Total pages in book: 53
Estimated words: 51902 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 260(@200wpm)___ 208(@250wpm)___ 173(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 51902 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 260(@200wpm)___ 208(@250wpm)___ 173(@300wpm)
More staring.
Oh, wow. He wasn’t joking.
“I don’t want to be a hockey student.”
“Don’t overthink this, Maloney. All I’m saying is that I want to be involved in this thesis of yours. Make sure you get all the background information you need. We’ll be helping each other.”
I frowned. “If you recall, I only require three twenty-minute data-gathering sessions. How is that helpful to you?”
“It’s a start.” Jett piled his plates and pushed them to the end of the table. “We’ll probably need more time. Maybe a month.”
“A month!” I yelped, darting my gaze around before lowering my voice. “A month of what, exactly?”
“Hockey.”
His matter-of-fact delivery was almost comical. I wasn’t sure what the joke was, though. This was all very…confusing. And what had he meant about our paths crossing? I’d literally pursued the heck out of him.
I blinked in dismay. “At the risk of repeating myself…I don’t want to study hockey.”
“We got a problem, then, Maloney,” he singsonged. “ ’Cause I don’t want to do hockey for science if it’s not done right. I don’t think Finkfart will want crappy data either. Just sayin’.”
I gasped. “This sounds like an ultimatum.”
Jett scratched his temple and shrugged. “Huh. I ’spose it does. What do you think?”
“I think this is…maddening,” I hissed, leaning across the table. “I’ve pursued your acquaintance for weeks on end—”
“Stalked.”
“And now you’re proposing to tutor me. Me! I’m a graduate student, you know. I have a degree and qualifications and…and…” I glowered, willing my brain to slow down.
“I get it. You’re smarter than me.” He held his hands up in surrender. “But not about hockey. No obligation, Maloney. Just think about it.”
I gritted my teeth as he waved our waitress over.
“There’s nothing to think about. Time is of the essence, and you don’t leave me much choice. I accept your dastardly offer.” I slipped my credit card out, but Jett gave his directly to Shar.
Jett grinned like a madman. “Cool. We should concentrate on terminology first. You can give your notebook a workout before we hit the rink. See you tomorrow?”
“I’m busy Thursdays.”
“That’s right. Friday works, but…only if you can meet at noon. No, never mind. I have a game that night,” he said. “Hey, you should come.”
I furrowed my brow. “To your game?”
“Yeah, it would be a great way to get a feel for the action in person. I’ll text you the details.”
“I…” I pushed at my glasses and shook my head. “I might have plans.”
“Hmph. Look at it like a field trip. If you really want to know about a subject, you should examine it from all angles, right?”
I tossed a few bills onto the table. “Has anyone ever told you that smug affectations are annoying?”
“I can’t help it. I like winning.”
“You haven’t won anything,” I huffed.
“Feels like a win to me. Take your money. Dinner’s on me, Maloney.” He thanked Shar, signed his name on the receipt, and stood. “Maybe I’ll see you Friday.”
He inclined his head and made what had to be the smoothest exit ever. There one moment, gone the next.
Mine was less impressive. I gathered my bag, slung it over my shoulder with enough momentum to make me stumble backward a foot, and almost fell into the fake ficus, furiously swatting plastic leaves from my face before marching toward the front door.
The nerve, the cheek, the gumption!
I held on to self-righteous anger for one whole block till doubt crept in and I was forced to acknowledge that I was more irked that Jett had seemingly highjacked my experiment than I was at his idea. It was a generous offer, but—and this was a big but—I had zero desire to immerse myself in hockey. I didn’t want to go to a game or learn the diction. And I had a very good reason for that.
Being outside of my comfort zone for a few twenty-minute intervals was acceptable, but multiple meetings with a handsome hockey hunk and a hockey game? Oh, my gosh. That was a lot.
I simply couldn’t understand his motivation. Yes, I’d heard his speech about needing a diversion, but there had to be thousands of more appealing pastimes for a hockey player in crisis.
What was Jett Erickson really up to?
CHAPTER 7
JETT
What was I thinking?
No offense to Malcolm, but I didn’t care if his thesis was terrible. I barely knew the guy. It made no difference to me whatsoever if he texted me for a study session, showed up to my game, or ghosted me altogether.
But I couldn’t get him out of my head. It was getting ridiculous.
I looked for him at Coffee Cave the following morning. He wasn’t there. I could have sworn I saw him in the quad, but no. I did a double take at the Einstein poster in the campus bookstore and even thought about him while wrangling physics notes from a teammate I was pretty sure was doing worse than I was in that class. I’d bet next month’s rent that Malcolm would know if there were massless particles and if air could cast a shadow, and explain the answers in an equation that consisted of a fuckton of consonants and three numbers.