Page 51 of Confessions of a Former Puck Bunny

“The only rule is no close shot,” Daniel said. “Sure, welts are hilarious, but some of us need to play hockey tomorrow.” I had a feeling Coach would kill us if he knew we were running around risking injuries on a game of paintball a week before the regional semifinals.

“I don’t need to be on the ice tomorrow.” Lindsay bumped her shoulder into me.

“Are you saying that you’re ready to take me on?”

“I’m saying that for big bad hockey players, you guys sure have a lot of rules.”

My retort died on my lips when Daniel called go, and chaos ensued. Bullets flew. Paint exploded. Lindsay aimed her gun right at my chest. I dodged, but she was too fast.

I rolled and fired back at her, aiming for more grazing shots than full on. After a few minutes, though, I could hardly tell which direction she was in, where the bullets were coming from, and seeing out of my goggles became next to impossible. Through one tiny sliver, I fired at anything that moved.

Finally, the only sound that filled the air was theclick, click, clickof empty guns.

One by one, we removed our goggles. Everyone’s eyes and toothy grins glowed against the colors splattered across their skin. I scanned the crowd, trying to find Lindsay.

There’s the sexy smile I’d know anywhere.Paint dripped from her ponytail, and smears of color covered every inch of her skin, save the few inches that’d been protected by the goggles.

We put away the weapons and gear, and chatted as we made our way back to the parking lot.

Lindsay talked animatedly with the rest of the girls, laughing as they recapped our battle. How could she not see that she fit right in? I hoped this meant she’d be at the rest of the games, because knowing she was in the crowd helped me play better, whether or not my dad thought so.

Everyone thanked Daniel for setting things up and we made our good-byes. When I reached for Lindsay, she slid her hand in mine, and all was right with the world.

I walked her to the passenger side of my car and opened the door for her.

“I’m going to get your seat dirty,” she said.

“I’m not worried. Of course, if you want to strip…” I added an eyebrow waggle.

She rolled her eyes, but I got a heart-stopping grin out of it, and when she brushed past me, she kissed my cheek.

As soon as we were both in my car, I said, “My place? You made dinner for me, so I think it’s only fair that I do the cooking tonight.”

“Well, I’d hate to be unfair.” She leaned back against the seat. “But you can cook, right? I’d also hate to eat food that shouldn’t be consumed.”

“I guess you’ll just have to see for yourself.”

During the drive, we kept mostly to light topics, holding hands and letting the radio fill any silences. A calm settled over me, and things seemed so easy—almost too easy, and I wasn’t sure why there was this whispering in the back of my brain that warned me not to get too comfortable.

Probably because this was only temporary. The thought made my chest constrict, even though it was way too early to be thinking like that. We had a couple of months left. One of which I’d be so busy with playoffs madness that seeing her would be next to impossible.

My roommates somehow work it out.

Of course, none of their girlfriends were about to graduate and leave them behind.

Just enjoy it. You don’t need all the answers right now.

I tried to shake it off, but the borrowed time sensation still lingered in the back of my mind as I walked Lindsay into our place.

My stomach growled the instant the kitchen came into view, so even though we were both paint covered, I decided we’d start with food. I opened the fridge door and peered inside, hoping for ingredients to something I knew how to make to magically appear. “Standard fare around here is toaster waffles or microwave burritos, but I do know how to cook eggs and bacon.”

“I love breakfast for dinner.” Lindsay came over and peeked into the fridge with me. “Looks like you have milk. How about flour and sugar? I can make pancakes.”

“Doubtful. But Whitney and Megan occasionally leave groceries behind, so we might have pancake mix somewhere around here.” I opened cupboards until I found the Bisquick. “Will this work?”

“Perfect.” She took the box from me and searched shelves until she found a bowl. I loved how she simply dove in, no tiptoeing around or being too cautious. She was definitely the grab-the-bull-by-the-horns type.

We moved around the kitchen, occasionally bumping into each other—I might’ve done it on purpose a few times. It made her laugh and gave me the excuse to grip her hips to steady her.

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