“You like working with us, huh?” Will asks, sticking his essay into a folder on the desk. “I mean, the skating stuff?”
“Yeah. It’s funny, right? I like skating, but … you know. Hockey? Plus, I didn’t think the guys would be down with it, especially after that first meeting.”
“They love you, though.”
“They love the game. Obviously you do, too.” I look around the room, checking out his hockey paraphernalia. There’s a wall of Sabres posters, a bookshelf full of trophies and autographed pucks. At the other end of the room, there’s an entire section dedicated to the Colorado Avalanche, including a signed jersey mounted in a frame.
“Hockey’s in my family.” He nods at the Avs shrine. “That stuff is from my uncle Derrick. Colorado recruited him right out of high school, but he screwed around and partied and totally blew it after his first year. My dad doesn’t even talk to him anymore.”
“That sounds kind of harsh.”
Will nods. “My father’s older than Derrick. He got injured senior year and couldn’t go pro, so when his little brother got the chance two years later and lost it … anyway, now it’s all on me. That’s my big family legacy—get a Harper back into the NHL.”
“Which is why I can’t believe your dad isn’t pissed at Dodd for—”
“He is pissed, but he knows Dodd’s in a bad spot. Coach isn’t ditching us to go party like my uncle. He’s worried about his job. It’s just …” Will runs a hand through his hair and shakes his head. “Sorry. I shouldn’t have laid this on you. I don’t even want to talk about it. All I can do is focus on the team and my so-called destiny of greatness, you know?”
“In that case, I’ll do what I can to help you fulfill your destiny.” I smile, trying to lighten the mood. “It’s cool how far the Wolves have come, just in a couple of weeks.”
“It’s awesome. But you don’t have to help with any more destiny crap,” he says. “The guys already learned a ton of stuff from you.”
I narrow my eyes and give him a playful glare. “What happened to all that ‘we have Princess Pink’ stuff?”
Will laughs. “I’m just saying … I know you’re working a ton of hours at the diner, plus your own training stuff, and everything with school … I don’t know. I don’t want us to be a distraction. I feel bad for dragging you into this.”
Panic shoots through my insides, and not just because Will is being uncharacteristically sincere. If I walk away now, the deal is off. I’m back on Fillmore, trying to train on that ragged, windblown patch of ice. “Please. My schedule is fine. I really want to keep helping the team. I’m not done with you guys yet.” I cross my arms and go for the tough-girl look.
“If this is about ice time, don’t worry. Baylor’s is almost always empty. Marcus will let you train as long as you want—he’s cool.”
I unclench my shoulders. That is the most important thing, right? The ice time? Still … I made a real breakthrough with the guys last week. And now that they’ve won a game, they’ve started to accept me. I know it sounds crazy, but for the first time since the Bisonettes, people are counting on me to skate. I know I have to focus on my training, but I made a deal, too. Not just with Will. With Josh. With all of them.
“No,” I say. “I’m staying on. I mean it. I’m learning stuff from you guys, too.”
“Okay, okay. Princess stays. But you’re already an amazing skater, Hud. I’m not kidding.” He sits next to me on the bed, so close that I fall into him a little when the mattress sinks. “Probably the best in Watonka since that two-hundred-year-old Olympics chick.”
“Lola Capriani.” I wonder what Lola would say if she were in the room with us now. You’re speed skating down the toilet with this boy, Avery. Right down the crapper. “She was my coach.”
“That explains a lot.” Will smiles. “I still think you’re better than her. Definitely got her beat in the hotness department.”
I laugh and cross my legs, casually inching away from him. “Don’t change the subject. I was talking about the boys. They need me. They don’t have the NHL genetics like you do.” I’m teasing, but the smile fades from his lips. He looks back out the window as a gust of wind pelts the house with wet snow.
“I don’t know about the guys. I’m just looking for a way out of this place.” He meets my eyes, and for a second there’s something familiar behind them—vulnerability, maybe. Something empty and unfulfilled. But then it’s gone, his usual charm and gregariousness back in place, his fingers looping through the end of my ponytail. “Anyway, I’m surprised they can focus on hockey when you’re on the ice.”
“Give me a break.”
Will moves closer. “That’s not what I’m gonna give you.” And before I can present him with the trophy for the cheesiest one-liners in a single bound, he wraps his arms around me, pulling me toward him. His lips are millimeters from mine, breath warm and silent, all discussion of hockey boy skills and sin in the Puritan age blown out the window into the swirling snow. Will smiles at me, and for a split second I wonder whether this might be a stupid, pointless venture. For weeks my thoughts have been consumed with a single boy, and his name is definitely not Will. But then, not-Will is not here, not now, not running his hand down my back, not slipping his fingers behind my neck, not watching me with ever-intensifying eyes and flashing that deviously sexy smile. He’s probably home, waiting for another call or text from someone else. And I’m here. Now. With Will.
So what’s wrong with a little harmless flirting of the seventy-seven nature?
Will raises an eyebrow and I lean in closer, our lips touching, then melting together, everything else disappearing into a soft, barely there buzz.
Oh. I kind of forgot what a good kisser he was, even back then, even under less than ideal circumstances. And unless I’m remembering it wrong, he’s definitely improved his game….
Thankfully, no clothes were harmed or removed in the making of this movie, because a sudden, impatient throat clearing from the hallway lets us know we’ve got a live studio audience. Will jumps off the bed and lands in his chair in an instant, the chair rolling back into the desk and rattling his computer monitor.
“I have a feeling this isn’t part of your English project.” Mr. Serious Pants leans against the doorway, arms folded across the Sabres’ bison-and-swords logo on his chest.
“Dad, um, we were just … Hudson was—”
“I think Hudson was saying good-bye. You’ve got a game tomorrow, William.” He looks at me with that barely tolerant smile, taps the face of his watch, and vanishes back downstairs.
“Hudson, Dad. Dad, Hudson,” Will says under his breath. “Sorry about that. He’s always on my ass. He seriously talks like I’m bound for the Sabres—like I have a real shot.”
“Maybe you do.”
“The man knows my schedule but doesn’t come to the games. I don’t think he believes it—it’s just his mantra. ‘Don’t be Derrick.’ That’s what he’s really saying.” Will’s face changes, his eyes far away as he stares out the window. For the second time tonight, he drops the used-car salesman vibe, the I’m-too-sexy-for-my-own-good stuff fading into something a little less certain. Scared. Sad, even. But the moment passes quickly, and by the time he turns his green eyes back to me, they’re sparkling with mischief again.
“I should walk you out. But first …” He leans in for another kiss, but I turn away, mirroring that flirtatious grin.
“Maybe on the second date, Harper.”
“Good. New Year’s Eve? Amir has a party every year. Come with me?” He reaches for my hand, his eyes never leaving mine as he waits for my response. “We can have dinner first, then hit the party. At midnight, I get to kiss you again. Unless you already have plans.”
I shake my head. Dani always goes with her parents to some jazz fest thing in Toronto for New Year’s, and I’m always home with Mom and Bug and my never-aging date, Dick Clark.
But not this year. For once, I have a date with a cute boy. And a party with the guys, besides? Done and done.