Page 8 of Facing the Line

He claps me on the shoulder as he stands. “I know she’s in good hands with you, Joe.”

I have a million questions, but they fly through my brain too fast to articulate as Hadley drinks her OJ.

“I think I feel better,” she says, staring into the cup, at the same time Hunter returns.

“I can’t find anything.” He shakes his head.

“That’s okay. If we can get Hadley to my room, I have a stocked first aid kit.”

“You ready?” he asks, and at her nod, he helps pull her upright. She doesn’t wobble—a positive sign—but Hunter doesn’t leave her side until she’s seated on the edge of my bed.

Cinderella is on my duvet. And it’s nothing like I imagined. Because while I’m a virgin, I’m not a monk. I fantasize as much as the next young, virile hockey player.

But she’s injured, and oh yeah—she’s my teammate’s sister.

“I’m going to finish cleaning the mess while you patch her up.” Hunter disappears back down the hallway into the living room, leaving me alone with Hadley.

I clear my throat. “Um, let’s get you into the bathroom. I need the sink to—” Her face, starting to return to a normal color, pales again. I remember what she said about discussing what I’m doing, and I stop.

Wrapping her arm around my neck, I inhale her scent as she leans against me. It’s sweet, reminiscent of cotton candy. Lickable.

God, I’m a mess. We only spent an evening chatting—how did this girl get so deep in my head?

I try not to embarrass myself during the few steps from my bed into my bathroom. Each bedroom has its own bathroom in Hockey Hall—a huge perk.

Grimacing at her reflection in the mirror, Hadley slips her arm off me—pity—and grips the edge of the countertop with her free hand until her knuckles turn white. Her posture is tense. “Okay, do your worst.”

Letting the water run in the sink, I raise a brow. What she needs is a distraction to keep her mind off of her injury. Which works well, because I have some questions.

“Hunter’s sister, huh? Is that something you maybe should have mentioned the night we met?”

“You didn’t ask.” Her eyes flash as I hold her hand under the stream of water. Thankfully, she gazes at me and not what I’m doing. “A hockey player? Don’t you think that’s somethingyoushould have mentioned?”

I shrug, not wanting to get into my reasons right now. “It’s complicated.”

She snorts. “That’s one word for it.”

“You could have given me your number. Or at least your name.”

“Why? So you could lie to me more about how you’re not a jock?”

I didn’t lie… but I wasn’t one hundred percent honest, either, so I don’t reply. Instead, I stare at her hand. I’m sure I’ve flushed all the glass out of the cut. I grab the first aid kit that’s under the sink and apply some Neosporin with a Q-Tip and put two Band-Aids across the wound. “Keep it clean and dry, come back if you need me to change the Band-Aid.”

Hadley softens and stares at her finger. “Thanks. I—I didn’t expect to see you in my brother’s apartment.”

“Ditto. I’m sure this sounds pathetic, but I looked for you on campus and—oh god.” Something occurs to me. “You’re a freshman, aren’t you?”

“Yep.” She tucks a strand of her straight blonde hair behind her ear, smiling.

I wince. “That means last spring, you were a senior in high school. That’s gross.”

“I’m not gross!” She narrows her eyes at me, popping her hand on her hip.

“No, that’s not what I meant.” I sigh and run my hand through my unruly curls. Probably time for a cut soon. “I’m just saying—sophomores in college shouldn’t flirt with seniors in high school.”

“Wait, you were flirting? You’re really bad at it.”

“Hey, you kissed me back.” I take a step closer to her, remembering how soft her lips are. She stares at me, her pupils dilating. She tilts her head, and?—

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