Page 78 of Don't Puck the Wrong Brother

My heart sinks. So much for keeping things on the downlow. I should have known better—nothing stays secret on this campus for long.

Hannah:It's not what you think.

Finley:So, two brothers WEREN'T fighting over you in the quad days ago?? Days, Hannah!! You’ve been keeping this classified information to yourself? We’re your friends!

My face burns. Shit, she’s right. I’ve been too caught up in being judged that I didn’t let anyone in.

Greta:Spill. The. Tea. NOW.

I hesitate, fingers hovering over the keyboard. What can I possibly say? The truth is too complicated, too personal to share in a group chat. But these are my friends. They deserve some version of the truth.

Hannah:It's true. I accidentally slept with Sanderson because I thought it was Cade. Turns out Cade was hooking up with Anna. It’s been a huge mess.

Finley:OMG IT'S TRUE, and you’ve been keeping all of this to yourself!? Why wouldn’t you come to us!?

Greta:Holy shit Hannah! That’s insane. Sanderson is hot! Get it girl!

Lennox:WHAT DID I TELL YOU GUYS. Our little hermit is coming out of her shell!

I groan, burying my face in my pillow again, but I can't help the smile that forms. Despite the teasing, I know my friends support me. Their excitement, while embarrassing, comes from a place of love.

Hannah:I didn’t know how to handle it. (crying emoji)

Greta:I expect FULL details at breakfast tomorrow when we all meet up for our little coffee date.

Finley:Yes! Coffee, match, 9am, you better be there!

Lennox:And maybe fix your shirt before you come.

Hannah:Oh my god.

Lennox:We’re excited!

Greta:Yeah, dating a hockey player is huge! Like where do those guys even hang out?

Finley:Yeah, where do I find one?

I blush, regretting not telling them sooner. I can’t believe the gossip is still spreading around after all these days. But I know my closest friends are not interested in campus drama.

I set my phone aside, pull my textbook back onto my lap, and try to focus on Bio Ethics. But my mind keeps drifting to Sanderson—to the feel of his hands on my skin, the taste of his lips.

I want to see him.

Chapter 22

I aim for the puck and fucking miss it, watching it sail with Peterson’s stick instead.

I haven’t stopped thinking about Hannah. And right now is a bad time to pop a semi. I force myself to think about Coach's disappointed face, the smell of the locker room after a long road trip, anything to get my focus back where it belongs—on the ice, not on Hannah Porter's body.

I manage to stay present for the rest of practice, even netting two goals in our scrimmage that earn reluctant praise from Coach. The whistle finally blows, and we file off the ice, bodies aching but spirits high. Conference finals are in ten days, and despite some rough patches, we're ready.

In the locker room, the usual post-practice chaos reigns—guys stripping off gear, the hiss of showers, pungent deodorant spray battling with the ever-present stench of hockey equipment. Home sweet home.

"So," Miller says, dropping onto the bench beside me as I unlace my skates. "I hear you've been busy since your fight. Something about a certain brunette we're not supposed to mention?"

I glance up to find half the team suddenly interested in our conversation, their movements slowing as they pretend not to eavesdrop.

"Subtle, Miller. Real subtle."

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