Page 20 of College Hockey Bully

“You okay?” Cameron asks.

Blinking wildly, my focus zooms on him. “Yeah, why?”

“You’re wringing the shit out of that shirt. What did it ever do to you?” he jokes.

I glance down and my undershirt is almost mangled in my grip. I toss it beside me on the bench. “I’m good.”

“Don’t let this get your spirits down,” Coach is saying. “You played a damn good game and the best is yet to come. There’s absolutely nothing and no one strong enough to stand in our way. Don’t you ever forget that.”

“Right on, Coach!” Michael yells and the team cheers. I get to my feet as Coach walks out. He’s right about one thing: noone is going to stop me from making it to the finals. Unlike him, I’m not leaving anything up to chance. Whoever sent Scarlett, they’re in for a rude awakening.

Time to kick things up a notch.

Chapter 9

Scarlett

This can’t be fucking happening.

My fingers slide from the soft tire as I stand, frustration flooding me enough to make me want to cry. God knows I’m tired. Why the fuck can’t they stop picking on me?

A stray tear runs down my cheek and I swipe it away angrily. I should be reporting to Melissa in ten minutes, yet here I am on the other side of the campus, just done with a physiology practical, only to arrive at the stand to find my bike tires slashed in half. For a guy who parades this mature vibe, Aiden is sure acting juvenile.

After losing those two hours in my first week, I can’t afford to miss a day of work when I’m already dying to get done with this internship. Calling it a day, that’s not an option. This twenty-minute walk to the other side will be done in ten minutes, so help me God.

Sliding my other arm through the handle of my bag, I secure it on my back and start power walking down the corridor. A white sedan pulls up beside me a minute later. The driver’s window slides down and his Colgate-commercial smile greets me.

“Hey, Scar.”

I raise my brows at him and keep walking. Ryan Chandler has taken most of my classes over the last four years and has never said a word to me. Since when am I Scar?

“If you’re looking for someone to do that assignment, you’re barking up the wrong tree,” I huff. From what I overheard during his conversation with our lecturer, he’s at risk for failing the course if it’s not ready by the end of the week.

“Nah, I don’t need any help. I’ve got that in the bag,” he says breezily. “You seem in a hurry. I’m only wondering if you’d like a ride somewhere.”

“Why?” I ask suspiciously.

“I just told you; don’t you want to get to wherever you’re going?”

I pause for a beat. “Why are you offering me a ride? You’ve never once exchanged a word with me.”

Ryan scoffs softly. “How could I, when your face is always screwed like you’re ready to punch someone’s light out? I’m not sure if anyone has ever told you, but you’re not exactly approachable.”

I resume walking. “Yet, you’re approaching me now.”

“Because you’re sweating like hell in sixty-degree weather. Save your energy. Let me give you a ride.”

Pausing again, I contemplate. I actually am exhausted. Doing chores around the house before classes, cycling twenty minutes to Hempton then sitting through three long classes, that’s no small feat. Another hour of running around the sports department won’t be easy, either. I should take the offer and make my life easy for at least five minutes.

“Okay, fine,” I concede, moving around the other side and sliding into the leather seat. The car interior looks quite pristine, almost as if he bought it off the lot a few days ago. Not a speck of dirt anywhere.

Ryan tries to make small talk but gives up after a minute when I only respond with one-word answers. We travel in silence for another few minutes, until he takes a left turn instead of the expected right.

“I’m going to the sports department,” I remind him.

“I know,” he replies. “There’s a shortcut that will get us there faster.”

Shortcut? I’ve been attending Hempton for almost four years and I know all the shortcuts. Getting to the sports department has only one route. I twist in the seat, glaring at him. “What are you doing?”

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