Page 25 of Puck to the Heart
Why was I even involved with this sad attempt?
I knew I needed to be more of a team player if I planned to run the lab when Dr. Hurst retired. Which, based on his age, should be soon, but one never knew with those things. And doing events like these would certainly look good on my resume. Again, those ideas of doing somethinggoodwith all my years of hard work floated behind my eyes, dreams dancing out of reach. If I were in charge of a lab, I could start my own program, do better than this half-assed attempt at drawing in STEM students to careers in industry.
A weird sensation spread through my body, a sort of prickling settling in the tips of my fingers. It was the cold, I told myself. Instincts weren’t scientific.Logic and reason, those are what I can count on. Except when I looked up, I found Dr. Hurst at the booth I set up and left for fifteen minutes, talking to Brad, clapping him on the shoulder like he’d done an amazing job.
Seething would get me nowhere, so I pushed between an art booth and the AAPI student association table to sneak back to my own section. I greeted Dr. Hurst, trying to subtly gauge if he thought Brad was the one who put in all the work for our booth.
“It sure is nice to see you two working together so well. Nothing like someone taking a little joke out of proportion to make a hostile work environment,” Dr. Hurst said, nodding approvingly as Brad stepped into my space again.
Hostile work environment? What the—he didnotmeanImade work hostile? After this blond-haired idiot who seemed more at home drinking on a college campus than in a lab with potentially volatile materials tried to kiss me in public?
“Maybe the two of you should spend more time together outside of work.” After dropping his bombshell, our boss said his goodbyes and wandered off, disappearing beyond an impromptu cornhole game.
“We should go out sometime!” Brad’s gaze slid over me, and I was grateful for the extra layers hiding my shape.
“I don’t like to go out with colleagues.” I looked away to keep my eyes from skewering him with a death glare as I spoke, looking instead at a local pet rescue. A playpen full of joyful puppies rolled over each other, chewing on ears and smacking tails in furry faces. All except one off to the side, snarling when another got too close. “Hard relate, buddy,” I muttered. Turning back to Brad, I said, “Let’s pack up. We’re out of almost everything.”
“We can go out now?” God, why wouldn’t hegive up? He’d been relentless since the hockey game, too often in my space or asking me out for a drink after work.Andhe kept “joking” about me not wanting to kiss him.
Brad seemed the sort of dude to date girls who wore actual diamonds, not girls like me with enamel earrings of DNA strands and helicase zippers.
And Brad certainly wasn’t my type either. Actually, I wasn’t sure I had a type, but images flooded my mind as I packed boxes back into the cart for Brad to take back to the lab. Someone tall, with black hair and blacker eyes, and muscular but not with muscles just for show.Strong.Strong enough to throw you against a wall and pin you there while they—oops—Idropped a box on Brad’s foot.
Only one person came to mind who might hoist me up against a wall.
And it was like I cast the image of him in my head onto the street becausethere he was.
It should beillegal to look like Ash Wilder.
A haircut shouldn’t make such a drastic difference, but maybe it was more than that.
Actually, no it was definitely more than a haircut. He’d shaved the longer scruff down to a more intentional five o’clock shadow with clean, defined edges, andholy shit, the sudden urge to trace his jaw to find out how rough it might be hit me like a—well like a large hockey player, I imagined. Even his clothes were different, more fitted, and less like stretched out comfy clothes he’d worn a million times.
As much as I appreciated OG Ash, Ash 2.0 left me reeling. I barely knew him well enough before he’d gotten a haircut to miss the old version, but seeing the new, sharper him knocked me off kilter.
Well, no, he’d always knocked me off kilter. Every time I saw the man, something about him put me on my ass, whether it was his cocky smile or saving me from myself or flying me across the country to see my father or the cocky smile again…
“Barnes!” He called out.
Shit, no avoiding him now. I didn’t want to avoid him; somehow, now, all of Ash felt inevitable. “Ash.” It came out as a croak.
Maybe I misread the signals, projecting something he didn’t reciprocate. Our only connection now was Polly, and his surprise at seeing me made me wonder if she was involved in this somehow. Again.
Determined not to let the awkwardness get to me, I remained stalwart in my decision not to be the first to break the silence, heading back toward the table to pack up the rest of my things.
Following me like an irritated shadow, Ash worked his jaw and rubbed the back of his neck, like he would’ve tugged on the strands but couldn’t with the new length. Clearly, he was as unsure how to proceed as I, but something more than awkward silence snarled between us.
The hulking, brooding man beside me distracted with his uncharacteristic moodiness, and I stepped off the sidewalk without looking. My foot skidded as I flailed for balance, but a hand wrapped around my upper arm, steadying me. “Thanks,” I grumbled.
Ash only scowled. I’d never seen him so surly, only cocky, even when fans surrounded him. I didn’t know what to make of this side of him. Did haircuts always come with personality changes?
A student from the culinary department, decked out in chef’s whites and black rubber clogs, held out a tray of bright red candied apples. Without thinking, I took one, needing something to do with my hands. Too bad I hate candied apples. Sweetness flooded my tongue as I bit into the vermillion sugar coating. My teeth stuck together as I chewed, but the tart crispness of the fruit set it off nicely.
Ash held out his hand, and on reflex, I placed the stick in his palm. The apple reappeared in front of my face with a massive bite taken out of the opposite side. I sputtered, “What the hell?”
Never mind the tiny,idioticpart of me who wanted to press my lips to where his mouth had been, imagining his teeth sinking into?—
The mischievous sparking in his eyes appeared for a moment but shuttered and died when Brad appeared out of nowhere, grabbing my hand and dragging me along with him toward the long line at the cocoa stand. He nearly pulled my arm out of the socket as he went.
