Page 9 of Trick Play

Ugh. How could that have possibly made him sexier?

Man buns were supposed to be ridiculous but the mindless way he did it––like he really couldn’t care less how it looked or what anyone thought––was far too attractive.

Wait.

I leaned forward just a bit.

Was that a scrunchie?

Where did he get that? I couldn’t for the life of me picture him walking into a store and buying it. Was it his girlfriend’s? A memento from a recent hookup. Something he pulled from his room’s lost and found?

It didn’t matter.

It did.

Stupid bun.

Class ended before Clements was done with his lecture so we didn’t have time to meet with our partners. Thank heaven. I wasn’t mentally or emotionally ready for that.

The second we were excused, I was out of my seat and rushing toward the door before anyone else stood. The second I stepped out, Lauren was by my side with two caramel iced lattes. She handed me one, and I could have kissed her.

“Thanks, I needed this.”

“I figured.” She wasn’t looking at me but back through the door into the class. Lauren was tiny. A petite blond that was often underestimated. She was a fireball. Fearless and fierce with a wild temper to match. I called her Tink behind her back since she didn’t appreciate the comparison to the fairy, but the resemblance was too much. She was full of drama and fire and also started to die if she didn’t get enough attention.

“Come on.” I tried to tug her away. I didn’t want to see or speak to the devil until I absolutely had to.

“I just want a peek,” she protested.

I wasn’t going to wait around for this. I started heading to the stairs when I heard him.

“Oh, hey, Lo.”

Ugh. His deep, sultry voice was the same. I hated it.

“Only my friends call me that,” she bit back.

“Sorry.” He cleared his throat, and I had the fleeting impulse to run interference but quickly pushed that away. I wasn’t going to save him from my tiny friend. He deserved her wrath.

“You should be.” She spun on her heels and marched over to me before linking her elbow with mine and leading us down the stairs. “He has the most punchable face.”

I giggled and took a long draw of my morning pick me up. “He really does.”

“You’d think after all those years of hockey, he’d at least have a messed-up nose or be missing some teeth.”

I nodded along. It was true. His face was obnoxiously perfect. There was a thin, white scar along his hairline, but other than that, he was beautiful. It almost hurt to look at him. I used to drive myself crazy wondering what he saw in me. He could be a supermodel, and I was … normal. Average. Cute but nothing remarkable. I suffered from that insecurity for years, and freshman year certainly didn’t help.

“One day, I’m going to punch him. I promise.”

I shook my head. The idea of my pint-sized friend taking on the hockey god was amusing. I didn’t doubt she could hold her own against him, mostly because he would never lay a hand on a woman and she’d take full advantage of that.

“Remember to leave your thumb out.” I had to correct her form when we first met, and it took months for her to break the habit.

She turned with a wicked glint in her eyes. “I’ve been practicing.”

If only he were that easy to deal with. One punch to get him out of my life? I would have done that years ago, but nothing was ever that simple.

The phantom that haunted me from a distance was now impossible to ignore.