Page 43 of The Pucking Coach's Daughter
Where? As far as I could get.
We’re approaching a month since Penn and Oliver made that stupid over-under bet. And obviously Carter doesn’t count. He came through with the morning after pill, delivering it to my door the next day with a muffin and coffee. And I got my period a week later.
All’s well that ends well…
Except I can’t shake the feeling that I’m being watched.
Things have actually calmed the fuck down on campus. I don’t seem to be in mortal danger anymore, although that’s starting to create some paranoia on its own. I walk around with my shoulders inching higher and higher, waiting for that shoe to drop.
Everyone has backed off.
I spot Kate walking across the quad one day. And although it’s been a few weeks since that scrimmage game where she assaulted me, her eyes are still a lovely shade of green bruising. Kind of like how Penn’s were…
He’s back to normal, though.
And Kate? She turns tail and practically runs away from me.
After leaving Intro to Law, I had a change of heart about transferring out of the class. I’m not going to let one asshole dictate my course of study. So I never filed the paperwork, never even met with my academic advisor.
He hasn’t tried anything. He’s being kind of nice, actually.
It’s weird.
Now, Penn sits beside me and automatically reaches for my hair. He plays with it during class sometimes, never tugging, but constantly twirling locks between his fingers. I tried to get him to stop once, and he just smirked.
So now I let him. Grudgingly.
But when he pulls twice, I glance over my shoulder at him.
“You didn’t come to the party.”
“I was never planning on it.”
The party that Oliver previously invited me and my friends to was last weekend.
“Are you coming to our games? It’s a double header this weekend.” He leans into my space. “Against SJU.”
I shake my head. “No, I like to avoid that arena at all costs.”
“What if I could guarantee your safety?”
I narrow my eyes.
He smiles. It’s absolutely a gotcha smile.
“Don’t you miss hockey?” he questions. “Since you missed most of that scrimmage, you didn’t get to see my kick-ass skills. Just saying.”
“Hmm.” I don’t want to encourage him, so I go for nonchalant instead.
The lecture begins, and I face forward. There’s the familiar sensation of him fiddling with my hair again, but then he tosses it over my shoulder.
A piece of paper lands on my breast, tied in my hair.
I scowl and carefully undo it. I hold the note in my palm, considering reading it or just throwing it back at him. Curiosity finally gets the better of me, and I open it.
Pick you up at five, princess.
Now I do crumple it, dropping it on the corner of my desk. This class gets out at five. I shake my head, but there’s not much I can do about it.