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Fuck, I shouldn’t be thinking of the girl sitting next to me like that. That’s just creepy. To latch my attention onto something else, I bring out the big guns: hyper-analyzing the worst mistakes I made as a goalie last season.
Like when Greg Petrie was able to sneak that one-timer shot past my left shoulder in the second to last game of the year. Fuck, that one hurt.
Shit, maybe next class session I should try to find a different seat and not sit next to Summer. I don’t want to fail a class because I can’t get my hormones under control.
But as soon as the thought enters my mind, I hate it so much that a bitter taste rises to my mouth.
“So, I guess we’re partners, then.” Summer’s voice drags me back to reality.
“Huh?” I react, dumbfounded, turning to her.
“Partners. You and me. For the project?” She arches an eyebrow, turning those last words into a question that says where the hell has your mind been all class?
I really don’t think she wants to know.
Wait. Partners? I’m partners with Summer Andrews? And is class over already?
Her lips curl into a wry smile. “You weren’t paying attention, were you?”
“Of course, I was,” I protest, instinctively.
She huffs a tiny laugh. Fuck is it cute. “Probably thinking about hockey all class long.”
“You know I’m a hockey player?” The season hasn’t started yet, so I’m not being recognized all over the place like I was back in Boston yet.
Her cheeks turn a rosy red. “There was an article about you joining the team in the student paper.”
“Ah.” I nod. “Right.”
“Well, then, partner,” she says, and the playful way she says that word makes a muscle pull in my chest, “since you were totally paying attention all class, I guess I don’t need to bring you up to speed on what we need to do for the project?”
“I, uh … may have been thinking about hockey. For a second. Right when the professor talked about the project.”
She crooks a teasing grin at me. “A second, huh?”
“Maybe three or four.”
She laughs. I wish there was a way to snatch the sound out of the air, put in in a bottle, and keep it forever.
“We need to interview students about a piece of literature that made them feel a strong emotion, then write a report comparing and contrasting their answers.”
“Interview students? Like, going up and talking to random people?” I ask. That sounds … ugh.
“Yep. Sounds fun, right?”
“Hm. Fun.”
“Let’s meet in the library tomorrow?” Summer suggests.
“How’s two in the afternoon?”
“Perfect,” she replies with a smile.
A warm feeling tingles in my chest. It’s almost like we just … scheduled a date.
I shake the thought away. How does this girl make me feel so freaking … sappy?
I give her a quick nod and get up from my seat. Walking out of the room, I realize that I’m looking forward to two o’clock tomorrow way too much.
