Page 37 of The Pucking Coach's Daughter
The worst part is that Carter and the hockey team didn’t get in trouble—not more than just a slap on the wrist anyway. They had the playoffs, they had prestige and glory to bring to the school, while I was the one jeopardizing everything by cheating.
Stealing.
Whatever they said.
“Going in front of the ethics committee was humiliating.”
“I went in front of them, too. I told them it wasn’t your fault, that I stole the photos from your phone, but they didn’t believe me.” He reaches over and puts his hand on my thigh. “How much do you hate me?”
I flinch.
He retracts quickly, lips parting. “What kind of reaction was that?”
“I just?—”
“Sydney.”
“I have some bruising. And places where my skin is a little fragile at the moment.” I look out the window. “It’s fine.”
It’s not a complete lie.
If Andi or Oliver aren’t going to post that photo, I’m sure as shit not going to tell anyone.
“I don’t understand why you went there.” He pulls into the parking lot of the diner we used to frequent, in the spot he always parks in. Except today, he’s out of the car and around to my door in a flash, leaning over me and gently touching the top of my thigh. “Here?”
My head falls back. “Just assume everywhere hurts.”
“Fucking hell, Sydney.”
I unbuckle and climb out, forcing him to move back. We stare at each other for a beat, and my face heats at the memory of our last encounter. The last kiss… The one that ruined my life as I knew it.
Finally, I shake it off and brush past him, heading for the door.
“I don’t have any money, by the way,” I call over my shoulder.
“Good thing it’s my treat,” he counters.
He practically chases me inside. We sit at the booth that Lettie and I spent many Sundays slumped in, nursing our hangovers with bottomless mimosas and sugar-dusted pancakes.
If I close my eyes, I can practically envision Lettie, Marcy, and whoever else piled into the booth, laughing over the latest scandal… not knowing that eventually, it would be me.
“FSU had their first scrimmage this weekend,” he says.
I stiffen.
“Did they get new plays, or are we going to wipe the ice with their asses again?”
He’s not fucking serious, is he?
I lean forward. “Did you bring me here just to try and get information out of me, Carter?”
“Nah.” He settles back, hooking his arm over the back of his seat. “You know me better than that. It was a simple question.”
I scoff. “Yeah, right. I changed my mind about lunch.”
“Your stomach growled,” he points out. “I won’t ask about hockey, okay?”
“How about I ask you about hockey?” I counter. “How’re the Seawolves doing? Any good prospects come in this year?”