Page 72 of Hockey 101

I’ll pass that on. Mehmet has a lot of fans.

Realization hits me—I have to be the sports editor. There’s no way that Travis would do all the extra editing I do. He’s too much of a traditionalist to accept the motley reporting crew I’ve put together. Travis would cover the hockey games himself rather than have to transcribe Jacob’s insightful stories. Mehmet’s unique voice and enthusiasm would be crushed by a normal edit. And what about C.J.? Would Travis kick her out and reinstall Joey Vincent as his deputy sports editor, and stop covering women’s hockey altogether? What I’ve created is a manifesto, not just a team that I can hand over to someone else.

No matter how Bryce disdains sports, I’m proud of the changes I’ve made. The Messenger’s sports section really reflects the whole school—not just the so-called important sports. And even better, the reporters are from a wider pool as well.

I beam at Jack, and he returns my smile, puzzled.

I’m going to stay on as the sports editor, I declare.

Okay. But we haven’t even done the cons yet, he protests weakly. I could tell that he wanted me to remain in sports.

The biggest con would be the sports section going back to the way it used to be. I think it’s better now, and the readers seem to like it since overall page reads are up. But who knows what people really think? Unlike the huge volume of complaints on my first game stories, there hasn’t been much feedback.

It doesn’t matter, though. I care. I’m going to continue to champion the improved sports section and all my reporters.

One con would be having to work with Bryce more often, I joke.

We definitely don’t want you to have to work more with that asshole, Jack says. How are you going to let him know your decision?

I suck in a breath. I could take the chicken way out and text him.

Sounds like a good idea.

I wrinkle my nose. But, if I want a snowball’s chance of getting a Pinnacle nom, maybe I should do it in person.

Wow, would he really do that for you anyway? Jack asks.

Doubtful. It would require a personality transplant. It hurts to know that I’m good enough to merit award consideration, but that Bryce won’t nominate me unless I do something for him in return.

I meet Jack’s gaze. I want to be a bigger person than Bryce is. The kind of person who would treat him fairly, even after everything he’s put me through.

You are that kind of person. You do the right thing, and you set a good example. That was one of the first things I liked about you.

I lift his hands and kiss his palms. My cheeks glow at his praise. That’s so sweet of you to say.

His gaze is more heated as he leans across the table and whispers in my ear, Of course, that was before I saw you naked. Now there are things I like even more.

I giggle. You’re the worst.

He kisses my cheek, but before things escalate, I pull away. I’m going to tell Bryce right now.

Want me to come along? Jack offers.

That would be cruel. ‘Look, Bryce, not only will I not help you out, but I have this new boyfriend who is better than you in every way.’

Jack puffs out his chest. He pulls out his phone and checks the time. Okay, how about if I walk you there? After you’re done, we can grab dinner together.

We get up and walk hand-in-hand towards the building that houses the newspaper’s office. As Jack tells me about his eccentric economics prof, I realize how relaxing it is being with him. It’s hard to feel anxious about things when I’m distracted by his stories or comforted by his physical presence. A cold wind catches us, and we rush into the lobby.

Do you want to wait here, or should I meet you at the dining hall? I ask.

I’d prefer to come up and rough up your ex for giving you a hard time. But I’ll wait here.

I put my arms around his neck. Thought you said you weren’t a fighter.

It’s all about the right motivation. Jack pulls me closer and kisses me. His mouth is petal-soft, and I melt into his embrace, luxuriating in the safe feeling of being in his arms. I kiss him back harder, my hand cupping the back of his head to pull him closer—until the sound of someone clearing their throat interrupts us.

Ahem.

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