Page 56 of Don't Puck the Wrong Brother

She stands, heading for the door. "I expect a full report on this third 'extended social interaction' when it happens."

"If it happens," I correct her.

"When," she insists, closing the door behind her.

Alone in my room, I fall back on my bed, staring at the ceiling. My phone buzzes again, and I can't help the immediate flutter in my stomach, thinking it's Sanderson again.

But it's not. It's Cade.

Can we talk?

My good mood evaporates, replaced by a tight knot of guilt and anxiety. I haven't thought about Cade all night, not once during the movie or the drive home. Not once while texting his brother. The realization makes me feel even worse.

I put the phone down without answering, suddenly exhausted. This is exactly why getting involved with Sanderson is a bad idea. It's messy and complicated and bound to hurt someone.

But as I get ready for bed, my mind keeps drifting back to the drive-in. To Sanderson's smile when I chose Jurassic Park. To the mint chocolate chip ice cream he so carefully preserved. To the way he didn't try to kiss me, didn't push for more than I was ready to give.

I fall asleep with dueling images in my head—Cade's text message and Sanderson's smile—and the uncomfortable knowledge that one makes me feel guilty while the other makes me feel…

Something I’ve never felt before.

This is so not going according to plan.

Chapter 16

"Sanderson, that's what I'm talking about!" Coach shouts as I complete a perfect no-look pass to Rodriguez, who buries it top shelf. "Do that in the conference finals, and we're golden!"

I circle back to position, unable to wipe the grin off my face. I've been on fire all practice—skating faster, hitting harder, seeing plays develop before they happen. The guys are noticing too, exchanging glances whenever I make another highlight-reel worthy move.

"Keep doing what you’re doing, but Cory is fucking lagging, isn’t he?" Miller says during a water break, bumping my shoulder.

"I’m just feeling good today," I reply, squirting water into my mouth and avoiding the shit-talk about Cory.

"It wouldn't have anything to do with a certain drive-in date, would it?" Peterson asks with a knowing smirk.

"Extended social interaction," I correct him, mimicking Hannah's serious tone. "And I plead the fifth."

"Well, keep it up," Miller says. "Coach hasn't yelled at you once today. It's freaking me out."

It's true. Usually, I'm the one getting chewed out for hotdogging or taking unnecessary risks. Today, though, everything I try is working. My body feels light, my mind clear and focused. I'm playing the best hockey of my season.

"Don't jinx it," I warn, but I can't stop grinning.

"Alright, break's over," Coach calls. "Let's run the power play."

We spend the next hour drilling plays until they're muscle memory, pushing through the burn in our legs and the sweat dripping into our eyes. By the time practice ends, I'm exhausted but exhilarated, riding the high of a perfect training session.

In the locker room, Coach pulls me aside. "Whatever's got you skating like that, bottle it," he says, a rare note of approval in his voice. "That's the Connolly I need for the finals."

"Yes, Coach," I say, trying to sound professional while mentally pumping my fist.

I check my phone and find a text from Hannah.

Just survived my Bio Ethics presentation. Pretty sure I nailed it.

I smile, typing back:Never doubted you. Celebration dinner tonight?

Three dots appear, then disappear, then appear again. Finally:Can't. Study group for midterms. Rain check?

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