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Or that’s how I convince myself. It certainly isn’t about seeing Amanda again.
It can’t be.
“Hey, Blake!”
The shout snaps my focus to the flock of puck bunnies descending upon me like hungry vultures sensing fresh prey the moment my feet hit the concrete.
Fuck. I don’t need this right now.
There was a time when I enjoyed their lipstick smiles and low-cut jerseys. Lord knows I worked my way through many of them. But attention is the last thing I want or need.
“Amazing practice today!” one coos, her fingers skating dangerously close to the hem of my tee.
“You stayed and watched, huh?” She’s totally lying, considering our practices are closed. My tone is a notch above sounding annoyed. It cusps on the edge of rudeness, but I do not feel the flirtatious vibe. By the way her smile falls, the girl must pick up on it.
“Can’t wait to see you at the game!” another adds, batting lashes thick enough to sweep the ice.
“Thanks,” I grunt, sidestepping an arm snaking around my waist. It’s a dance I know too well. I’ve got to keep my guard up and can’t afford to slip up—not with scouts watching or donors judging.
“Stay focused, Morton,” I remind myself as I push through the crowd, the scent of their perfume lingering like a warning. It’s a game on thin ice, each step requiring precision lest I fall through. “I have to meet someone.”
“It’s true then?” A chorus of gasps rings through the air as if they choreographed it as I break free.
That stops me in my tracks. I spin on my heels. “Is what true?”
“You having a girlfriend,” she states with disdain.
“I mean, we didn’t believe Juliette, but…” another girl’s voice trails off in disbelief.
“Are you seriously dating that girl from the bookstore?” She spat out the word girl as if Amanda were trash. “She’s so plain and?—”
My hands clench as I glare at the bunny in question. Cammie, I believe. “Tread carefully with your next words.” My voice is menacing. Cammie’s friends exchange glances and back away, their confidence gone.
Cammie sputters, “I just meant she?—”
“I don’t care what you meant. Don’t speak about my girl like that ever again.”
Her eyes bulge at my declaration.My girl?Jesus. I’ve lost my damn mind.
Without looking back, I navigate my way through the familiar path to the library with my thoughts on damage control. This is precisely what Coach is talking about. Any reservations I had about making this arrangement with Amanda permanent evaporate. She’s the perfect solution to make the chaos surrounding me dissipate. There isn’t any other choice but to make this long-term.
I close my eyes for a moment and hope she agrees. Otherwise, I’m fucked.
* * *
I feela shift inside once I hit the library’s steps. It’s like lacing up before a big game; everything tightens and snaps into place. My fingers twitch with the urge to text Amanda instead, but no, this needs to be face-to-face. It would be too easy for her to bow out through text.
Confidence in tow, I step inside the building. The smell of old paper and worn leather floods my senses, so different from the rink’s chill and the musk of sweat-soaked gear. Without missing a beat, I race up the stairs to the second floor. Room three’s door opens when I arrive, allowing me to slip inside without being spotted. Amanda sits alone in the room at the desk in the far corner.
A smile tugs the corners of my mouth. She’s the embodiment of concentration, her dark waves falling around her face like a halo. She types away at the computer, completely unaware of my presence.
“Paging Doctor Hoyt.” I joke.
Amanda’s head whips up, her eyes meeting mine with a warmth that sends a jolt through my veins. “Hey,” she replies, a small smile toying on her lips.
Cammie’s comment flits through my mind. How can she think of her as plain? There’s nothing plain about those green eyes that twinkle with intelligence and mischief. The curve of her lips, the way they tug up when she smiles, the warmth that emanates from her entire demeanor—it’s all captivating.
I clear my throat as if that would clear my mind.
