CHAPTER 8
MATTY
The desk felt too small for my frame, my knees pressing up against the underside like it had been designed for middle schoolers, not Division I athletes.
My shoulders still ached from practice, the ghost of my pads lingering even after a shower and a night’s worth of sleep.
I stared at my phone, scrolling through Instagram mindlessly, but the pictures blurred together, my brain still stuck somewhere between exhaustion and everything that had gone wrong yesterday.
A text from Jace popped up, and I tapped it open.
Jace: I just remembered that we completely forgot to mock you yesterday for sprinting off the field to find your stalker
Jace: Frankly, I’m disappointed with myself.
I groaned silently, dragging a hand down my face. I’d honestly thought I’d gotten away with it. Discussing my deranged behavior yesterday was the last thing I wanted to talk about.
Then I frowned. And did he just use the word frankly? Since when did Jace talk like that? Or anybody, really.
Me: Are we going to talk about what you just said?
Jace: I literally texted you to talk about what I just said.
Parker: …
Jace: Don’t … me, Davis. I know you think you got that from Walker, and that’s completely unacceptable. You got that from me. And possibly my brother. Not from wildly overrated professional Dallas hockey players.
Jace: We are the No Drama Llamas.
Jace: We’re not followers. We. Are. Trendsetters.
I grinned at that. Parker’s brother, Walker, played in the NHL. He was the starting goalie for the Dallas Knights, and he had his own group of friends on his team that had their own brand of chaos. Jace could get a little competitive with them sometimes.
Me: I just wanted to know why you used the word “frankly”, but I guess I can also remind you that I never approved of that group name.
Parker: I, too, would like to know why you used the word frankly. It seems suspicious, frankly.
I texted back a … because it seemed fitting.
Parker: Also…I’ll make sure to tell Lincoln Daniels that you think he’s wildly overrated next time I talk to him. I’m sure that will go over well. You’ll be a big hit at the next Christmas party.
Me: Good point, Parkie-poo.
Jace was probably pissing himself right now. Lincoln Daniels, the Dallas Knights star center, and Parker’s brother’s teammate, was actually terrifying…and definitely not overrated.
Jace: Obviously Parker’s big brain isn’t working right now. I obviously would never include Lincoln in that description. I would also like to bring us back to what we were talking about.
Jace: The fact that our boy Matty is in love with a stalker.
I huffed at that. It was laughable that Jace would ever tease me about having a stalker, considering that if you looked up the word in the dictionary, it actually wouldn’t have a definition. It would just say Parker Davis and Jace Thatcher and everyone would understand.
Me: Pot, meet kettle. Seems to me it wouldn’t be much different than Riley and Casey being in love with the two of you, now would it?
Me: But also, I’m not in love. I had concern as a citizen of the world for the safety of…another citizen of the world. That was it.
Parker: What the hell is a citizen of the world?
Jace: That’s why you’re my bestilicious number one today, Parker. Using that big brain of yours to tell my bestilicious number two he’s an idiot.
Me: I thought you said that wasn’t a ranking “per se.”
Jace: Maybe it is, maybe it isn’t. But someone has to keep you on your toes.
I sighed and set the phone face down on the desk before they could come up with anything else. The screen buzzed once more anyway, vibrating against the cheap wood like it was laughing at me.
There was a rustle beside me, books shifting, a chair scraping, and I caught the faint scent of coffee and something floral. I didn’t bother looking over. I didn’t feel like talking to anyone.
A throat cleared at the front of the room. I looked up to see the professor leaning against the desk with a smirk that set off instant alarms. That look never meant anything good.
Pop quiz. It had to be a pop quiz.
Swearing under my breath, I glanced down at my desk. No pencil. No pen. Nothing but my useless phone and a sinking feeling in my gut.
I dug through my backpack, irritation bubbling up as I flipped through loose papers, crumpled receipts, and an empty protein bar wrapper. No pencil. No pen. Nothing.
Perfect.
“Where the hell is it,” I muttered under my breath, shoving my hand deeper into the bag. I came up with lint, a bottle cap, and a sticky note with Jace’s handwriting that just said buy lube. I crumpled that fast, my ears burning, and shoved it back inside.
“Here,” a soft voice whispered.
I turned my head.
And froze.
Wow.
She sat one desk over, angled slightly toward me, a yellow No. 2 pencil held out in her delicate fingers like it might burn her if she held it too long.
Her hair caught the classroom light, blonde but not flat.
Streaks of honey and gold ran through it like the sun was pouring directly into the strands.
And her eyes, fuck, her eyes were copper…
warm and alive, like pennies just pulled from sunlight.
They caught the light when she moved, shifting between amber and bronze, impossible to look away from once you noticed them.
Pennies just pulled from sunlight?
I was losing my fucking mind.
She blushed as I stared at her. And it wasn’t just pink cheeks, either. Color flooded her neck, spreading down to the collar of her sweatshirt, blooming across her skin like I’d caught her doing something indecent just by existing near her.
Her lips parted slightly, like she’d been about to say something, then pressed together again. Her gaze flicked down, and she shoved the pencil toward me like she couldn’t stand to hold it any longer.
Normally, I would’ve just taken it and moved on. But something in me paused, curious, reckless, and I let my fingers brush hers as I took it. The contact was small, barely anything, but the heat of her skin hit me like static.
“Uh,” I said brilliantly, still holding the pencil like it was something fragile. “Thanks.”
The wood was warm from her hand, and for a reason I couldn’t name, I didn’t set it down right away.
Instead, I kept staring.
Because there was something about her. Something that hooked sharp and fast under my skin and refused to let go.
The professor started talking, but his voice barely registered, his words washing over me without sticking.
I couldn’t focus on any of it. My attention kept slipping back to her…
the glint of light in her hair, the quick, careful way she turned a page, the tension in her shoulders like she was trying to disappear into herself.
I’d never seen anyone like her. Not just pretty—arresting.
A beautiful that hit like a punch you didn’t see coming, that knocked something loose inside you before you could brace for it.
There was a softness to her face that didn’t match the way she held herself, like she was half terrified of being noticed and half hoping someone finally would.
I couldn’t look away. Every time I tried, my eyes found her again, like my brain had decided she was the only thing worth focusing on.
I shifted in my chair, and my arm brushed hers. Barely. But she tensed like I’d burned her.
“You saved my ass,” I said before I could stop myself, leaning closer. I wanted to hear her voice again. “I forgot he gets off on surprise quizzes.”
The words left my mouth, and I instantly regretted them. Smooth, real smooth. I’d played in front of packed stadiums, done press interviews, handled reporters…and somehow, a single girl with a pencil had me forgetting how to talk like a functioning human.
Her breath hitched, faint but audible. I bit back a grin.
She was blushing again, somehow even deeper than before.
The color rushed up her neck, staining her cheeks until she looked like she might combust right there.
And despite how awkward my attempt at flirting had been, it still was affecting her.
She looked like she wanted to disappear under the desk, but she nodded anyway, eyes locked on the scratched surface in front of her. Her breathing came in small, uneven pulls, like she was trying to survive the moment by sheer force of will.
How the hell had I never seen her before? This wasn’t a big class. I usually sat in the same spot, head down, avoiding eye contact so no one got the wrong idea and tried to talk to me. I usually remembered faces, even forgettable ones, but hers? There was definitely no way I’d forget that.
Had she just transferred? Been sitting somewhere else this whole time? Or had I really been that wrapped up in my own world not to notice her until now? The thought unsettled me in a way I didn’t like.
I needed to know more. Anything. Something to go on.
I leaned in slightly, my voice low so only she could hear. “What’s your name?”
Her head tilted the tiniest bit, like she was weighing whether to answer at all. For a second, I thought she wasn’t going to speak. Then, so softly I almost missed it, she whispered, “It doesn’t matter.”
I blinked, sure I’d misheard her. My brow pulled tight before I could stop it. “What did you just say?”
She looked up for half a second, and it felt like taking a hit to the chest. Those copper-colored eyes caught the light, and for a moment I forgot what air was.
“Mr. Adler.” The professor’s voice cut through the moment, sharp enough to snap it clean.
I straightened immediately, muttering an apology while a few people snickered. My face felt hot, but not from embarrassment. More like frustration.
I tried to focus on the lecture, since I’m sure I’d just bombed the pop quiz…but it didn’t last long. My hand started moving on its own, tapping the pencil she’d given me against the desk. The rhythm filled the silence between us.
“Come on,” I murmured teasingly, leaning toward her. “You don’t look like a Sarah.”