Page 29 of Of Pucking Course

I shove the thought away.

You’re a Boy Scout, remember?

“You’re amazing with your students,” I say in an attempt to steer the conversation to something less flirty. “I watched how you handled that little girl who was sad about her dad leaving. And that little boy who knocked over the other kid’s blocks.”

Her eyes light up. But then she blinks and shakes her head. “It’s nothing.”

“Don’t downplay yourself. I’ve only seen you around them for a few minutes, and already I can tell how good you are with them. I’ve never seen anyone calm kids down as easily as you do. And they love you.”

That brightness returns to her rich mahogany eyes.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen someone who is as gifted with kids as you,” I say.

Warmth flashes in her stare. “That’s such a kind thing to say.”

“It’s the truth. You’re incredible, Dakota. They are so lucky to have someone as caring and loving as you as their teacher.”

She beams. “That made my whole day, Sam. Thank you.”

People should be telling Dakota how amazing she is every single day. Working with kids is hard. And so important. Teachers leave such an impact on kids. They should be praised and recognized every damn day.

I think about what Abby said earlier, how hard Dakota works to take care of her kindergarten students and make them feel special—how Dakota deserves to feel special and taken care of.

Just then, one of the little boys from before comes to Dakota. “Miss Richards, can we make water balloons now?”

She smiles down at the little redheaded kid. “Sure, Eli.” He runs off. She looks back at me. “I should get back to work. Thanks for bringing me my lunch.”

“Sure thing. See you later tonight.”

She flashes a sweet smile at me and waves as I walk off. I leave the school, hop in my car, and drive back home. Along the way, I think of what I can do to make Dakota feel special and appreciated.

A second later, I come up with an idea.

Chapter 10

Sam

Ifly across the ice, trailing the Nashville Wolves player who has possession of the puck.

He’s headed straight for our net, so I pump my legs faster and faster, closing the space between us.

Blomdahl tracks him, his helmet bobbing back and forth as he follows the movements of the Nashville center.

Blomdahl’s a monster in the net, and I know if this guy takes a shot at him, he would be all over it.

But I don’t want to solely rely on our goalie. I’m a defenseman, and my job is to keep the puck away from the net as much as I can.

My legs burn as I catch up to him. Right as the Wolves center winds up to shoot the puck, I dive between him and the net. The puck bounces off my chest and flies to the side, right in front of Del. The home crowd cheers.

“Thanks for the help.” Blomdahl taps me with his stick.

“No problem.” I take off to join the rest of my team.

Del has the puck and is making his way to the Wolves net. A Wolves player checks him, and he loses the puck. Itgoes flying, and Camden scraps with another Nashville player for possession of it.

Camden ends up with it and moves toward the net, but Nashville’s defensemen are crowding him.

He looks over at me and sees I’m open, then passes me the puck. I look for a Bashers forward to send the puck to, but no one’s close.

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