Page 6 of The Pucking Coach's Daughter
“You okay, babe?” Lettie’s breath is warm in my ear. “I was about to come rescue you from Masters if you let him kiss you.”
See? Always the rescuer.
I force a laugh. “I’m not that desperate.”
We migrate as a group, six of us, closer to the music. Marcy grabs our hands, and we all move in some sort of dance. Not my vibe, but the vodka is getting to me. So maybe it is my vibe.
“Hey,” someone says in Lettie’s ear. On my side, which means I hear it loud and clear.
I find myself staring at the guy and try not to let my mouth drop open.
It’s the asshole I just robbed. Tried to rob. The one I’ve been stalking for over a week…
His hazel eyes swing to mine, but his hands are on my best friend’s hips. I try not to focus on that. Or any of it, really.
She glances over her shoulder, her brows furrowing for only a split second. She doesn’t recognize him. Why would she? He doesn’t go to our school.
Oliver Ruiz goes to the rival school—Framingham State University. He plays hockey for my father. He’s the freaking captain of the team, and if my best friend knew anything about hockey, she’d know that.
She twists around and brings her hand up between them. A handshake.
“Scarlett,” she introduces.
“Ruiz.”
“Do you speak Spanish?” She tilts her head, going into flirt mode. “Are you a local? I don’t recognize you.”
His gaze slides to mine again, and he ignores her question to ask, “Who’s your friend?”
She pauses and follows his line of sight. Not that she has far to go—I’m standing right next to her. Shifting my weight like a freaking madwoman because I keep sipping my drink, which has to be ninety percent vodka, and the music has taken over my limbs. The alcohol is going straight to my head, making the rest of me a bit numb. I’m not entirely in control of how I’m dancing.
If we can call it that.
“That’s Syd,” she says. “Great gal. Kind of a prude, if you know what I mean.”
I choke. “Lettie!”
She giggles. “What? Sorry, sorry. I mean, you’re not the type to make out with a stranger at a party. Right? You wouldn’t even make out with your ex.”
Her comment cuts, and I look away.
“Syd,” he says.
I scoff.
“Is Ruiz your first or last name?” Lettie asks.
He glances at her. “Most people call me Ruiz.”
“Hmm.” She puts her hand on his chest.
“I think your prickly friend is trying to ignore us, Scarlett,” he says to her.
She laughs. “She’s not comfortable with where your hands are drifting.”
“They’re not drifting,” he counters. “Do you think she’d dance with me?”
My friend considers him. She steps back and makes a show of looking him up and down, even reaching out and pushing his upper lip up, as if to examine his teeth. The most bizarre part is that he lets her.