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I avert my gaze as she stands up, pretending that slinging my bookbag over my shoulders is suddenly a very slow, thoughtful process.
Once the situation in my pants deflates a bit, I turn back to her, finally ready to apologize for being an asshole and actually introduce myself.
But when my eyes fall on her, she’s looking straight at me, and once again I’m caught totally off guard, the words I was planning on saying dying in my throat.
She smiles, and the sight is enough to make me feel like my frosty heart is melting in my chest. It’s not a feeling I’m used to. I’m not sure if I like it or not.
“Want to exchange numbers?” she asks, cheerily.
My heart jumps into my throat, my breath hitching. Summer Andrews is asking me to exchange numbers?
“You know,” she continues, “in case one of us misses a class session and needs to be caught up, or needs a copy of the notes, or forgets whether or not we have a quiz coming up the next session.”
I’m so discombobulated by the thought of having the number of the girl whose performances I’ve spent a year listening to in my phone that my mouth just hangs open silently. I realize I’ve been staring blankly at her for a couple beats.
Her lips twitch downward and disappointment glints in her bright green eyes. “Or, if you don’t want to, that’s okay …”
“No,” I cut her off, the word coming out sharper than I intended. “I mean … yeah, we can. Okay.”
Internally, I kick myself for still coming off so cold. I could’ve said good idea, or thanks, sounds great. Instead, my terse ass just comes up with okay.
She flashes me a smile, but it’s a tight and restrained one. The way I responded to her sure as hell didn’t make me sound eager, and I’m sure she picked up on that. Still, she rattles off her number, and I send her a text to confirm. It’s just my name.
“Hudson,” she says, reading it.
“Right,” I answer, the word coming out gruffly.
“I’m Summer,” she replies, beaming a smile that probably makes the Vermont winters feel like southern spring.
I almost say I know—but I stop myself. Seems like that would come across as weird. Instead, I just nod.
“Well then,” she says. “See you next class.” Even after I’ve acted like a douche, she’s still as bubbly as can be.
I dip my chin in another short nod.
After another beat of silence, she walks past me. I blink my eyes tightly one time, realizing my feet are bolted to the floor and I’m just standing here like an idiot. I lift my head up, and my gaze immediately finds Summer as she walks towards the exit.
My blood thickens as I take in the sight of her ass in those cut off shorts, and her long, smooth, perfectly shaped legs. The honey-golden tone of her skin practically glows. As she walks out of the room, an overhead light catches her glossy blonde hair in a way that makes it sparkle for just a moment.
The sight makes my heart pang. I didn’t know my heart could pang.
My next class isn’t for another two hours, so I walk home. While I’m walking, I keep playing my interaction with Summer back through my head. Man, I really did come off as a jerk.
That’s kind of a trait of mine. Coming off as a jerk.
Then again, maybe that’s not quite right. If coming off as a jerk is a prominent trait of someone, maybe it’s more accurate to say that they are a jerk.
It’s not really intentional. I’m just always at a loss for how to react when someone’s nice to me.
Growing up with my dad’s style of tough love, working me to the bone with goalie practice every waking moment of the day, shouting at me whenever I fell short of his sky-high standards—which was pretty much always—didn’t exactly prime me to be good with accepting kindness.
I know that my gruff exterior keeps a lot of people at bay. Normally, I don’t mind. I prefer to keep to myself, anyway. But every now and then, I realize I’ve been mean or rude to someone nice. And I always feel like shit when that happens.
I fish my keys out of my pocket as I walk up to my front door.
This year, I’m living in a large off-campus house with four of the other Brumehill Black Bears hockey players. I’d have just as gladly lived alone, but apparently it’s tradition here for the top players on the team to live in this house together, and as the goalie, I’m one of the top players.
Coach was insistent that I live with the other guys to get acquainted and build rapport with my teammates.
