“Isn’t your sister five?” I ask.
“Yep,” she nods. Before she can explain how a kindergartner even knows about true crime, a line begins to form behind me. I wave goodbye and glance at my watch. I have some time before my lunch with Uncle Hudson, so I may as well start working my way through this packet.
I see an empty chair across the room, but someone snags it before I make my way across the room. There’s a table that looks available, so I head in that direction and dump my stuff onto one of the chairs.
And that’s when I notice the table isn’t vacant. There’s a familiar blue backpack on the far end of the table, and I look up just in time to see JT approach.
“Maybe I should call you Goldilocks instead of Cinderella,” he says, a smile gracing his features.
“Maybe,” I answer absently, but it’s not my fault I’m not focused. It’s the fitted green tee he’s wearing. And the wayhis ass looks in his low-slung grey sweats. This is my answer. The attraction is there. He’s not an asshole. And he’s clearly up for more, so what’s the harm in giving this friends-with-benefits thing the green light?
Nothing. That’s what I tell myself. And yes, I sound like Viv when I say it. And if I’m terrified that I’ll fall in love with the man in front of me, only to be left lost and disillusioned later, well…no one’s luck is that bad, right?
“You having a good day?” he asks.
“Yeah, actually. It’s been good so far. You?”
He smiles, and it accentuates the fine layer of scruff on his jaw. “Yep. Got a B on my stats test and I just finished up a presentation for tomorrow. I’ve got class in a bit, but I’m free for a while. You want to sit?”
I nod, lifting my packet. “I have thirty pages of math problems to solve, so yeah, I can sit and study.”
“Am I crazy or do you actually sound excited about thirty pages of math problems?”
“Math gets such a bad rap!” I grumble, setting my packet on the table. “It might be thirty pages, but I think there are only six problems in total. Besides, math is just a puzzle, really. And puzzles are fun, right?”
He laughs, pulling out a chair for me and moving his bag to an empty spot. I’m about to congratulate myself on being smooth and flirty and not freaking out.
So, naturally, that’s when I freak out.
But it’s not my fault. “Why is there a BU Hockey hoodie on your chair?” I ask, my feet glued to the ground.
He looks at me like I’m the crazy one. “Because it’s mine,” he says plainly.
“You’re a fan?” I ask, hoping that he’s just a fan of thrifting. I cannot handle another hockey freak in my life.
Instead of agreeing with me, he just laughs. “I play for the team, so yeah, I guess I kinda have to be a fan.”
His words don’t quite register at first. “You play for the team?Here?”
“Yeah…I’m the goalie.”
“Of the hockey team?” I ask. I’m sure girls fawn all over him when he tells them that. But I don’t. “Oh my god.” The words come out as a croak.
“What? Is that a bad thing?” he asks, but his words are playful, like there couldn’t be anything wrong with playing hockey at Bainbridge.
My fingers are clumsy as I yank at the zipper on my bag and shove my Calc packet into it. “I don’t date athletes. And I definitely don’t date hockey players. Not that we’re dating. I know that, but… of fucking course…”
Poor JT. I almost feel bad for the guy. He looks genuinely perplexed. “I am definitely missing something here. Did you used to date a hockey player? And he turned out to be an asshole? Did your uncle get run over by a Zamboni or something?”
My uncle.
I can’t answer him. All I can stammer out is, “I…I’ve got to go.”
My feet carry me down the stairs and I refuse to let myself look back. A wave of dizziness washes over me, and I wish I’d had more to eat today. The few sips of cocoa I had are sitting heavily in my stomach.
Determinedly, I make my way across campus, despite how dizzy and gross I feel. It’s like there’s a stone weighing me down and making me stumble. But it’s not a stone. It’s guilt. And frustration. And oh my god, why does he have to be a hockey player? It fucking figures… the one guy I was considering breaking my rules for is a guy who’s completely off-limits. A bad idea, scratch that — the worst idea.
CHAPTER 21
