I’ve got a plan. I said I’d teach you how to date, and I’m sticking to my word.”

“A plan?”Great.“Every single time you’ve ever said you’ve had a plan, it ended badly.”

Ford doesn’t let go of my wrist. “That’s not true. Give me one example.”

I put a finger up with the first one that comes to mind. “The time you said you had a plan to replace my dad’s tequila that we drank, and you put water in it, which turned to ice…”

Ford’s lips flatten. “How was I supposed to know that liquor didn’t freeze? I was twelve.”

A laugh bubbles in my throat, but I hold it in.

“Plus, I distinctly remember Emory and I taking the fall for it so you wouldn’t get in trouble.”

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