Page 30 of Anatomy of a Player

“Anyway, I played in high school, too, and once I found out that there were scholarship opportunities, I filled out hundreds of applications and even wrote a bunch of stupid essays—unlike you, I’m not good at the written word, so I worried they’d never take me.”

“Well, while you were smashing guys on the ice, I was writing up fake news stories and digging for answers to hard-hitting questions like, Which of our neighbors is letting their dog crap on our yard and not cleaning it up? And the ever important, What’s really in the meat the school serves at lunch?”

I chuckled at that. “Let me guess. You had a glittery pink notebook.” Except her serious, can’t-take-my-job-lightly side had probably prevented that, now that I thought about it. “Strike that. I’m sure you were too serious for pink or glittery nonsense.”

“You got me,” she said. “Miss Serious Journalist at all times. You must’ve done okay at your essays, because you’re here now.”

“BC didn’t make me write an essay, and lucky for me, they looked at my hockey stats instead of my less-than-stellar grades.” My junior and senior years I’d actually tried in school, because that was when I’d made up my mind to find a way to go to college, whatever it took. But like now, I’d struggled to keep up with everything—back then, living at home had added more stress than the hours of practice—and I’d had to sit out two games thanks to failing grades.

Now history was trying to repeat itself, regardless of how hard I’d worked to deserve this opportunity, and despite the many miles I’d purposely put between home and myself.

“I’m starting to worry about my grades this semester,” she said, her words coming out at a reluctant pace, and with the tone to match. “The classes are so dang hard, and I wonder how I’m going to get through them and do my job. How do you keep up? With classes and hockey?”

I slowed for another light. The question dug at the thing I couldn’t stop worrying about, and since I usually opted to put on a front that I didn’t care, I wasn’t sure it was safe to trust this girl with the fact that I did. “I’m not sure that I do. Right now, the best I can do is try.”

“Do or do not, there is no try.” Whitney crinkled her cute little nose and then laughed. “Sorry, sometimes random movie quotes come to mind and—”

“Never apologize for a perfectly placedStar Warsquote.”

She laughed again, and I laughed, too. “I watched older movies with my daddy, and so many times when I quote them, people just give me these blank stares.”

“ButStar Warsis timeless—everyone knows that.”

“Unfortunately, not everyone does.”

“Preposterous!”

“I know!”

We laughed again, and I cursed the light for turning green, because I never wanted the drive to end.

Whitney scooted forward in her seat and pointed to the apartment complex on the right. “That’s my place, right over there.”

Somehow she’d sidetracked the conversation, moving my questions about her to hockey, and I’d forgotten I’d started this conversation in an attempt to do my own digging.

As soon as I pulled into the parking lot she put her hand on the door handle. “Thanks for the ride, I guess I’ll see you next hockey game.”

“Wait.”

She slowly turned to face me. “Look, Hudson, I really do appreciate the ride, and I enjoy chatting with you. I’m not going to say I’m not tempted to forget about my rules, but…what would it look like if I hooked up with a hockey player? Everyone would think I was only reporting on hockey to land guys, like, puck bunny, master level. Then no one on the team would take me seriously ever again.”

With her last rambling sentence released, she finally sucked in a breath of air, and then she crossed her arms.

“I admire your determination and dedication to your job, but I was just going to say that your keys slipped out of your pocket.” I reached over and picked up the metal key ring with…a tiny pink bejeweled shoe hanging from it. Why would a girl who only wore flats have a high-heeled charm? A very blingy one, too. Curiouser and curiouser. “I thought you might need thembeforethe next hockey game.”

An adorable blush crept across her cheeks, visible with the help of the apartment complex lights and the full moon, despite the pitch-black backdrop. “Oh. Yeah, I need those. Um, thanks.”

She reached for the keys, shaky palm up, and I dropped them inside. Then I curled her hand around them and brushed my thumb across her wrist. “You’re welcome. And if you do ever decide to break a few rules, you know where to find me.”

Chapter Nineteen

Whitney

Omigosh, omigosh, omigosh.A clashing mixture of irritation, embarrassment, and attraction coursed through my veins as I rushed up the stairs of my apartment complex. I’d gotten caught up in the conversation, and how much I laughed when I was with Hudson, and I just assumed he’d been about to try to make a move.

Actually, I doubted Hudson was the type totry—he’d make one, because while he might be “trying” to keep up his grades, I was sure when it came to hitting on girls, there was no try, and alotof doing.

Speaking of that, though…he’d pretty much admitted he’d been accepted to BC because of sports instead of grades. I wondered what his grades were like—what the entire hockey team’s were like—and if they’d earned them or if the professors rounded up.

---