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I take a deep breath before slapping the puck with everything I have, completely ignoring Cutter’s whole “smooth” advice, and the puck sails about six feet wide and high, ricocheting off the class.
“That wasn’t very smooth,” is his only response.
I look at him with a toothy, guilty grin.
“I may have more aggression than I thought I had,” I admit.
“Ha, you think?” His eyes dazzle with his smile. I forgot how much fun flirting is.
“Okay, let me try this again, taking my coach’s advice,” I say, pushing my tongue in the corner of my mouth and really setting my stance. I go with a less spastic shot this time, focusing more on aim than prowess, and the puck glides across the ice into the back of the net.
“Boom, bitches!” I hold the stick up in one hand and make a fist with the other as I swerve on my skates as if I’m in an end zone on Super Bowl Sunday.
Cutter laughs hard, skating over to my stray puck from before and working it with his stick until he’s a dozen or so feet farther from the goal than I was. He levels a swing that gets the puck airborne about a foot off the ice, sailing into the right corner of the net. He skates a wide loop, slowing as he crosses behind me just enough to whisper in my ear, “boom bitches.”
Shivers. More shivers than I have from this freezing place. Different shivers. Potentially dangerous shivers, though also—we-could-have-fun shivers.
“Oh, I see. You know, I could do it like that. If I wanted to.” I’m blowing smoke because, while I know I can hit a puck hard, I’m not so keen with my aim.
“Is that right?” he laughs out, coming to an abrupt stop a few feet away.
I give a smug nod then sniffle like I’m about to start a street fight. For the record, if this were a street fight, I’d be more confident in my skills. Pittsburgh girls know how to throw a punch.
“Care to make a little side wager?” I lift a brow.
Cutter’s stare lingers on me as he chews on the tip of his tongue and smiles.
“Maybe. What are your terms?” He skates closer, and I move one of the pucks from the line with my stick.
“I take a real shot, from wherever you say, and if I make it, you sleep on the couch for a week.” I lift my chin in challenge as his eyes narrow. We’re both smiling like villains.
“The floor, but not the couch. I can’t handle any unexpected, lengthy conversations with Matt. And if Ivy finds me asleep, she’ll shave my eyebrows off.”
I laugh hard. He’s probably right.
“Okay, I’ll compromise. The floor. Do we have a deal?” I hold out my free hand, and Cutter’s gaze drops down to my palm before flitting back up to meet my eyes.
“And if you miss?”
I don’t plan on missing. But also, it was a lot easier for me to be bold and confident when I was going in with nothing to lose and a full bed all to myself to gain. I mash my lips and rifle through a zillion ideas to offer up that I think he’d be willing to take, and I settle on “dinner. Your choice. Any restaurant. Name your price.” I have a lot of credit card points I can spare, unless he plans on making me drive him into the city, I got it covered.
Cutter chuckles under his breath then shakes his head slowly.
“A kiss. My choice. Anywhere I want.”
There’s a fire in his eyes, and I feel it crawl inside me and dive to the depths of my core. Oh, shit. I hold his gaze for several seconds, my pulse kicking up while my reason fights against base desires. There’s a difference between falling for someone and wanting someone, and I’m not dead. I’ve never denied Cutter McCreary’s appeal. Girls talk, and he earns a lot of praise for knowing how to treat women. He’s never really had a campus girlfriend, not that I know of. Despite the reputation for being a player, though, it’s impossible to find a girl he’s been with that speaks badly of him. It’s what he does—builds an army of women ready and willing to take his call anytime. And he and I share a bed.
“Alright, hot stuff. If I somehow miss, which I won’t, I doubt kissing you will do anything to me. I think I’m getting the better end of this deal.”
Cutter slides his palm against mine, and the blood in my veins turns into lava. Kissing him will do things to me. Just nothing I can’t snap out of after the rush passes. That much I’m confident of.
We shake.
“Alright, Laney Price. Let’s see what you’ve got.” Cutter drags a few of the pucks over to one of the dots. It’s not much farther than my last shot, but the angle is a bit tricky.
I steel myself as I trail behind him, then wave him out of my way so I can focus on my shot. I settle the puck where I want it and glance at Cutter for his approval. He gives me a thumbs up, so I take a deep breath and exhale slowly, eyeing the goal and drawing an invisible line right to my stick. I visualize the shot a few times before finally, I take it, and while it’s not as hard as Cutter’s shot was, it’s got some zip to it. Puck in the air, it feelslike seconds pass before it ricochets off the left goal post and glides around the edge of the rink along with my complete and utter disbelief.
“Fuuuuuuuck,” I breathe out.
