Page 16 of One-Time Shot
“I know what it is,” he intercepted.
“Right. Your instructions are to skate around the rink…as fast as you can. Afterward, we’ll measure your explosiveness or burst of speed…” I read from my notes. “You’ll go from the red circle at one corner of the ice to the red circle on the other side, going faster and faster and?—”
“Whoa. I just wrapped up a two-hour practice, Maloney. I’m no scientist, but my speed after running drills and doing dozens of laps won’t be comparable to when I have fresh legs.” Jett spared me a tired once-over. “I’m beat, man. Maybe we should try this another day.”
No, no, no.He’d been hard to catch as it was. If I let Jett get away now, I might never see him again.
I furrowed my brow. “How about if we concentrate on your puck-shooting skills instead?”
He inclined his head and stood. “Okay. What kind of shots do you want?”
“I don’t understand the question. How many kinds are there?”
Jett’s blank stare was almost humorous. “Dude…”
“What? I don’t know hockey things. I’m here to take calculations,” I squeaked.
“All right, all right. No worries. There are a few basic shots—shovel or flip shot, slap shot, snap shot, wrist shot, backhand. Do you know what any of those are?”
“Absolutely…not.”
He chuckled, tsking in faux disapproval. “Professor, I hate to be the one to tell you this, but research is important. Sounds like you need me to explain the game to you after all.”
“Um…”
I couldn’t take offense. Number one: he was correct. I should have come more prepared. My only real excuse was that the subject matter was dull as dirt. My brain wasn’t interested in absorbing hockey lore of any kind.
Number two: he was teasing, and the mischievous glint in his eyes was drop-dead charming. So charming that I forgot what we were talking about.
Jett waved a hand in front of my face. “You with me?”
I cleared my throat, averting my gaze to fumble with the radar equipment in my bag. “Yes, of course. You’re right. I’ve been grossly remiss and I apologize for?—”
“None of that. I’m fuckin’ with you, Maloney.” He stood, towering above me on his skates and setting a meaty paw on my shoulder. “Listen, I have an idea. I’ll give you an example of each shot, but you should know that my specialty is my wrist shot. My reaction time tends to be faster on that one. I’m less quick on my backhand. It depends on what the action on the ice dictates, ya know? On the bright side, my accuracy is way up there.”
“Way up there,” I repeated, furiously scribbling on my notepad.
“High percentage,” he translated, plucking the pad from me. “You don’t need this yet. You can take notes at dinner if you want.”
“Dinner?”
“I’m starving. Like…so hungry I could eat my stick,” Jett griped, and proceeded to bite the end of his stick.
It was funny and ridiculous, and yes, I giggled. If the noise I made was on par with a twittering bird, it couldn’t be helped. Jett didn’t seem so gruff now. He was over-the-top, utterly endearing,andsinfully handsome. A winning combination if ever there was one.
“Do you require a snack?” I pursed my lips, hoping to wrestle my smile into submission. “I think I have a banana with me.”
“That’s not sex talk, is it?”
And now my cheeks were on fire. I riffled through my bag to retrieve the banana, and handed it over with a no-nonsense expression in place. At least that was the idea. “Behave.”
Jett winked as he tore into the banana. “Thanks. Still hungry, though. I’ll set up your radar at the net and shoot a bag of pucks for you, and then we’ll go to Bear Depot and get something to eat.”
“I don’t think that’s necessary.”
“Oh, it is. You need hockey tutoring for your thesis if I’m starring in your production. I want to look good, and I won’t look good if I don’t eat. See, everything is tied together. So…say yes, Malcolm,” he chided around a banana bite.
“Uh…yes.”