Page 6 of Trick Shot (Bainbridge Hockey #4)

Claire

M y major is journalism, and even though the second semester of my senior year is literally days away, I’m wondering if I could pick up a minor in Avoidance.

I successfully steered clear of Pete all day yesterday.

Sure, I was supposed to do my final rotation of the day with him at the dolphin swim, but I played dumb and stayed inside at the stingray enclosure all day.

It’s not like anyone here is really keeping track.

I mean, they say attendance is required, but I haven’t seen Mandi at a single session yet, so I’m not too worried.

I’m not so sure my strategy of hiding out will work today, but I’m sure as hell going to try, even if I have to spend the day scrubbing tanks or serving up buckets of smelly fish.

Anything is preferable to looking Pete in the eye after my tirade at Smitty’s the other night. Don’t get me wrong. Every word I said was true. But if I could rewind the clock, I’d definitely skip the part where I looked into his eyes and told him exactly how hot he was.

Naturally, my only recourse is to avoid him at all costs and pretend he doesn’t exist. We’re only here for nine more days. How hard can it possibly be?

Carrying my camera bag and a cup of coffee, I walk into the building, excited for another day of drudgery and dodging. I figure that if I keep my head down and act like I know what I’m doing, I should be fine. Five steps inside, I realize my luck has run out.

“Claire, there you are.”

Pete’s booming voice grates even more than usual, which should be impossible. I should have dyed my hair last night. Or bought a fake ID and an alias. I’m sure someone in my building sells them.

Since I’m still brown-haired, blue-eyed Claire Elizabeth Fowler, I have to face Pete head-on. I have no other recourse, especially since he’s not alone. Dr. Navarro, my professor for this minimester, is standing right beside him. Dammit.

“Hey, Claire,” Pete says congenially, “I know you got stuck doing all the indoor rotations yesterday. We just finished setting up for the morning dolphin swim and there’s room for one more. You want in?”

Yes, of course I do. Who doesn’t want to swim with freaking dolphins? But also, no, no, I don’t. Not unless one of the dolphins eats you first.

“Sure,” I say, my smile tight. “That would be great.”

“Claire, you’re going to love it,” Dr. Navarro says, her enthusiasm contagious. “This really is one of those experiences you simply can’t duplicate in a classroom.”

“Great,” I chime in as Dr. Navarro leads us through the lobby and out to the beach.

I can feel Pete’s eyes on me, so I study the top of my to-go cup with unparalleled concentration. I can almost hear his mouth opening and closing as though he’s attempted to start about three conversations and abandoned each one at the last second. That’s good. I hope he keeps it up.

We make our way down to the water where several other students and assistants are waiting.

I stow my bag in one of the cubbies and peel off my shorts and tee.

Heat washes over me, and I could swear Pete’s eyes are tracking my every move, but when I spare a glance in his direction, he’s deep in conversation with Dr. Navarro.

Great. So, this attraction is one-sided. And he knows it. And we’ll be swimming together all morning. And I have to pay attention to him because he’s one of the freaking teachers. Awesome.

Greg, another assistant, helps me into flippers and fits me with a mask. We’re all given life jackets as well, but since we’ll spend the first part of the morning standing in ankle-deep water, they’re not required just yet.

We all troop out into the ocean, and when Pete sidles up next to me, I look him in the eye. I’m mortified, yes, but I’m no coward.

“Hey, sorry for springing this on you, but Dr. Navarro just asked for a list of all the students who hadn’t completed the required sessions yet. I didn’t want you to get in trouble, so when I spotted you?—”

“It’s fine,” I say, cutting him off. “My head was still pounding yesterday, so I stayed inside and finished my lab work. I intended to join your dolphin swim today, even before you saw me in the lobby.”

“Good,” he murmurs. I can tell from the look in his eye that he doesn’t quite buy my lie, but he doesn’t call me out on it, either. “I was afraid I caught you off guard. Do you have sunscreen? A hat?”

“I’m good,” I assure him. I have neither of those things, but class is about to start, and there’s no way I’m drawing negative attention to myself by being the girl who came unprepared.

Besides, we’ll only be out for a few hours, so I know I’ll be fine.

Hell, in this strappy little bikini, I’ll probably end up with a killer tan. It’s the least I deserve.

Pete joins Greg and Dr. Navarro, and they proceed to point out all of the things we’re to look for once we begin the swim.

We wade a bit further out, most of us still holding our life jackets, and Pete takes the reins, explaining how we’ll test the dolphins’ response to certain stimuli.

I hate to admit that he’s much easier to follow than Dr. Navarro or Greg.

Our professor is a genius, no doubt, but she’s tearing through the material like we’re all well-versed in it.

I read the guidebook ahead of time, so I’m able to follow along, but based on the whispers and looks from the other students, most people are lost. And Greg’s nasally voice isn’t helping.

Greg drones on and divides us into smaller groups.

I’m paired with Davis, a fellow senior. I’ve seen him around campus, and I think he’s an ed major like Pete.

There’s no time for chitchat, though. We get to work quickly.

Our objective is to record the dolphins’ responses to different stimuli at each station.

Davis has got the water-proof tablet and I’m busy figuring out how to use the echolocation device at our first station.

At five-eleven, I’m a tall woman, and though I’m sure Davis lists his height at five-ten, when we face each other, I could easily rest my chin on the top of his head.

That means my boobs and his eyes are at the same level.

He doesn’t seem overly interested in ogling my B-cups, and that’s good, since I’d rather not deck anyone this morning. It might scare the dolphins. And he’s a great partner. He listens to everything I’m saying and doesn’t try to take over or mansplain science to me .

“How’s it going over here?” Pete asks, and I wonder how in the world someone so large can be so stealthy?

“Where did you come from?” I ask, because when Pete’s around, the thoughts that pop into my head have a nasty habit of slipping right out of my mouth.

“Syracuse, originally,” he says with one of those infuriating grins. “So, anything you need?”

“No,” I answer without bothering to consult Davis.

Pete’s not paying much attention to my partner, either. “We’ve got a fifteen-minute break, then we’ll gear up for the swim.”

Davis and I nod, following our class out of the water. For some reason, Pete’s on my heels as we head to our cubbies for water and snacks.

“I have sunscreen if you need it,” he says, holding out a bottle and tilting it in my direction.

The sun is beating down, so it wouldn’t be a terrible idea to layer on some protection, but there’s no way I’m asking Pete to put his paws on me.

“I’m fine, thanks,” I insist, pretending to be preoccupied with my water bottle. Does this man not realize that I’m avoiding him? Can he not, for one freaking second, play along?

“Are you sure? It sets in about ten minutes and it’s waterproof.”

My steely gaze meets his warm brown eyes.

“I’m fine. Thanks.” To punctuate my point, I take one last gulp of water before stowing my bottle, grabbing my camera, and walking toward the water’s edge.

A few other students are congregated there, and we help each other into our life jackets.

Soon enough, it’s time to wade into the water.

The next hour of my life is magical. The pics I get are worth every penny The Howler’s budget shelled out for my waterproof equipment. Ten-year-old me is realizing her dreams and twenty-two-year-old me gets to write about it.

After our dolphin adventure, we break for lunch, and then the remainder of our session is spent learning about the marine habitat and how best to protect it.

We take some water and kelp samples, and once again, I’m happy to pair up with Davis.

Pete’s busy helping other groups, but Davis and I can both read and follow directions, so we’re not nearly as needy as our classmates.

And ok, maybe I’m too stubborn to ask for help from Pete, but then again, I don’t really need it.

By the time our samples and reports have been turned in, I’m sandy, sweaty, and probably smelly.

While half my class is content to stand around and chat, I’m in dire need of a shower, so I grab my bag and my water bottle, and head back to my dorm.

Mandi’s nowhere to be found, but that means I’ll have the room all to myself, so I’m not complaining.

Our bathroom is miniscule and our shower is laughably small, but the water is warm and the pressure is decent, so I step inside the tiny stall and peel my swimsuit off.

I rinse it thoroughly before draping it on the hook some savvy former student left behind.

Tilting my head back, I let the water run through my hair before adding a few squirts of shampoo and going about my shower routine.

By the time I’m rinsing out my conditioner, the water is pelting my back and shoulders.

By the time I’m done washing my body, my arms are red and angry.

I towel off gently and brace myself to look in the mirror.

Shit. My face is pink and a little splotchy, but my arms and shoulders make me look more like a lobster than a human.

And based on how sore my back is, I’d bet it’s in roughly the same shape.

I slather on a little lotion everywhere my arms can reach, but damn it, moving hurts.

And I’m not entirely sure what soothing qualities my Primrose Valley body cream has.

I’m pretty sure its only job is to smell good.

And right now, my only job is to lie on my stomach and curse the sun.