Page 26 of Confessions of a Former Puck Bunny

“Yes,” I said.

“Yes to what?”

To everything. To whatever you want.To you.“Yes, Iamhaving some trouble.”

Chapter Fourteen

Ryder

I’d almost walked away—simply aborted the plan to help in the math lab even though I hadn’t been able to earlier this week. I’d been too busy pushing my body to the brink with punishing workouts geared toward getting this girl out of my head.

I’d wondered if Lindsay would come here after our fallout, and it was another reason I’d stayed away. For some reason, I thought a few extra days without seeing her would help dull my attraction, but the sight of her sent my blood pumping. Her defeated posture deepened the conflicted sensation tugging at my chest, and I couldn’t just leave her like that.

Sitting next to her after losing all the progress we’d made was a form of masochism, and apparently I was into that. That made me smile, because Lindsay had accused me of being a math masochist before.

“Let’s see what we can do about that.” I placed a palm on her open textbook and spun it to face me.

“You don’t have to.”

“Is this my world?”

Her forehead crinkled. “Math? I’m pretty sure we already know the answer to that.”

“Okay. Let me rephrase. Is this myhockeyworld?”

She swallowed, her eyes fixed on me. “No.”

“Then while I don’t have to help, I can, and I’m going to. We just won’t cross the streams. No worries.”

Since looking at her made my chest feel raw, I focused on the math. Facts that made sense. Answers that were right or wrong. I’d done so well this past week, training until I could hardly lift my arms and increasing my game on the ice. Coach even noticed, and the guy didn’t compliment lightly.

If I were smart, I’d let Lindsay take her chances with the other two tutors in the lab. Only I knew she’d never pass her class that way, and while things might not’ve gone the way I originally hoped, I didn’t want her to fail her class. Something told me she took failure about as well as she took hockey players.

In spite of sticking strictly to math, I became acutely aware of each time she shifted. Of her biting her lip. And okay, when she bent over her paper, I occasionally got a glimpse of cleavage.

We finished going through her assignment and she had the correct answers to all the problems—the last of which she solved without any help from me.

Her eyes flickered from her notebook to me, and just as I was about to take my leave so she could see I would stick to the homework-only arrangement, she said, “If I tell you something, do you promise not to tell math?”

I dragged my finger diagonally across my chest, one way and then the other, crossing my heart.

“Cross your heart and hope to die?” she asked, a huge smile spreading across her face. “Are you in junior high?”

“Obviously.”

“That explains the squeaky voice.”

I lunged for her, and she was the one who squealed, earning us dirty looks from the dynamic math duo at the front.

I leaned in closer and my hand moved to her knee like it couldn’t help itself. Or maybe it was just lacking willpower. That was probably it. “What don’t you want me to tell math?”

“That maybe, just maybe, it’s not as big of a jerk-face as I thought.”

“Jerk-face? Now who’s in junior high?”

She laughed, the light, happy sound hitting me right in the chest. Then she slapped a hand over her mouth as more dirty looks were aimed our way.

“Come on. Before you get us kicked out.” I extended my hand without thinking, but having it out there, sure she wouldn’t take it, made a hollow sensation go through my gut. Here I was setting myself up to fall on my face again, and I didn’t think my pride could take it.

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