Chapter 6
Nine and a Half Years Ago
Keep up your training, kid. Run fast and build muscle, and you’ll get all kinds of playing time next season. You’ll be unstoppable.
That’s what William Walsh told him, so that’s what Chase is doing. Even if the Massachusetts weather is hotter and muggier than he expected, and even if the mosquitoes are following him down the running path in a damn swarm.
He’ll do whatever Coach says, for one simple reason—Walsh is the only man who’s ever really believed in him. The day Chase got his scholarship offer was the best day of his life. Come to Minnesota, kid. We’ll take care of you. And so far he has.
Runkeeper says he’s covered seven miles by the time he approaches the student center. The place looks mostly abandoned for the summer, but a water bottle refill station beckons like a siren song from inside the atrium. So he hits the brakes at the door and tries his ID card at the sensor.
The door clicks open for him. Panting, he steps inside the darkened space, nabbing his empty water bottle off the holder on his belt.
His bottle is almost filled when he hears someone whisper “Crap!” Then a hand smacks against something hard. And he hears “Ouch.”
Hmm. He caps his water bottle silently and steps into the adjacent room, which is illuminated only by the glow of four or five vending machines. “Problem?” he says to a familiar figure.
Zoe whirls around and then leaps away from the machine with far less grace than she has on skates. “Jesus, Hockey,” she hisses. “Don’t sneak up on people.”
She’s wearing tiny cutoff shorts and a tank top that makes it hard for him to keep his eyes above her cleavage. “Sorry,” he says. “Didn’t mean to startle you. Did the machine eat your money?”
She gives him a wary glance. “Maybe. It doesn’t matter.”
He takes another step but then remembers how sweaty he is. It’s not his best look.
Or is it? Zoe is suddenly staring at his collarbone, where a drop of sweat threatens to roll down his bare chest. When she looks up, it’s with guilty eyes.
He grins. “See something you like?”
She frowns.
“I meant in the machine.”
She scowls.
Letting her off the hook, he takes a peek at the vending machine closest to her. Sure enough, there’s a forlorn packet of those neon orange peanut butter crackers dangling in the middle of the rack.
“Huh,” he says, smirking. “I can probably bully those into falling down, but frankly I’m a little worried about your taste. That’s a snack of true desperation. We’re going to have to work on your concept of fun.”
She gapes at him. “At least they have some protein. Not that I asked your opinion. And maybe it is a snack of true desperation.”
“Did you miss dinner in the caf?”
She shakes her head. “It’s complicated.”
He’s about to argue that there’s nothing at all complicated about eating your fill in the dining hall. But then he has a thought. Maybe he’s not the only one on a coach’s training plan. “Are you snacking in secret?”
She crosses her arms in front of that perfect chest. “My coach and I don’t see eye to eye on my calorie count right now.” She waves her hand toward the machine. “Can you do your macho thing, or should I take another crack at it?”
He looks Zoe up and down, but not in a sleazy way. In an assessing way. “You’re, what, a hundred and ten pounds? And you skated for ten hours today? I don’t get it.”
“You really aren’t from around here, are you? An ice princess has to be pencil thin and still jump like a kangaroo.”
Jesus. “Okay, Ice Princess. But crackers aren’t the answer. You’re not thinking big enough. No half measures.” He pulls his phone out of his pocket and scrolls to a number he’d been saving to bribe his campers. “What don’t you like on pizza?”
Her eyes widen. “What?”
“Pizza? You’ve heard of it?” He taps the number. “Quick, what don’t you like?”
“Uh, mushrooms?”
“No way. Me too!” He grins.
“But I can’t carry a pizza into the dorm. There are spies everywhere.”
He studies her again, thinking how sad that is. But how believable. “I can, though. Hello? Hi. Yes. Can you deliver to Filbert Hall, entryway F? Cool. A large pie with meatballs, pepperoni, and maybe olives?” He glances at Zoe.
She nods quickly.
“Yup, olives. Thanks, my dude. Actually—double that order. I have some hungry friends. Thirty-five minutes? Okay, I’ll be waiting outside.” He ends the call. “You’ll meet me on the roof, all right?” He’s actually giddy about this plan. A private party for two.
“On the roof?” she repeats skeptically. “What if it’s locked?”
“It’s not. I scoped it out already. There’s even lawn chairs up there because I’m not the only fun person with big ideas.”
Her eyes widen. Suddenly, the urge to kiss her is overwhelming. But he turns to the vending machine instead. “Stand back, little lady. I’m going to get your horrible crackers now.”
She snorts. “It’ll be really funny if this doesn’t work.”
It might not, but Chase doesn’t actually care.
He’s got her full attention and he’s loving every minute of it.
He takes three steps back, raising his arms into a kung fu stance.
Or at least as much of one as a guy can learn from Keanu in The Matrix.
Then, with a highly comical shout, he does a spinning move before firmly hip-checking the vending machine.
The crackers drop neatly into the slot below.
He lets out a war whoop. “Save ’em for tomorrow,” he says, heading for the door. “Because we got a pizza on the way. Meet me on the roof in thirty-five.”
Feeling like he could run another seven miles just on the glow of winning a private hour of Zoe’s company, Chase takes off without a backward glance. He has very little time to shower and change into a T-shirt in the exact shade of blue that makes all the girls coo over his eyes.
But if he had looked back, he would have seen Zoe watching him with a dazzled expression on her young face.