Page 16 of The Pucking Player

But Jenna keeps scrolling, and my stomach sinks as her smirk fades.

“Uh-oh,” she mutters, her thumb pausing over an article.

“What?” I ask, already dreading the answer.

She holds up her phone, showing me a photo of Liam leaving a trendy SoHo restaurant, hand in hand with Olivia Carrington, the socialite-slash-fashion icon whose face is splashed across every tabloid in New York.

The headline reads:Liam O’Connor’s Latest Flame? Inside His Night Out with Olivia Carrington.

My chest tightens as Jenna scrolls through more headlines, each one worse than the last. Photos of Liam with Victoria’s Secret models at rooftop parties. Rumors of steamy hookups with actresses in the VIP sections of exclusive clubs.

“He’s got quite the reputation,” Jenna says, glancing over at me. “Your instinct to be cautious might be right.”

I force a smile, though it feels brittle. “I’m definitely staying away,” I say firmly, even as my stomach churns.

I stare at the lilies on the windowsill, their vibrantblooms almost mocking me, a stark contrast to the cold, sinking feeling in my chest. As Jenna and I scroll deeper into the rabbit hole of Liam’s love life, the initial excitement and curiosity that fluttered in my stomach when I saw the flowers gives way to something heavier.

Disappointment. Unease. Dread.

The man in these stories—the one dating models and actresses, leaving clubs in the early hours of the morning, flashing that trademark cocky grin for the cameras—feels so far removed from the Liam who kissed me breathless in a quiet hospital hallway. It’s like two different people.

But maybe thisisthe real Liam O’Connor—the playboy, the heartbreaker. Very likely I’d be just another notch on his already crowded bedpost. The thought makes my stomach churn, and a hot wave of embarrassment rises to my cheeks.

Jenna must sense my discomfort because she reaches over and squeezes my hand, her fingers warm and grounding. Her eyes, usually filled with humor, soften with understanding. “He’s dreamy, alright,” she says gently, “but I think you’re making the right call. He seems like…a lot.”

I nod, swallowing the lump in my throat and forcing a smile that doesn’t quite reach my eyes. “You’re right,” I say, though the words taste bitter. “I’m not interested in being someone’s next conquest. I’ve got bigger things to focus on right now.”

“Exactly,” Jenna agrees, sliding her phone onto the table with finality. “For your first time, you deserve better than some player with a reputation for breaking hearts.”

I scoff and whip a stuffed bear—Jenna’s Christmas gift from her boyfriend Marc—straight at her face.

She ducks, laughing, and flings a throw pillow in retaliation.

Before long, the pillow fight spirals into full-blownchaos, both of us laughing so hard tears spring to our eyes. It’s childish, ridiculous, and exactly what I need to take my mind off Liam O’Connor.

When the impromptu battle finally ends, we’re sprawled out on the floor, catching our breath and giggling like middle schoolers. Jenna tosses the bear back onto the sofa, then glances at me with a grin. “Feel better?”

I nod, brushing loose strands of hair from my face. “Yeah. Thanks.”

With the tension broken, we steer the conversation toward safer topics—namely, the looming immunology paper. We spend the next few hours debating research topics, sketching out outlines, and procrastinating more than we should.

By the time the afternoon starts to fade, I glance at the clock and realize it’s time for me to head to Tarrytown for our weekly family dinner.

“I think I’m done for the day,” I say, pushing my laptop and notes aside with a satisfied sigh. “My parents are expecting me soon, and if I’m late, my mom will never let me hear the end of it.”

Jenna stretches her arms above her head, stifling a yawn. “Same. Marc’s picking me up in about an hour. We’re heading to his friend’s place for pizza and a movie.”

I head to my room to change, swapping my leggings and sweatshirt for my coziest sweater and a pair of well-worn jeans. Once I’m bundled up in my thickest coat, mittens, and a scarf that practically swallows my face, I grab my keys and bag.

“See you later, Jenna,” I call as I head out the door.

The sharp January air hits me like a slap, my breath escaping in a silver cloud as I step outside. The sun hangs low on the horizon, casting a golden glow over the quietcampus. Snow clings stubbornly to patches of grass, sparkling in the fading light.

I huddle deeper into my coat, pulling my scarf higher as I make my way to the parking lot. The frigid fingers of winter slip beneath my layers, sending an involuntary shiver down my spine.

All I can think about is reaching my car and cranking the heater to full blast.

As I approach the rows of parked cars, a tall figure leaning casually against a sleek black car catches my eye.

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