Page 18 of The Save

Madelyn, as discussed, I will be happy to keep a record of your efforts and volunteer hours as a part of this committee.

Please respond with your proposed schedule.

Best,

H.L.

I exhaled with relief. Well. That couldn't have gone better. Chase and I laid out a plan for moving Axel and Rory back into the green but didn't know if they'd go for it. Chase would be thrilled to have them back on the ice. But the twice-weekly study sessions? Based on his monologue the other day, I knew exactly what he'd say about them. It was posturing. Something the committee could hold up and show other faculty members as proof of their efforts.

As much as I hated to admit, he had a point. Would any of the Outlaws take us up on it? I chewed my lower lip. It definitely couldn't be at night. So many of them went out to Ranchman's after practice, and those who didn't went home and crashed. There was no way we'd convince them to give up thattime to study. But before? That's when Rob was doing his extra workouts, according to Shar, and weekends were out with games and tournaments.

Twice weekly. My mind poked and prodded the problem from different angles until something clicked.

Food. We needed to offer them food. Nothing big, but cookies? Brownies? We could hold the sessions on Tuesday and Wednesday to catch people regardless of their class stacks. Do one during lunch and one at three. Rob didn't usually start until four if I remembered correctly. We could hold them in the North Centre since it was close to the arena—The Douglas Dome. I still wasn't used to calling it that.

I leaned in and started typing.

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.

When I walked into the North Centre with my bowl of cookies, I walked fast. That way, I could blame rushing for my windedness and not the adrenaline coursing through my veins. It didn't matter if anyone showed up. Chase had emailed the team and promised he'd include the cookie details, but my confidence in his emailing ability was lower than a first-year's Calc 1 curve. I repeated the room number in my head and only walked the extra length of the hallway once before finding it. Thedoor was closed, and there wasn't a window. I tried the handle and, when it turned, pushed the door open.

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?"

---