Page 9

Chapter

Eight

The next day was Tuesday, and while I hadn't met with Chase in person since our initial sit-down, he had responded with a "Sounds good" in reply to my suggestions for the study sessions.

Very enthusiastic. Since I only had two words to over-analyze, I'd worked myself up into a slight frenzy after baking three dozen chocolate chip cookies the night before with Tash playing songs by a band called Bush in the background, complaining about how it was ridiculous that they were being told to change their name by some washed out band from the seventies.

I smiled and nodded. Some of the songs were surprisingly good.

I scanned the room. Empty. But I was fifteen minutes early.

Setting my bowl of cookies on the desk, I pulled my hair back into a claw clip and dropped my bag next to the far end of one of the tables.

This was a good setup. Four tables with chairs.

There were no windows, which made it feel a bit claustrophobic, but there was a large chalkboard and projector.

I looked up and found the cord for the pull-down screen.

Not that I thought we'd be using it since I didn't have any transparencies, but if I needed to, I was sure I could borrow some from Kowalski.

I jumped as the door opened behind me.

"Oh. Hey. You're already here." Chase hesitated a second before entering. He wore jeans and a grey T-shirt today. For the love, don't look at his forearms.

"I arrived a couple of minutes ago." I moved behind the table. As if that would protect me from noticing . . . all of him.

Chase motioned at the bowl. "What's this?"

"See for yourself."

He strode forward and gingerly lifted the tinfoil. The smell of freshly baked cookies filled the room. His finger twitched, and I fought a smile. "You can have one."

He looked up at me through his lashes. "Are you sure? It looks like you don't have enough for the whole team to have two."

I gave him a look, and his eyes glittered.

Then he did something that I can only describe as erotic.

The word had never entered my vocabulary before, and I felt ridiculous even thinking it, but Chase didn't drop his eyes from mine as he reached into the bowl and picked up a cookie.

The tinkling sound of the tinfoil shifting.

The sight of his hand lifting something I'd made to his lips.

The curve of his mouth as he took a bite.

The soft sigh of pleasure as he chewed and swallowed.

Holy hell.

I blinked.

I wasn't thinking.

I dropped my eyes, breaking his hold on me, and seemed to physically land back in the room.

My fingers moved over the smooth laminate surface of the table.

My toes wiggled in my shoes. Where had I gone?

For those seconds, it was as if I hadn't existed.

As if I'd been transported out of my thoughts, out of reality, and swept into some world where I only felt.

"That's a damn good cookie."

I swallowed hard. "That's . . . probably the nicest thing you've ever said to me." It was supposed to be a joke, but my voice was too breathy to pull it off.

Chase laughed. "Is it bad that I hope nobody shows up so I can have another one?"

"You hoped nobody showed up before you tried the cookies."

He did the little eye drop and exhale as he smiled.

Ugh. I turned from the table and crouched, pretending to look for something in my backpack.

What was happening to me? I was not one of those girls who melted in a guy's presence.

Not that there was anything wrong with that—in fact, I wished I was one of those girls plenty of times when Colin touched me and tried to whisper something sexy while I lay there in the dark thinking about acute angles.

Now it felt like I'd been plucked up and dropped in the middle of a foreign country where I didn't speak the language. My palms started sweating. I glanced up at the sharp sound of a chair scraping across the floor.

Chase sat down, leaning back and lifting his arms behind his head. Heaven help me. "I think the guys will show up. But not until—" He peered at the clock. "About three forty-five."

I pulled out my notebook and pencil, completing my ruse. There was nothing I needed to write down. "Right before they hit the ice with Rob?" Chase nodded. When he said nothing else, I continued, "Because they'll want a cookie, but they don’t give a shit about their classes."

"Exactly."

I pulled out the chair next to me and sat. "Well. You never know." Without looking up, I started doodling on the top corner of the page. Externally, I hoped I was pulling off being cool and collected because internally all I heard was: Shit! Shit! Shit!

Two hours. Chase and I had to be here for two hours together. If nobody showed up, what the hell were we going to do? I was already burning a hole in my underwear for reasons I didn't want to deconstruct at the moment, and I didn't have any homework to catch up on. No distractions. Nothing.

But—I clung to that ‘but’—I had seen Rory and Axel that morning talking with Rob in the quad and told them about the study hours.

The whole team had gotten the message about our new academic support plan, and Axel and Rory were already going to be working one-on-one with me and Chase to get things sorted with their professors and put in some extra credit.

There was a chance that they’d show up before the end of our time, wasn’t there?

The silence stretched, and the soft brush of my pencil against paper started to grate. I waited until I couldn’t stand it anymore, then asked, “What were you doing before coming to Douglas?"

I was going for casual, but the truth was, I’d been curious about Chase’s story from the second I saw him sitting on the Outlaws bench. What had happened to him? How had he ended up back here in Calgary, coaching, after his career had looked so promising?

He shrugged. "Couple years at U of C. Took classes. Worked construction. Did some coaching for a bantam team. Nothing special."

I stopped doodling and looked up. Chase stared at the door, his arms crossed over his chest. “And before that?” I couldn’t help myself.

He glanced over but quickly looked away. “Uh, played for the Hitmen for a bit.”

My eyes widened. “You were here in Calgary? After you left?”

He drew in a deep breath. “Played Juniors out in B.C. when I was seventeen. Got picked up by the Hitmen a year later. Thought I was headed somewhere, but I wasn’t drafted.

Tried out for a couple of feeder teams, bounced around for a bit.

By the time I was twenty, I knew it wasn’t happening.

Took a year off, worked, then started at U of C.

Did part-time classes, part-time coaching.

Finished my degree slowly—a bit here, a bit there. Not exactly a straight line.”

I realized I was staring and dropped my gaze back to my paper, twisting the ring on my left hand. “And how did you end up at Douglas?”

Chase hesitated. “Got lucky, I guess.”

That wasn’t a real answer, but I didn’t want to pry. I mean, I absolutely did want to pry, but by the tight set of his jaw, I decided it wasn’t socially prudent.

“What about you?” He shifted in the chair, and the plastic creaked.

“Definitely a straight line.”

He nodded once. “No surprises there.”

“What do you mean by that?” I rested my arms over my notebook. Chase finally met my eyes, but he didn’t answer. “Are you saying I’m boring?”

The corner of his mouth lifted. “I would never criticize an honest pursuit of academics.”

My eyes narrowed. “How can you even talk? You already got your degree.”

“I’m not knocking school.”

“Just people who prioritize it?” I tucked my curls behind my ear. “You did what you loved, and I did what I loved. How is one better than the other?”

“Well, you didn’t fail at yours yet, so I’d say you’re winning.”

I opened my mouth, then shut it. Our two trajectories appeared in my head like a line graph. Both of us heading straight up toward our goals and then . . . “I’m sorry hockey didn’t?—”

"Yo! This the right room?" The door swung open with a bang, and I jumped. Axel appeared first, a family-sized bag of All-Dressed Old Dutch chips in one hand. Rory followed, slinging his backpack onto the table.

"Are these the cookies?” Rory peeled back the tinfoil and grabbed two. Chase’s jaw ticked.

I breathed a sigh of relief. It wasn’t even close to three forty-five. "You guys came."

Axel strode toward me, his arms outstretched. “Wouldn’t miss it, Maddie girl.” I stood, and he gave me a huge bear hug.

Chase pushed his chair back and stretched out his legs. He looked like he was about to take a nap. “I thought you boys already had plans to meet with your professors this week.”

“Can’t get too early a jump on it, eh?” Rory dropped into the chair next to me.

I gave Chase a smug look. “No, you can’t.” I sat as both of them pulled out their books. Applied math for Rory and Calc for Axel, if I was remembering correctly. He was an engineering major. I couldn’t remember if Rory had declared or not.

“Proportional reasoning and function notation.” Rory said the words like he was announcing someone had died.

Axel opened his text. “Derivatives. You’re welcome.”

I grinned. Now this was a language I understood. I started with Rory, walking him through slope and rate of change, only to be met with blinking confusion.

Axel didn’t do much better.

"So you take the function," I explained, pointing at the equation, "and then you derive it. You take the exponent, multiply it by the coefficient?—”

I stopped when I noticed his blank stare. “You know what. Let’s try something different.” I stood and walked to the chalkboard. Thankfully, there was one half piece of chalk lying in the metal gutter.

I lifted it and drew a line. "Okay. Picture this. You’re skating full speed toward the net, but the puck’s getting away from you. What’s changing?"

Axel stared at the board. I waited until he finally said. "Speed?"