Page 1 of Hutch (Minnesota Raptors #2)

Hutch

I’m late.

Professor Marks is going to murder me. He already hates me because he despises all professional athletes. He thinks none of us actually want to learn shit. Which might be true for some, but not me.

I’m too terrified of my mother not to do well in school and graduate.

She busted her ass to get me here and I’ll be damned if I disappoint her.

If it weren’t for her working three jobs to pay for all the hockey camps and gear, I wouldn’t be sitting at a Division One school doing what I love.

All she asked of me was to actually graduate with a degree I could use.

Thank God it’s my last year, though. Classes that aren’t deemed “token” classes for athletes are hard and it was all I could do to keep up last year.

I’m not looking forward to this year since this is the year I have to get picked up by an actual NHL team and maintaining my grades under that kind of pressure isn’t going to be easy.

Scouts have been calling Coach, and not just about me.

Several of my team members, some of them freshmen, are garnering a lot of attention.

I turned down two offers and the draft my sophomore year and I’m still terrified it was a huge mistake.

Granted, they weren’t major teams, but it was the NHL.

No one turns down a draft invitation either. Until I did.

Turning the corner, I don’t even have time to stop before I plow head-first into a dainty bundle topped with dark red hair and she bounces back, landing on her ass. Green eyes blink up at me with not a flicker of recognition in them.

Now that’s interesting.

“I’m sorry.” I drop to my knees and start gathering her things together. “I didn’t see you when you came around the corner.”

“No, I’m sorry.” Her voice is soft and musical and has a distinct accent, one I’m not familiar with. “I’m late, got turned around, and wasn’t looking where I was going.”

“I’m late too.” I flash her a grin, but she’s not even looking at me. She’s too busy trying to gather the books scattered all around her.

“Oh my God, it’s him!”

My eyes close. I’m not in the mood to deal with fans even if I’m supposed to.

It’s part of the image, especially if I want to get picked up by a team.

I can’t look like I’m being rude or brushing them off.

Normally, I don’t mind smiling and playing the part, but I actually resent the interruption right now.

In front of this girl who doesn’t seem to know me.

She looks at me and then to the girls coming up on us at a fast pace. She frowns, but there’s still no recognition in her gaze.

“Hutch!” one of them squeals.

“Who?” She looks at me quizzically.

She really has no idea who I am. It’s a new experience. Even back in high school everyone knew me. Now that I’m the number one center in college hockey, it’s almost impossible to go anywhere without being recognized, especially here on campus.

“Hutch,” one of the girls answers the redhead, contempt in her voice.

“Uh…this is my friend, Jamie.”

My entire being stills at her lie. She looks confused enough I’d buy the lie.

“What?” another girl asks. “That’s Hutch.”

“Uh, no. This is Jamie. We were walking to class together and I tripped.”

I keep my head down, more thankful than I can say as the girls go quiet. I pick up the rest of her things and hand them to her.

“Ready?” She asks and stands, reaching a hand out to me. I take it and nod, letting her pull me up. She grunts a little and I can’t help but smirk. She’s probably more than a foot shorter than me and when I’m standing, I’m right. She barely comes to my shoulder.

Wrapping an arm around her, I steer us toward my own class, not wanting to turn around and let the girls see they were right. Short stuff goes with it and waves to the girls.

Once we’re out of sight, I let her go. “Thanks for that.”

She shrugs. “You stopped to help me. A lot of guys wouldn’t.”

“I’m Hutch.”

“Yeah, I figured. Crap, I’m late.” She starts to head back the way we came.

“You never told me your name.” I take her books from her and add them to mine. Even if she’s going in the opposite direction, I’ll be late.

“I’m Daisy.”

“Which class are you looking for? You said you were turned around.”

“Statistics.” A pained expression takes over her very expressive face.

“Not a fan?”

“I hate math.”

“I love math and you’re in luck. I was heading to statistics when I plowed you over. Just so you know, you were going in the wrong direction.”

“Of course I was,” she mutters.

“Not having a good day?”

“If I knew where anything was, I’d be having a better day.” At my questioning look, she clarifies, “I just transferred. Today is my third day in the city.”

“Which dorm did you get?”

“I didn’t.” A flash of worry streaks across her expression, but it’s there and gone so fast, I would have missed it had I not been looking. “I’ve been staying in a hotel the last few nights. I have to find a place sooner rather than later.”

Huh. Most transfer students get housing assigned right away.

“I was a late transfer, not deciding which school I wanted up until the very last second and by then all the rooms had been assigned.”

“That sucks.”

“You’re telling me.”

We reach our class just as Professor Marks rounds the corner and I push her in hurriedly. “He hates tardiness.”

She nods, takes her books from me, and slides into the first available seat near the front.

As much as I’d like to sit with her, several guys from the team are waving at me so I take a seat next to them in the back.

“Dude, you were almost late to the very first class.” Collin Mendoza laughs as I sit down. Several of the girls in front of us turn and giggle, batting their eyes. I give them what my mom calls my lazy smile, the one that promises nothing and everything all at once. It’s an apt description.

“Coach wanted to talk to me. Scouts have been stopping by during our practices and they might be at our first game of the season.”

The professor clears his throat and eyes our corner of the room.

I’m not concerned that much about paying attention.

Math makes sense to me in a way a lot of things don’t.

I think it’s why I’m so good on the ice.

I see angles that others don’t. I apply the math in my head and turn my body to fit the equation and solve the problem of either dodging another player or hitting the puck into the net past the opposing team’s goalie. Math makes me a better player.

Collin holds out his fist to bump. “Your lips to God’s ears.”

Like me, he wants to graduate before looking toward the NHL.

His family came over illegally from Mexico.

He was born here so he’s a citizen, but his parents were deported right before he started his first semester of college.

He’s working hard to find a way to bring them back legally.

Collin has no one but me and a few of the other guys he calls close friends.

I take him home with me for holidays and my mother has invited him to stay with us every summer.

He’s my brother in every way that counts.

“You know anyone looking for a roommate?”

“Our house not good enough for you?”

“Our house is a pigsty most days, but I love it. I met this girl who just moved here and she’s looking for a place to stay. She did me a solid so I figured I’d ask around for her.”

Collin quirks a brow in question. He knows me well enough to know I wouldn’t ask around for just anyone.

“She saved me from being swarmed by fans earlier. It’s the only reason I got to class on time.” I point to where Daisy sat in the front.

Collin looks her way. “She’s tiny.”

“She is.”

‘Shit, she looks like you’d break her if you so much as hugged her.”

He’s not wrong, but I have a feeling she’s made of tougher stuff than the ball of fluff she reminds me of.

“I think Dylan’s girlfriend has an open room at her house. I’ll text him.”

“Cool.” I take my notebook out of my bag and start to pay attention. Lots of people are working on laptops, but I’m old school. I like my math notes on good old fashioned paper.

Professor Marks clears his throat and looks right at us. “If you want to fail, keep talking. I don’t put up with disruptions in my class.”

We weren’t the only ones talking, but he singled us out. Only proves that he has it out for athletes.

The next hour goes by slowly. The professor has this monotone voice that has most of the people in class nodding off.

I’ve seen more than one head fall forward only to jerk awake suddenly.

Marks either doesn’t care or secretly wishes that we all fail his class so he can torture us again next semester.

Collin hands me a sheet of paper with a name and number on it.

He would never give out my personal cell number no matter how well he knows the girl.

Last time a one night stand got into my phone, it didn’t end well.

I blocked her, but she just kept calling from different numbers.

I had to change my phone number and since then I always make sure my phone is locked.

As soon as class ends, I all but run to catch Daisy before she leaves. “Hey, hang on a sec.”

She glances at me and frowns. “I have to get to my next class.”

“Do you know where it is?”

She waves her phone at me and I see the campus map pulled up. “I’ll find it.”

“Uh huh.”

“Did you need something?”

“Here.” I hand her the sheet of paper. “A friend’s girlfriend has a room she’s renting. I don’t know how much, but I figured you could check it out. My way of saying thanks for earlier.”

She shrugs my thanks off but takes the paper. “I’ll call her. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, Red. Which class you going to?”

“English lit.”

Not my thing. I don’t even know what building it’d be taught in.

“See you,” she says and starts walking away.

Another new experience. Girls don’t walk away from me.

Case in point. A pack of them is behind me. I can hear them whispering and giggling.

“Hutch man, you ready?” Collin slaps me on the back, a twinkle in his eye.

“Yeah.”

“So, this girl…”

“Daisy.”

“Daisy.” He nods as we walk out of the class. “She doesn’t look star struck.”

“She’s not, but then she’s a transfer student so she might not know who I am.”

“Your photo is up all over campus. She’ll figure it out soon enough.”

Even if she does, I don’t think she’ll care. Daisy didn’t strike me as someone who would care about all the popularity and pomp that goes along with my image. I could be wrong, of course. I don’t know her, but it’s just a gut feeling.

A feeling I want to explore. At least I know one class I’ll see her in three days a week.

Plan in hand, I follow Collin out onto the quad and into the waiting throngs of students.