Page 8 of Breaking the Ice

“Wait!” Evan calls, his hands outstretched. “Don’t go. Practice went long and I had to run across campus, and⁠—”

“Save it.” I take a deep breath and debate my options. I want to tell him that he’s used up all his chances, but I remember my dad’s words the other night.

He stopped by my bedroom and begged me to tutor this guy. It stings that my dad cares so much more about him than he does me. But between my mom’s urging to build a relationship with him and his desperation, I said yes when Evan called.

And now I regret it. But he promised to run lines with me, and I said I’d give it a chance. I’ve got to get the script memorized as soon as possible. I grit my teeth and continue talking.

“Don’t bother with excuses. Let’s get down to business.”

Evan laughs. “To defeat the Huns?”

I try not to crack a smile but can’t help it. I’m tempted to laugh, but I cover it with a cough. “You watch a lot of princess movies?”

“Technically, Mulan is not a princess.” A smug grin crosses his lips, and ugh, I hate that it’s alluring. “And yes, the hockey team has a whole thing for Disney movies.”

I’m not sure what to do with that. “Well, it’s a great movie. Great song. Sometimes the lyrics just come out of my mouth, and I can’t help it.”

“Dude, you need to come play Sing-O with us one night!” His blue eyes light up with excitement and he opens his mouth to say more.

But I tap my watch and clear my throat, cutting him off. I have no idea what he’s talking about, but it’s not the time. “What do you want to work on first? Math or history?”

He spreads his arms out in a shrug. “You tell me.”

“Did you bring any materials with you?” I give him a once-over, noting the absence of a backpack.

“Um.” He tosses his still-damp hair out of his eyes and smiles. “I came straight from practice and chose to shower instead.”

Maybe that panty-melting grin works on others, but I cross my arms over my chest. “You didn’t bring your books? Or any notes? Anything?”

He shakes his head no, and I continue berating him. “What did you think we were going to do at tutoring? Talk about our hopes and dreams?”

Evan swallows, flushing. “I’m really sorry. I thought you’d leave if I took the time to swing by my apartment for my stuff.”

I huff, but wasn’t that exactly what I was thinking when he was late? But also, he should have been more prepared. “Why didn’t you bring your books to practice with you?”

“Um.” He stares at his Nikes. “It’s possible that I forgot about this until Coach reminded me.”

My blood boils, and I’m sure my cheeks are red. My face always gives me away when I’m angry. I take five deep breaths, staring him down. To his credit, he squirms but doesn’t give any more excuses.

“Fine. Let’s get it over with.” I cross my arms over my chest and will my heart rate to slow.

Be professional. Treat him like any misbehaving kid. Don’t let him under your skin.

Sitting at the table, I pull out my laptop and find the course syllabus on the professor’s website. He slides into the spot next to me and leans close. I’m hit with the clean, piney scent of his shampoo or body wash, and yeah. I’m not sad he stopped to shower. To distract myself from the butterflies taking my flight in my belly, I show him my screen. “I thought we could work on this week’s homework assignment together. Talk through the problems. Then maybe I can see where we need to spend more time.”

I send the document to print as he stands and stretches. A line of toned, tan skin is visible between his pants and the hem of his shirt, and my body temperature rises at the sight. Why does he have to be so hot? Blonds are my Kryptonite. So pretty but never worth it. My hands tremble, and I have to glance away.

“Can you go get that from the printer?” I ask. I breathe out a sigh of relief as he leaves. He’s so gorgeous I hardly know where to look.

Pull yourself together, girl.

While he’s gone, I grab my textbook and flip to our most recent lesson. Math. Focus on math.

“Okay,” I say, not making eye contact as he enters the room again and sits beside me. “Let’s go over this week’s lesson.”

“But first, sustenance.” He slides a Pepsi and a package of peanut butter crackers across the table to me. I glance up, my mouth gaping open at his unexpected consideration.

Evan winces. “Sorry if you don’t like Pepsi, that’s all the vending machines had. Or if you’re allergic to peanuts. Oh gosh, that would be terrible. I’m not trying to poison you, I promise. I just thought you might want a snack, and I’m starving after practice. I didn’t want my grumbling stomach to⁠—”