Page 47 of Breaking the Pucking Rules

If it wasn’t hockey, I didn’t want to know.

“How did you get on with your spelling test?” I press.

She spent an hour going over and over her list of words last night.

Just like me, she struggles academically. I wish I could make it all easier for her. But unfortunately, there is no easy fix.

I just hope that she keeps trying to overcome it. I’d hate to see her give up because it’s too hard.

"Yeah, it was okay,” she says before running back to the house.

“Sutton,” I warn as I follow her.

Swinging the front door closed behind me, my nose leads me toward the scent of freshly baked cookies in the kitchen.

“Eight out of ten,” Sutton says as she studies the cookies to select the one she wants me to have.

I beam, so fucking proud of her. “Peanut, that’s amazing.”

She shrugs. “Still got two wrong,” she mutters under her breath.

“And I missed two attempts at scoring during practice today. I still sunk eight into the net, though,” I say, hoping she sees it differently if I bring a puck into it.

Her eyes lift, a smile lighting up her face.

“You should do that in a game. Everyone would lose their minds if you scored eight.”

“Exactly. Just like I’m losing my mind over the fact you worked really hard for that spelling test and got eight right. It’s amazing.”

Color rises on her cheeks.

“Going to get ten next week,” she states.

“Me too,” I tell her, lifting my hand for a high five. “Thank you,” I say, taking the oatmeal and raisin cookie she offers me. “Oh my god,” I mumble around a mouthful. “These are amazing.”

Her smile grows, proud of herself.

“So, what are we doing for dinner tonight?” I ask, turning to look at our weekly planner.

“Tacos,” Sutton cries excitedly.

“Ah, yes. It’s Friday.”

Sutton does a little celly dance before dragging her stool to the refrigerator so she can get the ingredients out.

Cooking with Sutton is one of my favorite things to do. Hell, anything with her is my favorite. But after a long day of training, it’s the perfect time to catch up.

She tells me about her day at school, giving me all the gossip before she turns it on me and asks all about my practice and training session.

She eats up all the details like she always does as she chops peppers like a pro.

Obviously, I don’t say anything about my big revelation of the day, but thoughts of that moment on the ice when I looked into her eyes and my entire world crashed around my feet are right at the forefront of my mind.

I fucked Casey Watson.

Coach is going to kill me.

I shake my head, lost in my own thoughts.