Chapter One
Lindsay
The following is a true account of what happens when one former puck bunny encounters one determined, sexy hockey player and slips off the wagon. Like so far she forgets what the wagon looks like, mostly because she’s blinded by said hockey player’s muscles and charm. Our story starts in a library, where being bad at math—and at hiding, apparently—started me down a path there was no coming back from…
It’s come to this. Hiding in the library, thighs burning from being crouched behind a tall desk, desperately hoping that he wouldn’t look my way and discover me.
As I calculated the distance between me and the bookshelf where I’d have better coverage, and the odds of not being seen while making a run for it—which was ironic considering that being bad at math was the entire reason I was even in this situation in the first place—a blonde strolled up to Ryder “Ox” Maddox. She flashed him a coquettish smile and put a hand on his arm, as if she simply couldn’t help herself.
She probably couldn’t. It’d taken awhile for me to break the habit when it came to guys of the hockey-playing sort.
Confession #1: I used to be a puck bunny.
Puck bunny.
noun | [puhk buhn-ee]
A female ice hockey fan whose interest in the sport is primarily motivated by sexual attraction to the players rather than enjoyment of the game itself.
Yeah. The term can come across a little harshly, especially when spat at you by other women who most definitely didn’t look at your efforts as a positive effect of the sexual revolution.
Back then I let the term roll off my back. In fact, I proudly claimed the title and the perks that came along with it. The hockey players knew me by name, I was invited to their parties, and the time I spent shamelessly flirting with them was fun.
Until I broke the cardinal rule and fell for one of them. It wouldn’t have been so traumatic if I hadn’t been foolish enough to think that star winger, bad boy of the team, and all-around player, Hudson Decker, fell for me, too. The crash that followed made me examine my life, and I didn’t like what I saw. Didn’t like who I’d become—which was basically my mom, something I’d sworn to avoid. I thought I’d been smarter, that I’d been the one in control. What I’d actually been was stupid with a side of naive.
My mid-college-life crisis made me realize it was time for some major changes. I went cold turkey, quitting all things hockey related and vowed to never fall for another one of those rugged, muscular, sexy…
I shook my head, stopping the train of thought that’d impede the progress I’d made over the past year, and silently repeated the vow in my head. I’m never falling for another hockey player.
Keeping a mental running log of my emotions and mistakes I’d made in the past helped keep me in check. Lately I’d had to remind myself of the hard lessons I’d learned more than usual, because for some reason, Ryder Maddox had set his sights on me, and the guy was intense with a side of intense.
He was the very definition of the strong and silent type, and yet he had this ability to surprise me and completely throw me off my game.
A couple of weeks ago, he’d invited me to a party, which I’d been foolish enough to attend in a moment of weakness. I’d told myself it was in the name of needing to keep in touch with the student body for my job as the editor of the college newspaper, but it was just a thinly veiled excuse.
Really, it was the fact that when I’d retorted “I stay away from those parties because hockey players are all cocky meatheads who have enough people slapping them on the back, for the record,” I’d expected offense. For Ryder to argue or insult me, then walk away and never talk to me again.
Perhaps even the bitter, still-hurt part of me was a little bitchier than necessary because I wanted a fight, so I could prove that I was right. I had a problem with needing to be right.
Instead, Ryder calmly replied that he knew a lot of reporters who’d do anything to get ahead, but he liked to reserve judgment until he actually got to know someone as opposed to assuming the worst.
Like I needed to prove anything to him!
But it got under my skin.
Especially since he’d followed it up with, “By the way, I really liked your ‘More than My Major’ article,” without even a hint of insincerity.
Naturally, that article was about how people were so much more than their major so we shouldn’t make snap judgments or decide our majors meant we only had one career path to choose from, and it almost seemed like he was hinting that I wasn’t being open.
Possibly because I wasn’t, which made me determined to show him I could be. By going to that party and proving my point.
Only when I’d arrived at the Quad, he’d squeezed my shoulder, told me he was glad I decided to come, and then added, “Don’t worry. I don’t expect you to slap me on the back for winning our game.” A barely there, hint-of-a-smile curved his lips, and stupid butterflies had started to stir. “For the record.”
Is that sarcasm I detect? With some flirting mixed in?
Again, he took me by surprise, acting opposite of what I’d expected. Witty banter was like my catnip, too, so I slipped a little and accidentally flirted back. “Oh, I’m putting everything on the record.”
“I’d expect nothing less.” He leaned closer, his hand wrapping around my elbow. “Make sure to get down this quote about me telling you how hot you look tonight. You can just put ‘one of the meatheads’ if you don’t want to reveal sources,” he said, and I laughed.
Laughed! It was sputtered and totally unflattering and I had to quickly rein myself in.
Then he’d guided me over to the table where people were playing flip cup. He tried to get me to join in, but I told him I’d watch. Partway through the game he shot me a grin, and when a returning smile automatically took shape on my lips, I knew I needed to abort before I lost control.
Basically, imagine your celebrity crush, be it Theo James, Jesse Williams, or one of the smoking hot Hemsworth brothers. Now say you meet them in real life and they actually hit on you. That’s the insane, tempting level of attraction I found myself trying to resist, and prolonged exposure would be setting myself up for failure.
Which was why, after that night, I’d stuck with the avoiding-him-completely method so I didn’t have to make a habit of feeling stupid while fleeing a scene. Of course, I didn’t exactly feel not stupid playing a one-sided game of hide-and-seek in the freaking library.
I couldn’t help taking one last peek at the guy who’d reduced me to such extreme evasion maneuvers. That crazy-strong attraction flared to life, my neglected hormones screaming for attention, and at the thought of walking away, I felt a tiny ping of loss that shouldn’t be there.
He and I didn’t have anything. I’d made sure to keep it that way.
Whatever interest Ryder Maddox thinks he has in me will fade and he’ll move on.
If Blondie is any indication, it’s possible he’s already moved on.
Then again, he didn’t seem to be saying much to her, just standing all stoic in that way he did, with an occasional nod here and there. I recalled the way his sharp gaze had tracked my movements that night at the party, an almost predatory gleam in his eye, and that alone…
My heart quickened.
The last time I let it take control it got broken, so I was referring to my brain from here on out, and it told me that letting Ryder in was a good way to end up hurt again.
Not to mention I so didn’t have time for thinking about hockey players, much less any guys. I had a math crisis on my hands, and if I didn’t find a way to solve it, my plans to get a jump-start on my career this summer were going to be ruined. All my hard work and the contacts I’d used to help me land an internship…everything would slip through my fingers and I’d be totally and utterly screwed.
So I smothered the egotistical former-self voice in my head whispering that if I walked over and interrupted the conversation Blondie was having with Ryder, I could make him forget she was even in the same room. Holding on to my goal of being a different, better person than I used to be, I took advantage of the distraction, forced my now-cramping legs into motion, and darted to the nearest bookshelf, flattening myself against the end like some kind of super spy.
A guy paused his study efforts to cast me a look that conveyed he doubted my mental stability. Yeah, join the club. Apparently a career in espionage was out, so I’d better stick with my original plan. Graduate, complete the summer internship at a newspaper office in New York City, and find a long-term job to support myself. I refused to become my mom, relying on men to support her and then crashing when she didn’t have one who would.
The only thing standing in my way involved numbers, symbols, and the Xs and Ys that algebra threw into the mix of awful. I preferred my Xs and Ys sprinkled among several other letters. Words were easy—they were my safe place, especially when I was able to type them out, rearrange, and revise to perfection. Being the editor of the Heights took up a lot of my afternoons and evenings, but since it was a good step toward a career in publishing, I didn’t mind. But it didn’t leave a lot of extra study time. Usually that wasn’t a problem, but now I was dangerously close to failing my math class.
My mind flashed back to that awful moment earlier today when my professor dropped the bomb that if I didn’t get all my homework turned in, basically ace my next few quizzes, and earn at least a B on the next test and the final, there was no way I was going to pass.
After getting back the second quiz in a row where I’d answered all of zero problems correctly, I’d gone in to see what I could do to raise my grade, but I’d been hoping extra credit and a certain number of Hail Marys would magically do it. Big surprise, being a harbinger of math, the professor didn’t believe in extra credit.
Damn all those numbers, and damn whoever decided to add the alphabet to them. How could you abuse letters that way? It should be illegal.
I reached the final row of bookshelves, checked that the coast was clear, and rushed toward the math tutoring center. Honestly, I’d tried to avoid this because one, I don’t take direction well. I like being in charge and giving the orders. So sue me.
Reasons two and three stood at the front of the room. Brittany and Jeremy were the only tutors available when I wasn’t in class, at the paper, or catching the four or five hours of sleep I managed at night. The one time I’d tried to get help from Jeremy, I was pretty sure he’d spoken Klingon or Elvish, and Brittany hated me times infinity—see, I knew the applicable-to-life math terms. Anyway, she and I had once gone after the same hockey player at the same time. Since I’d relied too heavily on guys’ attention to feel validated back then, I’d been willing to do whatever it took to land Hudson Decker, and she hadn’t, so I won.
But then I got my heart broken, and now I was failing my supposedly basic math class, so I was pretty sure she won in the long run. Really she should be thanking me.
She shot me an icy glare as she gripped the pencil in her hand, intent-to-maim undoubtedly on her mind. Guess I won’t hold my breath for that thank you.
Jeremy glanced her way, then walked over, gently swept her hair off her face, and let his fingers linger on her neck as he talked to her in low, soothing tones. The intimate interaction led me to believe she’d decided to go the safer route and stick with guys on the nerdier and scrawnier side of the spectrum.
Good for her and all, because safe guys were now my type, too—theoretically, anyway, as I hadn’t dated in quite a while. But I digress…
I could only imagine how she’d react to me asking her new tutoring-buddy-with-benefits to work with me for the rest of the semester so I wouldn’t fail my math class. Not that I’d actually understood whatever he attempted to teach me last time anyway.
Clearly this was a mistake.
I’ll…find YouTube tutorials. Or hire a private tutor. With all the money I don’t have. Yeah, that’s a genius plan.
I inwardly groaned because I knew I was going to have to swallow my pride and beg for help. After I refilled my water bottle. With vodka.
I spun around only to catch sight of Ryder making his way toward the tutoring center. Judging from his expression, his mind was somewhere else, but before I could hide again, his arctic blue gaze landed on me and sharpened. I froze in place. Since my body decided to seize up, I steeled my internal resolve so it wouldn’t malfunction as well. Under no circumstances could I let myself fall into conversation with Ryder “Ox” Maddox, number three, D-man, and hotter than should be legal.
Okay, so hockey stats hadn’t magically disappeared from my brain, and when I edited the sports column, I saw them on a regular basis. Some things couldn’t be helped.
He stopped just short of the threshold. “Hey, Lindsay.”
Confession #2: Ryder Maddox’s deep, sexy voice sends fuzzy tingles through my entire body, and I’m powerless to stop it.
I inclined my head in a weird nod thing. “Ox.”
A frown pulled at his mouth. Right. He’d asked me to call him Ryder. Referring to him as Ox kept him at more of a distance, though, and as a former puck bunny with a persevering attraction to jacked guys who slam other dudes into the boards on a regular basis, I needed as much distance as I could get to avoid a relapse.
He braced his hand on the doorframe right above my head, his massive body on display for anyone who wasn’t strong enough to resist looking—a.k.a. me. “You know, instead of hiding from me, you could’ve just mentioned you needed to get to the tutoring center.”
My internal organs shriveled in on themselves and heat rose to my face. “Hiding? I’m not sure what you’re talking about.” My voice freaking squeaked, dang it. I used to be smooth. I could flirt my way into or out of most any situation. Proof that if you didn’t use something, it got rusty. I didn’t want to dwell on what that meant about certain body parts.
The look he gave me made it clear he wasn’t buying it. His trim dark brown hair was more on the good boy side of the fence, but the messiness on top hinted at it being barely contained, and something about his all-American-boy-with-secrets-buried-under-the-brawny-surface vibe made me short circuit around him. “Are you here for math help?”
“I…” Since I was hiding from life in general tonight—first Ryder, and then math—I didn’t know exactly how to answer that, so I redirected. “Are you?”
“No. I stop in to help here and there when I can.”
“Wait. You purposely submit yourself to torture of the mathematical kind?”
The guy cracked a smile and it made my traitorous heart flutter. “You say tomato, I say challenging equations are fun, and I enjoy helping other people understand them. But as much as I’d like having you think I’m simply a magnanimous person, if I help out a few days, my professors also cut me slack on missing classes for games.”
Magnanimous? Was he for real? Sure, our few conversations were mostly at loud parties where talking wasn’t really an option, but I’d never heard him talk like that. Automatically I turned suspicious. Who told him I was a word nerd? Whitney? Would she have sold me out? Or was I that transparent? Either way, it’d take more than fancy words to win me over. I knew better. Now.
“Anyway, I better get going.” I started past him, deciding I’d come back tomorrow, but he gently caught my arm.
“Didn’t you need help? I’ve got some time.”
I glanced back at the dynamic math-tutoring duo, thinking I’d rather take my chances with them, because at least I wasn’t attracted to either one. The simplest touch from Ryder made me think about how he’d gotten the calluses on his fingertips, which in turn caused me to picture him on the ice with his hockey stick in hand, and then there were definite heart palpitations. This boy was dangerous with a capital D. Except I’d edit that out, because it’d look weird on the page.
Focus, Lindsay, focus. I licked my lips, working to form words.
“I can tell you’re trying to make up some excuse, so let me save you the trouble. You and I are going to that table right there”—Ryder jerked his chin toward the back of the room—“and I’m going to tutor you.”
I let out a shallow breath, unable to ignore the heat of his hand seeping deeper into my skin, but doing my best not to show how much he affected me. “What makes you think that regardless of the many people who’ve tried—and failed—to teach me math, you’ll be the one to succeed?”
“Because once I set my mind on something, I do whatever it takes to achieve it.” Not a single blink, his gaze so steady I fought the urge to squirm. “Tell you what. If I can’t help you understand at least one concept you’re struggling with, I’ll leave you alone.”
A strange clash of relief and disappointment went through me. Leaving me alone would help my resolve to not crush on him, but part of me died a little at the thought.
“But…if you do understand your assignment by the end of our session, I get your phone number.”
My pulse beat faster and faster. That was a bad, tempting, horrible idea. At the same time, I was at the end of my rope. I was close to failing a class I needed to graduate, and I couldn’t afford doing a take two of my senior year. Honestly, I couldn’t afford this one, but thanks to loans I was squeaking by.
What did I have to lose? Besides an hour of wrestling my unwanted attraction to Ryder, but so far I’d done okay-ish in that area. And I could always ignore his phone calls if it came to that. “One hour,” I said.
He glanced around and then leaned in, as if we’d made some kind of backroom deal. “One hour,” he echoed, and something about the way he said it sounded way too delicious to possibly involve anything math related.