“So you’re good at this, huh?” she guesses.
I shake my head. “Not really. I don’t compete or anything.”
That makes her laugh. “IfI don’t competeis the bar, you’re basically almost a pro. Maybe you can teach me.”
I would rather put my hand into a shark’s mouth holding a steak than “teach” a perfectly well put together Bratz Doll used to perfection. Something tells me she’ll be a major pain in the butt, blaming me for her failure. “Oh, I would, but between my classes and the journal, I really don’t have much free time.”
She frowns, apparently not used to being told no. “You’re here, aren’t you?”
I lift my textbook, annoyed to have to justify my actions to a complete stranger. “Working. And I skate to make sure I can eatas much pasta as I want without being the size of a house, but I don’t have time for a class on top. Plus, I’m sure the group class is great.”
I have no way of knowing that, but it’ll have to do because I’mnot working for that chick.
She narrows her eyes. “I’d pay generously. I really don’t want to look ridiculous in front of a bunch of people in that group class.”
And looking ridiculous in front of me isn’t a problem because I don’t matter to her. Her expert eyes have already noted everything I wear, my bag, the way I hold myself, and certainly also the way I speak before deciding I’d be an appropriate servant.
Just like she judged me in a heartbeat, I am fairly positive that she’s a legacy. The arrogance is telling.
“Sorry,” I say, sticking to my guns. “I really don’t have time.”
She crosses her legs, assessing me. “What’s your name?”
Saying no to her means she wants to know who I am? It feels like a challenge, or a threat somehow.
“Lily Trueman.” I don’t ask for hers.
“I’m Paulina Thorn.” She says it like I should recognize the name. When I don’t, she adds, “My family founded Thorn Falls.”
Ah, that explains the haughtiness.
“Nice town,” I reply politely, turning the page of my book.
She doesn’t speak to me again. Instead, I feel her gaze on mine a fair few times as I work.
It’s lucky that I’ve seen what I needed to about the hockey team in the first few minutes, because I don’t dare look at them again, under her scrutiny. I focus on my work.
Close to the hour, I unpack my skates, shove my book in my bag, and get down the stands to the benches closest to the ice before switching my sneakers for my precious skates. I keep the guards on and start to doomscroll on social media as I waitfor the hockey players to vacate the ice. They leave at the other end of the rink, closest to the changing rooms, and the Zamboni moves across the ice to smooth it.
Focused on it, I miss player eleven until he skates to a stop right in front of me, removing his helmet and mouth guard.
The blonde—Paulina—stands and waves enthusiastically. “Hey! Great practice, Cross,” she cheers, throwing her fist in the air like a good little team player.
Ah, a puck bunny. That explains why she sized me up.
“Hey, Lina.” Cross lifts his chin up to greet her. Then he redirects those changing amber eyes to me. “Lily darling. I thought you might show.” He flashes his smug grin. “Like what you saw?”
I lift my chin. “No idea what you’re talking about.”
“No? You weren’t checking out the team just now, to see how screwed you were?”
Come to think of it, I was rather obvious. I lie through my teeth anyway. “I wasworking.”
“Sure. And the fact you’re showing up to the rink for the first time in over a year has nothing to do with the little bet we have going on, huh?”
I say the same thing I told his puck bunny. “I come to the rink every other day, actually.”
“Sure. When everyone’s too busy having a social life to come here, late at night.”