Page 37 of Confessions of a Former Puck Bunny

“She said she admired me for how hard I worked to become an editor. Even though she called my paper little, and I’d argue it’s rather fat.”

As far as Mom’s jabs went, that wasn’t so bad. “The fattest,” I said, and Lindsay smiled, but there was still too much sadness in the curve. When she didn’t say anymore, I figured that was all she was going to give, and I didn’t want to trigger her flee response more than the event and my mother already had. “Ready to get out of here?”

“Unless you’re needed in there? I’d understand.”

I lowered my forehead to rest against hers. “I need to get out of here and be with you.”

“Ryder…” She exhaled a shaky breath.

“Let me guess. No stream crossing—see, scary good at reading you.”

She wrapped her arms around me in a hug, but before I could get a good grip in return, she stepped away.

Just like that, it felt like I’d lost her again.

I told myself it was for the best. It would certainly help me with my goal to focus on hockey and the big games we had coming up. Lindsay and I already had enough stacked against us, and playoffs would only add to it.

If only the hollow sensation spreading through my chest would go away, then maybe I could convince myself to believe it.

Chapter Twenty-One

Lindsay

Confession #12:I have no clue what Ryder’s talking about.

My math tutor told me he was short on time this week, but that I could meet him at the gym and he could multitask.

Maybehecould, but I sure as hell couldn’t. I started out okay. We exchanged friendly greetings, which now included a quick hug. It took me a few days of telling myself that it didn’t matter what his mom thought about me—that maybe I still looked like the puck bunny type, and maybe I used to even be one, but I wasn’t anymore. People were going to judge me, but the only one who’d lose out if I decided to let that keep me from seeing Ryder was me.

Plus, my math professor introduced yet another new concept, which we’d of course have a quiz on, and I desperately needed help.

Plus, plus, I really wanted to see Ryder. Craved it, to be honest.

Last night I left him a message, and after having a slight panic attack over thinking he was blowing me off, he texted me back, asking me to meet him during his morning workout session—which was at the butt-crack of dawn, an hour no person should be awake, much less pumping iron.

I’d shown him my assignment, and he started in on the machines while explaining the rules and concepts, not even needing to look at the book to know what I was talking about, which was kind of amazing.

As he spoke in that deep, tingle-inducing voice of his, I forced myself to focus on my textbook. I even managed two whole problems with very little input from him.

But then I asked him a question about functions, and midway through his explanation I stopped paying attention to the words. Instead, I noticed the way the veins in his arms popped out when he brought the handles of the pec fly machine together, the weight on the pulley system clanking when the weight slid back down. Then I was watching the muscles in his chest flex. My thoughts drifted to what he’d look like out on the ice, and that led to thinking about what he’d look like without his shirt on, those pecs he was working fully on display, and suffice it to say, the math concepts he’d been spouting off between grunting reps got lost somewhere in the hot swirls of lust and ovary implosions.

“Lindsay?” He sat up and wiped his forehead with the bottom of his shirt, and I caught a glimpse of drool-worthy ripped abs.

“Um, sorry.” I glanced down at my notebook, which had a smear of graphite that started asxto the third power before my pencil ran off the edge of the page, leaving a jagged line. “I got lost.”

“At which part?” He switched to the leg machine, adding more weight onto the sides.

The part where you started being too sexy.“I guess the beginning of this problem?”

He paused the movement that was causing the muscles in his thighs to flex and release, flex and release, and straightened. He gave me an inquisitive look that made me think I’d been busted checking him out. “Maybe we should take a break.”

“A break sounds good.” I set aside my textbook and notebook, happy to give up the pretense of doing math.

“Come ’ere.”

“Why?”

“Because I said so.” His voice was low and more commanding than normal. Which must be why I stepped toward him. I hesitated a foot away, and he whipped out his arm, caught my hand, and pulled me closer.

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