3. Hendrix
HENDRIX
N ews travels fast in a small town. Five minutes after I got off the phone with Grannie Bell, my old friend Tucker calls to beg me to fill in for the hockey coach at Brookking High until Christmas break.
Apparently, the coach’s wife went into early labor and he’s taking an emergency paternity leave.
My first reaction was to say heck no, but Brookking High is my ala mater and I have fond memories of playing on the team with my brother. We were an unstoppable duo. The Ellis brothers. Liam on defense and me as the school’s star forward.
Good times.
So, after some bribery (all the coffee I can drink from Tucker’s shop) I agreed to fill in.
I’ve been on the job for twenty minutes, running the boys through passing drills when a blonde tornado bursts through the rink doors. My heart does this weird flutter thing because holy smokes - it's Colette McAllister. And she looks mad enough to melt the ice.
She storms across the ice in her high heels and there's this adorable little crease between her eyebrows that I remember from when we were younger.
"Why hello there, Professor!" The nickname slips out before I can stop it. Old habits die hard.
She skids to a halt, wobbling slightly on the ice. "Don't you ‘Professor’ me, Hendrix Ellis!"
I lean against the boards, drinking in the sight of her.
Man, she's even prettier than I remember.
She's traded in her teenage sweaters for a fitted blazer, but she's still got that pristine, perfect posture that used to drive me crazy.
Her blonde hair's swept up in one of those messy-but-perfect buns, and she's got this whole sophisticated teacher vibe going that's doing things to my brain.
My eyes dart to her left hand – no ring. Not that I'm checking or anything.
"Careful there. Ice is slippery." I hold out my hand to steady her.
She swats it away. "You- you-" She makes this squeaking noise that sounds like an angry mouse. "Do you have any idea what you've done?"
"Currently filling in for Wade while he figures out how to change diapers?" I flash her my best innocent grin. "Though if you're here to give me detention, I might not mind."
Another squeak, followed by what I can only describe as a growl. Her cheeks are flushed pink, either from anger or the cold, and all I can think about is how I used to doodle her name in my playbook during practice.
"You!" She points a finger at me. She's even prettier when she's angry, which probably isn't the thing I should be focusing on right now. "Do you have any idea what you've done?"
I raise my hands in surrender. "I literally just got here. Like, twenty minutes ago."
"You- the hockey uniforms-" She finally manages to sputter.
I blink at her. "What about them?"
That sets off another round of incoherent noises and my heart does that weird flippy thing it used to do back in senior year whenever she'd push her glasses up her nose.
"Ugh!" Another squeak, followed by what I can only describe as a growl. It shouldn't be cute, but somehow it is.
The team has stopped doing their drills, fifteen teenage boys watching this exchange like it's better than Netflix. Can't say I blame them.
"Look at you - still setting the world on fire, Professor." I can't help the grin spreading across my face. "You know, Grannie mentioned you were teaching here now."
Her eyes narrow. "Don't change the subject."
But I'm already lost in memories - the way she used to sit in the front row of English class, hand always raised, while I slouched in the back trying not to get caught staring at her.
"It's really good to see you again," I say, meaning every word.
"You look..." Amazing. Gorgeous. Like everything I remembered and more.
"...great. When's the last time we saw each other?
Graduation? You were giving that valedictorian speech about how high school was like a novel and that we were stepping into the next chapter of our lives. "
My heart's doing that stupid dance again.
She's still gorgeous, maybe even more than before.
Back in high school, I used to spend entire English classes staring at the back of her head, trying to work up the nerve to ask her out.
But she was way out of my league - student council president, straight A's, probably had her life planned out to the minute.
Meanwhile, I was just the guy who could shoot a puck and make fart noises with my armpit.
“You remember that?”
“Yeah. You said something like, 'The pen is in our hands. So, let’s go out there and write stories worth telling.’”
“That… that was a long time ago.”
Okay to be honest, I wouldn’t have remembered her speech word for word all these years later, but Grannie insisted on playing my graduation video last night after dinner. Sue me.
Colette's face does this thing where she's trying really hard to stay mad but her lips keep twitching. I used to live for those almost-smiles in high school, back when I was too chicken to do anything but crack jokes in class and hope she'd notice me.
"You know what? We should catch up properly." The words tumble out before my brain can catch up with my mouth. “Tucker's place makes a mean cappuccino."
The team's collectively holding their breath. I swear I hear one of them whisper "Shoot your shot, coach!"
Colette lets out this little snort that shouldn't be adorable but somehow is. "I don't drink coffee."
"Since when?"
"Since always." She crosses her arms. "And you can't just waltz in here and-"
"Tea then?" I'm pushing my luck and I know it, but something about being around her makes me feel seventeen again - stupid brave and stupidly hopeful.
She opens her mouth, probably to tell me exactly where I can stick my tea invitation, when one of the boys pipes up: "Miss McAllister drinks peppermint tea! She has it every morning in the teacher's lounge!"
I shoot the kid a thumbs up behind my back. Mental note: that one's getting extra ice time.
Colette's anger seems to falter for a moment, replaced by something I can't quite read. "I- well-" She straightens her blazer. "This isn't a social call, Hendrix."
"But it could be." The words tumble out before my brain can catch up with my mouth. "Grannie and Aunt Goldie mentioned you might be free."
She raises an eyebrow. "Did they now?"
The boys are still gawking, so I wave them back to their drills. "Five laps, everyone. Now."
They groan but start skating. When I look back at Colette, she's got that same expression she used to get when I'd make paper airplanes in class and they’d wiz by her head.
She whips out a spreadsheet from her bag so fast I'm worried she might get paper cuts. "While you were busy charming the school board, they reallocated my Christmas pageant budget to buy new hockey uniforms!"
Oh. That explains the death glare.
"Hey, don't look at me. I just got here." I hold up my hands. "Though I gotta say, if anyone could make budget spreadsheets sound sexy, it'd be you, Professor."
Wrong thing to say. Her face goes from pink to red to white.
"This isn't funny, Hendrix! The pageant's in less than three weeks and now I have no money for costumes or sets. But I suppose you think that's hilarious, don't you? Just like you thought it was hilarious to put rubber chickens in my locker senior year."
"That was one time!" I protest. "And in my defense, you looked really cute when you screamed."
"You haven't changed at all, have you? Everything's still just one big joke to you!"
"Come on, Professor. You know that's not true." I grab my water bottle, trying to hide my grin. "Sometimes things are two jokes."
She makes this sound like a kettle about to blow, spinning on her heel and marching back across the ice. "If you'll excuse me, Mr. Ellis, I have a pageant to salvage with approximately zero dollars."
"Careful, it's slip-" Too late. Her heel catches a rough patch and she windmills backward.
Thank God for hockey reflexes. I catch her before she hits the ice, and suddenly I've got an armful of my high school crush.