Chapter 4
AGE FIFTEEN
I spot Connor pacing outside the rink, and I rush around the corner before he can notice me.
I’ve been in Minnesota for a couple weeks now, trying to get acclimated with the team and area before school starts next month.
The girls on the team are nice, but they all have one thing in common: They can’t shut up about the infamous Connor Smith.
Of course I had heard of him before I got here. I did so much research on the school before committing to come, and the records he broke as a freshman were hard to ignore. But I didn’t tell anyone I knew who he was. That would do horrible things for his ego.
Carefully so he doesn’t see me, I slowly inch forward and peek around the corner to watch him for a minute.
His steps have quickened and he appears to be talking to himself while throwing his hands out to the side and in front of him.
A laugh threatens to break out so I slap my hand over my mouth before it can escape.
Connor Smith may be the best thing to happen to hockey in years, but he looks a far cry from the confident player he is on the ice right about now.
As much as I’m enjoying the show, my stomach rumbles, reminding me of just how hungry I am. I’ve only had some trail mix since practice ended a few hours ago and I could smash an entire pizza right now. I hope Connor likes a girl with an appetite.
Taking a step back, I position my braid over my shoulder so it’s in front of me and then smooth down my clothes.
What the heck am I doing? He should be the one trying to impress me.
I steel my spine and turn the corner to head to the front of the rink where Connor continues to pace. The moment he finally spots me he freezes in place. I don’t stop my pursuit until I’m a couple feet away from him.
“I thought you were about to burn a hole in the ground here from all that pacing, Smith.”
Connor takes a moment before responding. I watch as his eyes move down my body and slowly return up to my face.
Although I’m not trying to impress him, I do like to look good since I’m in workout clothes or hockey equipment for most of the day.
Tonight I decided on a new pair of skinny jeans that hug my muscular curves just right.
They’re high-waisted, so I chose a plain white, fitted crop top to wear and on my feet are my favorite pair of chucks.
“You look amazing.”
His words come out on an exhale, and although I brush off comments from guys most of the time because they’re usually only after one thing, I can tell Connor is genuine when he says it.
I give him my best smile. “Thanks. You don’t look too bad yourself.”
Tonight Connor is wearing dark jeans, a black dry-fit shirt, and a pair of Nikes. He looks so effortlessly sexy. I hate to admit how good looking he is, but damn. The boy is fine.
He throws his arms out to his sides and does a slow spin. “Trying to look my best for my favorite new friend.”
That comment earns him an eye roll and he laughs. My god, even his laugh is sexy. I have never been boy crazy a day in my life. What the hell am I doing?
“Are you done showing off? I need food ASAP before I get hangry. Not sure I’ll be your favorite new anything if that happens.”
Connor huffs a laugh under his breath and then motions with his hand to our left. “This way, ma’am.”
My feet stay cemented in place.
“Don’t ever call me ma’am again. Got it?”
Connor salutes me, and I take off in the direction he motioned toward and he jogs to join me at my side.
“So how are you liking Minnesota so far?”
“It’s cool. I like that everyone I go to school with has the same lifestyle as I do. Kids back home in Wisconsin never really understood why I missed so much school and I never attended any dances or things like that. I don’t feel so out of place here.”
As a girl from Wisconsin, you’d think kids would understand the commitment it takes to play travel hockey.
We have one of the best college programs for women in the country.
But my school peers never really put any effort into getting to know me.
Not that I blame them. I was constantly traveling out of state for tournaments and games.
I couldn’t attend so many things that were the highlights of their lives, but I never really felt like I was missing out on anything.
Hockey is everything to me. It’s going to hopefully pay for my college and be my ticket to playing for my dream school and becoming a Wisconsin Badger. Missing out on Valentine’s dances and lame parties at the roller rink is a small price to pay to live out my dream.
Connor sticks his hands in the pockets of his jeans. “I get that. I’m from Minnesota but from a small town up north, not too far from the Canadian border. I know what it’s like being from a huge hockey state and having a lot of the kids there not understand my obsession over a stupid game.”
I level him with a look at the use of the word “stupid.”
He immediately removes his hands from his pocket and throws them up in front of him.
“Their words. Not mine. Hockey isn’t just a game to me. It’s life.”
All I can do is nod, because he’s right. When you play a sport competitively, and if you’re lucky enough to be one of the best at it, that game becomes a lifestyle.
We spend the next five minutes chatting about mundane things like our favorite hockey players, music, and TV shows. When Connor admits to watching my favorite TV show of all time, I grab his wrist and spin around in front of him.
“You seriously watch One Tree Hill every night before bed? Or is that just a line you use to get girls excited. Because Nathan Scott is a national treasure, and if you’re using him, we’re going to have a problem.
” Crossing my arms over my chest, I jut a foot out to the side and wait for him to answer.
Connor places his hands gently on my shoulders and bends his head down so he’s at eye level with me.
“Brooke Davis is my dream girl, Avery. I wouldn’t joke about that.”
My eyes bore into his as I try to decipher whether he’s telling the truth or not. Still not fully convinced, I ask him one more question.
“If she really is your dream girl, tell me who Brooke bid on in the Boy Auction episode.”
A slow smirk spreads across his face and he finally releases his hold on my shoulders. Mirroring my stance, his biceps flex as he crosses his arms over his chest.
“She had to run and get money and ended up having to bid on Mouth.”
My jaw drops and I stand stunned, gaping at this boy that I’m beginning to become infatuated with.
He spins me around and throws his arm over my shoulder, urging me to keep walking.
“That was an easy one. But yeah, I love the shit out of that show.”
Before I can think of another question, he stops walking and turns us toward the front of a very tiny pizza shop.
“Lombardi’s Little Slice of Heaven. The best pizza you’ll ever eat.”
It takes all of two seconds before the delicious aroma overtakes all of my senses.
The smell drifts between us, warm and familiar, like I can taste the pizza before even taking my first bite.
Molten cheese, tangy tomato sauce, and the mouth-watering smell of fresh baked crust floats in the air.
The scent alone could ruin anyone’s plans of only eating one slice.
It’s a good thing I came here planning to devour a whole pie myself.
Licking my lips, I turn to Connor and can’t hide my excitement. I bounce on my toes and my cheeks hurt from the size of the smile on my face.
“Let’s go already!” I grab his hand and fling the door open, pulling him behind me.
Inside the small pizza shop, I’m taken aback at how cute the space is.
Not only does the food smell delicious and authentic, but the restaurant is just as welcoming as the aroma.
Small square tables, covered in white and red checkered tablecloths, line the space with black iron chairs surrounding them all.
Wine bottles line the walls up near the ceiling, and the stone walls are painted a red-orange color, the biggest wall next to us covered by an Italian flag.
Once we approach the counter to order, we’re greeted by the cutest older woman. Dark black, curly hair frames her face and the kindest brown eyes look back at me.
“What can I get for you, my dear?” Her voice is thick with an Italian accent and it immediately makes me smile.
“Hi! Can I please have a small round pizza with grilled chicken, bacon, and pineapple?”
The woman nods and writes down my order on a slip of paper in very messy handwriting before turning her attention to Connor at my right.
“And for you?” The woman stares up at him but when I don’t hear him answer, I turn to see him staring at me, disgust written as plain as day all over his face.
“What?” I ask, shrugging my shoulders.
Connor places a hand to his chest and starts rubbing over the area where his heart is.
“I think I can feel my heart actually breaking in my chest right now.”
I knit my brows together and narrow my eyes at him. What the hell is he talking about?
“What are you jabbering on about? Are you feeling okay?” I put the back of my hand to his forehead to check for a temperature but he swats me away.
“Pineapple? On pizza? Say it ain’t so.” He dramatically says the last four words and clutches his heart again.
“Oh my god! Shut up! Pineapple belongs on pizza. It’s not my fault you lack a sophisticated palate.”
Connor shakes his head, disappointment written all over his handsome face, and then turns toward the woman who is looking between the two of us. I can tell she’s trying to hide a smile but she’s not doing a very good job of it.
“Sorry, Mrs. Lombardi. I was dealing with a broken heart. Can I get my regular, please?”
The woman, who is apparently Mrs. Lombardi, nods and scribbles Connor’s order below mine. She turns toward the window of the kitchen and sticks it up so the cook can see our orders.
Out of my peripheral vision, I see Connor start shaking his head again. Without thinking, I shove his shoulder, causing him to teeter on his feet.