Overtime: St. Cloud Hockey Series, page 15
Nodding, I grab her hand and straighten back up. “I’m not coming back tonight after practice.”
“Good. Go resume your life.” Chuckling, she bundles up into her cardigan. “Then I’ll go back to cooking normal amounts of food, no?”
The sensitive little prick in me is still very much awake, and it takes issue. As if Mom had no right to get used to me being out of the house.
“Chao,” I say, rounding the car and getting into the driver’s seat.
Mom doesn’t take my curt farewell as a big deal. She waves at me and heads back into the house. I hear her muffled voice calling out to Olivia.
I rub my eyes and run my hands up and down my face, wishing it was enough to wash away this embarrassing sentimental loop I’m trapped in. I’ll drop Liv off at school, and that’ll be the end of this episode. And then I have one more to close before I go back to my usual self. Before I can fully focus on hockey and nothing else.
The passenger door opens, and I drop my hands to turn on the vehicle while my little sister buckles up. I do the same and set us in motion.
The radio is off, and neither of us changes its status. We don’t fill the silence with our voices either. Mom’s hopes will be crushed when she realizes two people can’t make up if neither of them thinks they were wrong. Because I sure as hell wasn’t wrong in freaking out. And Liv has said a million times that it was an accident. Which I believe, because she’s the one who stands to suffer the most from deadly food allergies. But it still doesn’t satisfy me.
From the corner of my eye, I see her fold her arms and fix her attention out her window.
“You can’t control everything and everyone around you, Aran. Sometimes things you don’t want will happen, and there’s nothing you can do about it.”
The first words to come out of my sister’s mouth that are directed at me stab into my core and make it bleed.
I tighten my hands on the steering wheel. “But sometimes I can.”
“Yeah, this isn’t one of those times. You can’t stop me from getting hurt. And you also can’t go feral if I do.”
I frown. “Is this because I scared Brooklyn off a bit?”
“A bit?” She snorts. “He’s nearly as big as you and plays defense, but I’ve never seen him as scared as he was when you squared up to him.”
“I would’ve killed him if it’d been his fault,” I mumble as I pull into the high school parking lot.
“And that’s precisely the problem I’m trying to illustrate, you Neanderthal.” She unbuckles her seat belt and gives me my own patented deadpan stare. “Would it kill you to be more sensitive sometimes?”
Yes.
Yes, it freaking would. That’s what got me into this mess in the first place. If I hadn’t acted like a sensitive little shit during the game, I might’ve kept my head screwed on right after.
“I’m your older brother. My job is to keep you safe, not to paint your toenails.”
Huffing, she rolls her eyes. “Te odio.”
“Me too. Don’t forget your scarf.”
She slams the door shut with shocking strength and flips me the bird, but then she winds her scarf around her neck. What a brat. My lips curve.
I switch on the radio and get back on the road. I have a half hour to drive around town and get to the St. Cloud library, where Strawberry will be waiting for me to start the tutoring session. The one that will be our last.
The smile drops away from my face. Instead of taking a right turn where I should, I drive straight down the longest path back to college.
At a red light, I focus away from the road for a second and find my old elementary school on the right. My pulse spikes at the onslaught of memories of that night. My hands on her waist. Her face buried in my chest. Her small hand grabbing mine for dear life. The smile on her face when she finally managed to skate a stretch on her own. Her arms around me after she almost fell.
“Ah, shit.”
At the first chance, I do a U-turn and take the short way back to school. I need to nip this in the bud. The faster I get to the library, the faster I can tell her I don’t need her to tutor me anymore. Not like a coward, like I almost did over the weekend by simply canceling the service online. But head-on. Just like I’ve done with every imminent breakup.
Except this is not a breakup. And we’ll still see each other. Just less.
Ryan can teach Maddie all about hockey. It’ll be easier that way, since they live together. I’ll see her occasionally coming in and out of our apartments. Maybe at O’Malley’s. Even less at school. English and accounting are a world apart on campus. It’ll be fine.
The last three words repeat in my head as I cross town. I park near the library entrance and grab my backpack from the back seat. I tie my black scarf close to the base of my neck and take a step forward.
“It’ll be fine, jerk. Why are you hesitating?”
Of course, no one answers my question. Not even my own brain.
I force myself to move ahead. I take a bracing breath as I push the heavy entrance door open. I flash my student ID at the scanner and walk past the information desk. Massive rows of bookcases occupy about a third of the ground floor. I cut through the middle of the long tables by the center and pivot to the stairs, taking two or three steps at a time. My heart gallops, but the little effort isn’t enough to justify it.
I’m low-key freaking out. Once I get to the farthest tables on the top floor, I’ll have to—
I spot her right away. She sits in the corner by the massive window. Sunlight from the clear morning streams over her, making her hair glow red. Her face is set in a grumpy expression as she furiously taps on her keyboard, and like magic, it makes the corner of my lips tip upward.
Tension leaves my body, even though my heart is still racing against itself.
Then, as if she senses me, Strawberry’s eyes tear away from her computer and skewer me. That’s how it feels when a smile blooms across her face.
My resolve wanes with every step that brings me closer to her. I was wound up like a coil when I was farther from her. Am I going to transform into an angry beast after I put a firm, permanent distance between us?
And then what’s going to happen to my game? Am I really going to concentrate better if I’m always this worked up?
“Aran! I’m so glad you came.” Her cheeks are still rosy from her smile, even when she narrows her eyes a bit. “I wasn’t sure you would, since you’ve been ignoring all of us for days.”
I pull up the chair across from her and take my sweet time divesting myself of my coat, scarf, and gloves. Finally, I take a seat. For the first time, I meet her eyes.
And I’m toast.
“Are you okay?” Strawberry asks, worry evident on her face. “You don’t have to say anything other than yes or no. And if you say no, I won’t nag you. I promise.”
“Yes.”
I am now. I’m okay. I know exactly what I’m going to do.
I open my mouth and speak.
CHAPTER 20
MADDIE
“Can we start the session?” Aran asks.
“Yes, of course. Although, um, you didn’t send me your assigned reading in advance this time.”
I swallow hard. The truth is I’m about to explode from nerves. I knew he was alive because Archie caught glimpses of him at practice and fed us what little info he had. But I almost feel as if I’m meeting Aran for the first time again today, even though it’s only been four days since I last saw him. Or four days since I realized I don’t know him that well. But wish I did.
I suck in air through my teeth. Ever since he poofed after the game, I worried about two things. One, that something happened to him. Two, what my reaction would be when I saw him again. Now that fear one hasn’t been realized, the second one slams me with the force of a sledgehammer.
There’s no dressing this up as anything other than what it is. I have a huge crush on Aran Rodriguez. And I need to swallow it down.
I can just imagine his reaction if he were to find out. He’d be weirded out at best, freaked out at worst. He’d wanted a guy tutor all along precisely to avoid being hit on while trying to study. I can’t do that to him.
I pretend I’m busy with my own work, but I’m acutely aware of every move he makes. Aran takes his laptop from his backpack and settles it across from mine. One of his hands is draped around the back of the screen, and I can almost feel the touch against me.
At some point during the skating non-date, when I got too warm from the exercise, I removed my gloves and stuffed them in my pockets. Which meant, occasionally, he grabbed my bare hand with his enormous, calloused one. But his skin was soft in parts, his hand strong and as hot as the sun now bathing us in this corner. I wish I could feel it again in all its glory.
My inbox pings with an email from Aran containing the reading packet. I better focus on that instead.
After skimming it quickly, Aran and I discuss his ideas for the essay, and he gets to work. Just like that. No further comment about anything else whatsoever.
That’s… good. Safer. I can try to keep this session professional, as if he were any of my other students.
It takes me several tries and emptying my water bottle until I’m able to focus on my own work. And by work, I don’t mean the one for school. I mean the hockey romance book.
I’ve poured all my frustrations into writing for the past few days, breaking my own daily word count record two days in a row. Now I’m halfway through the book, and the main characters are going to kiss for the first time. As I build up to that climax, it occurs to me that thinking about this while sitting across from Aran may not be such a great idea.
I glance over my screen and find him concentrated on his own work. His eyes run through the screen, probably rereading a passage from the business case. He moistens his lips with his tongue, and I stab my eyes back on my own screen. I delete two whole paragraphs because two seconds of Aran licking his lips was so much hotter than everything I’ve written until now.
Maybe I should use that as inspiration. Maybe the female lead should stare at the male lead as he runs his tongue across his lips after a sip of beer.
I run my fingers across my keyboard, trying that angle. Instead of making them fight right away and then kiss, there should be more hints about what’s going to happen. Raise the tension that way.
A zipping sound pierces through the quiet. It’s Aran, opening his black hoodie to reveal a thin gray shirt underneath. Is it just me, or are his eyes a little hooded as he watches me back?
“Feeling warm?” I blurt out.
He smirks a little but says nothing, then gets back to work.
Well, I’m not feeling warm. I’m boiling now. But unlike him, I can’t unzip my flannel dress to cool down.
I attempt going back to the scene, but I hate every single word on the screen and delete them again. I feel so inadequate writing a make-out scene between a hot girl and a hot guy, being the least attractive girl on the planet and sitting across the most gorgeous male specimen in history.
Closing my eyes, I search my memory for inspiration for this scene. Obviously, my own experience won’t cut it. But I’ve read thousands of romance books and watched countless kisses on-screen. Their success wasn’t so much because of the mechanics but on how urgent the desire between the characters was. That’s what I need to translate into this book.
“What’s got you struggling so much?”
I nearly jump out of my skin, even though Aran doesn’t shout the question. His voice is a low murmur that wraps around my senses. When I open my eyes, his attention is on me. I wish I knew for how long.
“Um, just a scene in my book.”
“The hockey one?” He’s leaning back in his chair, appearing bored for all intents and purposes. But the fact that he’s talking means he’s either procrastinating, or he’s in a good mood.
I’m curious as to which one of the options it is, so I play along. “Yup.”
“Need help?”
Procrastinating it is, I think as I narrow my eyes. A glint of amusement appears in his eyes, confirming my suspicions.
“Aran, get back to work.”
“I can’t concentrate with your squirming and sighing and lip biting.”
I gasp. “I was not!”
“It’s not the hockey part giving you a hard time now, is it? It’s the romance part.”
“Wait, how did you know?”
“It was all the squirming and sighing and lip biting.” A smirk appears on his face. Probably because my face is combusting. I clear my throat. Fold my arms. His smile widens. I focus on his eyes instead.
Mistake. I hope he’s not reading my mind, otherwise he’d know I was wondering what kissing him would feel like.
“Well, writing romance is hard.” My voice comes out a bit too squeaky.
“Oh?” Aran leans forward. “What aspect of romance?”
“Nothing like that, you perv.” Or not yet. I’m not sure I can handle writing something too spicy. I may simply die trying.
“I’m not the one thinking about romance in the middle of the library.”
In a burst, I kick him under the table, and he doesn’t even flinch.
“It’s just a kissing scene! Nothing as saucy as you’re implying.”
“Why would it be so hard, then?”
I put my face in my hands and groan. I seem to have forgotten in the past few days how annoying Aran can get when his amusement is at my expense. Even though he also makes butterflies flit about in my stomach with that smile.
“It’s just hard, okay?” I say into my hands. “Not everyone has extensive experience to write about.”
“Wait, have you never been kissed?”
“Of course I’ve been kissed!” I roar, as if this were a matter of pride.
It takes me a moment to remember that this conversation isn’t happening in my living room. I lift my head and nearly die as a trio of students down the table give me looks of pity, disbelief at my bold declaration dripping from their faces.
Slowly, I face forward. Aran’s eyebrows are up as far as they go. He’s biting his lips as if holding back laughter. As if he, too, didn’t believe me.
“Really.” Not a question. He folds his arms. His pecs tighten, and the thin fabric doesn’t hide them. “That’s obviously why you aren’t struggling with this scene, huh?”
I purse my lips. “I’m just trying to describe the mechanics in a way that—”
“You need help. Admit it.”
I suck in air before clamping my mouth shut.
Aran tilts his head and blinks slowly, as if my bravado were a boring little interlude to the truth that, yeah, I have no flipping clue what I’m doing. I bite my lip and press the enter key several times.
“Fine. Write what you know isn’t going too well this time.” I put my hands on my face again. “Ugh, I can’t believe you made me admit that aloud. Anyway, it’s not like I can walk up to some random guy and ask him to give me the epic kiss I need as inspiration for this scene.”
“I’m not a random guy, but you can ask me.”
Going by his expression, he asked me about the weather and I hallucinated the past thirty seconds.
I start laughing. At myself. That’s definitely what happened. I’m finally losing my mind.
Aran’s smirk comes back. “Am I not your reverse tutor?”
Just like that, my laughter snuffs out. I blink hard. Open and close my mouth. “You’re kidding.”
“Am I laughing?”
No. He looks amused, but I’ve heard him laugh before. I know he’s capable of it. And if he’s not doing it right now, it means he’s serious.
Flashes of fire and ice travel up my body. I clear my throat once. Twice. Push my hair behind my ears. Finally, I find the words to say, “You said hockey only,” and follow them up with a weak laugh.
“Well, who else are you going to ask to make out with you for book research?” Aran shrugs, arms still folded. “That’s what this is, anyway. Nothing else.”
“Right.” I nod rapidly. Then I start shaking my head so he won’t take my gesture as agreement. “No. It’s one thing to ask you what icing is, it’s another to…to … play tonsil hockey.”
“But isn’t that what your hockey tutor is for?”
“Now I know you’re pulling my leg.”
Aran grins. “Let me give you the inspiration you need, Maddie.”
Oh my word. He has no idea what he’s doing to me, does he?
A bead of sweat trickles down my temple, and I wipe it away. Then rub my hands together. The cursor keeps blinking against a completely blank page, the result of my absolute lack of a love life.
And then I remember when Aran Rodriguez first walked into my life, as if the heavens had sent him precisely so I could get off my behind and do all the things I’ve always been scared to do. I stood up to my bullies. I found new friends. I learned something new. Somehow, I had the courage to do all that when I was next to Aran.
I glance at him again. Maybe that’s what this is. A chance to try something I otherwise would never dare to. What Aran is offering is an epic kiss. The kind I’ve always wanted. When else would I have the chance to kiss the guy I’m into without showing my hand?
“For my book,” I say, my heart thumping wildly in my ears and almost making me dizzy.
“No strings attached.”
His voice sounds weird, but that could be because I’m having trouble anchoring in reality. I grip the edge of the table hard.
“Right. Okay.”
“Let’s go.” Aran pushes his chair back and starts to get up.
“What?” I whisper, checking our surroundings to see if anyone’s paying attention to this mess. “Right now?”
He deadpans, “When else? In five days? Yeah, right now.”
And then he does the thing. The one that nearly undid me when he took me skating. He bends his fingers in a c’mon gesture.
As if I’m having an out of body experience, I find myself standing up too. I walk around the table until Aran clasps his hand in mine and tugs me along. He faces forward, and I stare at the back of his head, at the muscles in his neck.
