I narrow my eyes. “You won’t.”
“True.” He grins, flashing me his perfect teeth. “Thanks, though, for not treating me like a lost cause.”
I pause, my fingers still curled around my bag strap. For a second, I don’t know what to say.
Because he isn’t a lost cause. Not even close.
I glance at him, squinting slightly. “Don’t make me regret it.”
His smile widens and he winks. “No promises. See you, Freckles.”
He turns around, tucking his hands in his pockets, and strolls out of the library.
I watch him go, my lips twitching into a small smile despite myself.
Austin Rhodes is a pain in the ass.
But damn, he’s good at making it hard to hate him.
9
AUSTIN
There are few things more humiliating than being benched.
Actually, scratch that. There’snothingworse than chasing loose pucks across the ice while my teammates fire off slap shots and chirp me like I’m their personal assistant.
“Rhodes!” Coach Hayes shouts. “You’re on cones!”
I look down at the stack of bright orange triangles. Sick. Cone duty. My favorite.
I skate over to the corner and start setting them out, resisting the urge to just launch one across the rink. Not worth the extra laps I’d probably get slapped with.
This is my life now. Skate around, set stuff up, get yelled at. Repeat.
It’s a cruel punishment. Like dangling a plate of wings in front of a starving man and telling him he can sniff them but not eat.
I’ve been playing hockey since I was six. I’ve broken bones for this sport. Bled on this ice. Missed vacations, parties, everything. And now I’m out because ofAnatomy. A class I didn’t want to take and still don’t understand.
“Move your ass, Rhodes,” Coach calls again.
I glance over my shoulder. “I am moving. This is premium ass movement.”
“Less sass, more hustle.”
I mutter under my breath and keep skating, setting up the rest of the cones while the guys start warming up. I try not to look at them, but it’s hard not to feel it. They’re flying through drills, calling out to each other, laughing. Meanwhile, I’m the team’s cone boy.
“You guys better be grateful,” I say under my breath. “I didn’t sign up to be team equipment manager.”
Logan skates past and taps the top of my helmet with his glove. “Lookin’ good, water boy.”
I shoot him a glare. “Blow me.”
“Tempting,” he calls over his shoulder with a grin before he skates off like the little shit he is.
Cole follows behind him, chewing gum, of course. “You missed a puck.”
“Thanks, sunshine.” I blow him a kiss. He doesn’t even blink. Figures. Cole’s got the emotional range of a brick wall. You could light the bench on fire and he’d just sit there.
