Chapter 10
Chapter
Ten
Natalie: Don’t worry, the bus is leaving soon, and I’ll be back to campus in a few hours. Kiss Jace goodnight for me!
Mom: Will do!
God bless the coffee shop that’s within walking distance of the Griffin bus. After Jayne, Keisha, and I get the rest of their gear stashed on it, we sprint the block from the Spartan’s ice arena to a Dunkin.
Normally, I wouldn’t splurge on a coffee. I packed food all weekend to save my per diem for meals and bring home a little more money. But I’m exhausted after traveling, and my hands are freezing. I need this.
The barista hands Keisha her drink and she hugs it to her chest, closing her eyes and smiling. “Mmm, coffee, I love you most of all.”
I can’t help but laugh at her antics. I don’t have any girlfriends these days, and last night felt like a sleepover. She and Jayne are already close, thanks to all the classes they share. But they included me in the complimentary breakfast this morning and checked on me a few times throughout the day. Being on the hockey staff feels a bit like joining a new family.
“I’m so glad we’re almost home.” Jayne’s blonde messy bun bobs as she tips her head back and takes a long sip of her drink. “I love traveling with the team, it’s such a whirlwind rush, but I can’t wait to crawl in my bed and sleep all day tomorrow.”
I wish I could do that. But I’m finally scheduled to work at The Silver Spoon. They are only giving me minimal hours, but I don’t want to pass up the opportunity.
“Sleep all day tomorrow,” Keisha touches her cup to Jayne’s as I grab mine, “and on the bus tonight.”
“Here’s to that,” Jayne says. “We deserve a rest.”
But I shake my head, my voice mournful. “I have to work on the bus. Get some quotes from the players, set up posts for next week.”
“That sucks. Speaking of the bus, we’ve gotta move it.” Keisha holds the door open for us, her braids swinging, and we hoof it back to the coach, painted with a large orange and navy Griffin emblem on the side.
Taking a sip of my delicious coffee, I wave to them as they head to the back. The players file on, too—we always leave the front open for them to get on and off easily—and I debate my options.
I have a few guys I need to get quotes from—Cooper, Adam, and Hunter. I like to get the hardest task over with first, which means Hunter. Not even coffee can make this better.
Although last night… was surprising. Sure, he was grumpy. He set that dumb limit on how many questions he would answer and then was such a stickler about it. But there was a moment when he laughed at something I said. His crystal blue eyes lit up, his dimple popped, and I could barely breathe. My chest fizzed with fireworks, and I wanted that moment to last forever.
But, of course, it didn’t. I know not to expect anything other than his Oscar the Grouch routine today. There’s no point trying to be peppy and upbeat, because it’s lost on him.
So I approach his seat and raise a brow. “You know the drill. Move your bag.”
Wearing a gray Griffins hoodie, his dark hair is messy. Does he style it to look that way or is it natural? Either way, it’s working for him. His ice-blue eyes meet mine, narrowing in a glare. Maybe it’s just me, but the look he gives me feels different after last night. He’s glowering, yeah, but there’s a playful tilt to his lips.
“What have I done to deserve this?” he asks, crossing his arms over his impressive chest, and yeah, I can’t help but look. I didn’t think I was a girl who got excited over muscles, but I was wrong. I snap my gaze back to his, hoping he doesn’t realize I was staring.
“The pleasure of my scintillating company?” I tap my toe and take another sip. “That’s a good question. Have you ever thought that maybe I’m the one being punished, here?”
He taps his chin in mock thought. “No, that can’t be right. I’m delightful.”
I snort, my belly filling with something like… anticipation? Am I having fun sparring with him? He’s annoying and the worst part of my job. Did winning one hockey game change his personality? Whatever those butterflies are doing in my stomach, they’ve got the wrong idea.
“Yeah, delightful,” I say, my voice deadpan. “I’m sure your mom told you that this morning. Scoot over.”
I expect him to jab back, but his face shutters closed as he shifts his pack onto the floor. He fingers the gold chain at his throat. Whatever was twinkling in his gaze is gone.
“One quote today and then you need to go bother someone else.” The lighthearted tone disappears, turning brusque and businesslike.
There’s the Hunter I know. I must have imagined that he was being slightly decent. I put my mask of professionalism back on and set my bag at my feet, getting situated, and—
My scalding hot coffee cascades down the front of my shirt. I gasp, jumping to my feet, and stare at the brown stain that covers me from neck to navel. “My mocha!”
Hunter winces, and I expect a quip about my clumsy reflexes or something. But all he says is, “Do you have anything else to wear?”
I shake my head, silent. Everything else is packed under the bus. I shouldn’t have done something dumb like splurge on coffee. This is what I deserve. But it will be a long four-hour ride back to Lafayette in my soaking—soon-to-be freezing—team polo shirt.
“Here.” Standing, Hunter pulls his sweatshirt over his head in one fluid motion. The t-shirt he has under it rides up, revealing a sliver of abs, and ohmigod. I thought men only looked like that on TV or the cover of romance novels. My brain stutters, then stops for a second.
When I only stare at him, Hunter takes the now-empty coffee cup from my hands and puts his hoodie into them instead.“This might help.”
Still mute, I tug it over my hair, unprepared to be engulfed in his scent. I’m overwhelmed by how good it smells. Like fabric softener and sandalwood. I force myself to breathe normally and not sniff his sweatshirt like a creeper.
“Thank you.” The words come out a croak, like I’ve forgotten how to talk.
“You’re welcome.” Hunter shrugs like it’s no big deal, but he saved me from a miserable bus ride. “If it’s not weird, you can do that girl magic trick and take off your wet shirt under there. I don’t care.”
A laugh bubbles out. “Girl magic trick?”
“Yeah, you know. That thing girls do where they take off clothes while still wearing clothes?”
“I’m familiar. But true girl magic will be getting this stain out.” Doing as he suggested, I pull my arms into his hoodie.
“But thankfully puberty taught me a lot about that.”
Hunter stares straight ahead, giving me a bit of privacy. “You don’t want to know what boys learn at that age.”
I wiggle under his sweatshirt, getting my arms out of my wet shirt and then pulling it up through the neck hole.“You’re right, I don’t. I’ll probably lose my mind when my nephew turns thirteen. I think we’re finally past the stage where he puts his hand down his pants all the time.”
“Boys never move past that. How old is he?”
Is Grumpy Hunter having a voluntary conversation with me? He’s not telling me to go away and stop wasting his time every minute that I talk to him. And he was kind to me. Did I get on the wrong bus? In a parallel dimension?
But it would make my job so much easier if he would stop fighting me about everything. And maybe I’ll see his dimple again. Weird or not, I go with it.
“He’s four, almost five. Wanna see a picture?”
Before he’s even answered, I pull out my phone and start scrolling. I hadn’t expected to miss Jace, but I’m not gone very often. I spent most of my free time earlier today bugging Sarah to FaceTime and send me pictures. So I show him—Jace in his Star Wars pajamas, Jace playing with his Matchbox cars, and Jace snuggling with his blankie and favorite stuffed animal.
“Is that a weasel?” Hunter asks, peering closer.
“Yeah. Kids are weird.” I shrug. “It goes everywhere with him.”
“You two are close?”
“Incredibly.” I smile as my fingers hover over the picture of him. Dark hair and dark eyes like mine, a mischievous smile that I can’t resist. I grumble about how he ends up in my bed, but last night was weird to sleep without feeling his little body curl into mine.
“Do you have any nieces or nephews?” I ask Hunter, putting my phone into his hoodie pocket.
His posture changes, and he tenses up. But he still answers me.
“Nope. I have one younger sister, Hadley. She’s a freshman at Harrison this year. But I don’t want to talk about my family.”
Great. The one thing I’m supposed to focus on. I’m about to harass him for it when his stomach growls.
He flushes, and I raise a brow. “Hungry?”
“Starving.”
“I bet. Hockey burns a lot of calories.” Rooting around in the bag at my feet, I come up with two options and display them. “Granola bar or banana?”
Another noise comes from his midsection and before he can answer, I put them both in his hands. “I don’t think one will be enough.”
Hunter chuckles but doesn’t argue, tearing open the granola bar and biting it in half. Then he moans, and I feel it through my entire body. How can one little sound make me feel tingly and aware all over?
“This is amazing.” He shoves the other half in his mouth, devouring it. “You don’t even know.”
I put up my palms in a ‘surrender’ gesture. “I just want to keep my hands out of the velociraptor’s reach.”
“Aw, I’m not that bad, am I?” He peels the banana and digs in. “I only bite ladies when they ask.”
I stifle a gasp. His eyes twinkle, and my skin gets hot, then cold. Is he flirting with me?
I clear my throat and feign nonchalance. “Is that a common occurrence?”
Polishing off the banana, he swallows. “You’d be surprised.”
I need to change the subject before I burst into flames. “I hate to break it to you, but that’s not what the Social Media Director wants me to focus on. Tell me a little about you.”
He makes a face like he ate a lemon and not a banana, and I realize—he doesn’t like personal questions. Much like he doesn’t appreciate positivity but seems to respond better when I’m sarcastic. I’ll just have to be sneaky about it.
“Uh, never mind.” I shift, tucking one of my feet underneath me so I can turn towards him a bit more. “How about this instead. What’s your favorite thing about Harrison?”
Hunter’s shoulders relax, and his face loses its tension. “The hockey team.”
I roll my eyes. I should have seen that coming. “Okay, besides hockey.”
“The burritos at La Bamba. My roommates. That my sister is here. Can I say the hockey coaching staff?”
“I’ll allow it. What’s the best class you’ve taken?”
“Hmm.” He presses his lips together as he thinks. “My business law professor was hilarious. Super dry sense of humor, so not everyone got it. But I looked forward to what he’d say every class.”
“What’s your major?”
“OBM,” he mumbles, staring at his hands in his lap. Hmm, not a good topic. He’s a tough nut to crack, but I think I’m making progress. I’m about to ask another question when he turns the tables on me.
“And you? What are your answers to these questions?”
I laugh. “No one cares. I’m not a star hockey player.”
“Maybe I care,” he says under his breath, so soft I probably imagined it. Then, louder, he asks, “Do you play any sports? What’s your favorite?”
Shaking my head, I try to get my footing in this conversation and not appear unprofessional. I’m supposed to be asking the questions, not answering them. “Don’t have one. I went to my first college sporting event… last week.”
Hunter smirks, and my belly swoops at the sight. “So clearly, hockey is your favorite.”
“Yep, definitely. I’ve attended four times as many hockey games as other sports.” Then I tap my chin. “Okay, here’s one for you. If you didn’t play hockey, what sport would be your favorite?”
I don’t expect this question to stump him, but he shakes his head. “That’s hard. My life is pretty much all hockey, all the time. It’s always been that way.”
Look at that, he’s finally opening up. Maybe I have to give information in order to get some. I nod. “That makes sense. How old were you when you started playing?”
“I learned to skate when I was two. So three, I think?”
“Are you serious? Jace is four, and there’s no way.”
“Hockey-player dad, remember?”
I’m kinda surprised he brought it up, but it feels natural to ask, “So, is your dad’s team your favorite?”
“Yeah, I grew up a Bruins fan. How could I not be?” He runs a hand through his hair, and then rushes on. “But I’d be happy to play for any team that would have me. Be sure to add that.”
“Haha, who do you think I’m telling this to?”
“I don’t know.” He shrugs. “NHL scouts?”
“I think the social media following is mostly college girls who want to see you guys with your shirts off. But—”
“If you insist.” Waggling his eyebrows, he starts taking off his shirt, and I bust out laughing.
“No, no! The college does not endorse that!” Giggling, I grab the hem of his gray t-shirt and tug it down. When my knuckles brush against his abs, I suck in a breath. Hopefully he thinks it’s because I’m laughing and not because holy moly, his stomach muscles are the eighth wonder of the world. I pull my hands back and fold them primly in my lap where they belong.
“Darn.” He snaps his fingers, mock disappointed. “I’m sure it would get a lot of followers, though.”
“I’m sure it would, too. But I don’t want to field those comments.”
He smiles at me, and it hits me. When was the last time I laughed like this? Or felt this relaxed? I don’t know. I expected talking to Hunter to be the hardest part of my job tonight, but it hasn’t been that bad. In fact, this is almost kind of… nice?