Page 100 of Pucked Up Plans
“I’m not a student.” Soap rinses off my hands, falling into the drain. I kinda wish I could swirl after it to avoid this confrontation.
Her hip leans up against the sink farthest from where I stand, arms crossed over her chest. “Yeah, didn’t think so. Did you ride the Keeley cockcycle yet?”
There’s no way I heard her correctly. She asked…if I…rode…theKeeley cockcycle?
“Um, not sure how that’s your business.”
As much as I don’t relate to the other moms in Aubrey’s class, catty college girls aren’t my style either. Too much drama.
“Mark my words. Don’t get too invested. He’ll be bored with you within a week. Especially if you aren’t into kids. You know he’s a dad, right? Or did he leave that part out?”
I stare in abject horror, not comprehending her words. She stands there, clearly not in any rush to take care of whatever led her into the bathroom, waiting for an answer. A real answer, as if I’m going to spill my secrets about my relationship with Walsh to a stranger.
After a brief silence, when she doesn’t get what she wants, she uncrosses her arms and throws them in the air. “Suit yourself. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.” Her “advice” issued, she finally makes her way to a stall.
I exit the bathroom as quickly as possible, trying to make sense of what she insinuated. It contradicts everything I know about Walsh, everything he’s told me, everything he’s shown me. But could her words possibly have any truth to them?
Not watching where I’m going, I slam into a hard body. Strong arms grip my biceps to keep me upright, and Walsh’s voice filters in through the rampant thoughts swirling aroundmy brain of the man himself. My body reacts to the zap of electricity flowing through at our connection.
“Hey, all good?” His expression is equal parts concern and content.
“Honestly, I’m not sure.” Do I attempt to bring up the weird conversation with the girl? Who even was she? A fundraiser for his hockey team is probably not the best place to have this discussion if I decide to bring it up. “How much longer are you obligated to stay?”
Not wearing his watch, he pulls his phone out of his pocket. “An hour tops. Okay?”
No, not really,I want to confess, but my head nods. “Oh. About earlier. I think maybe I overreacted a little.” His brows furrow, but he lets me continue. “I got my period. Pretty sure we’re safe. Just in case.”
“Are you freaking kidding me?” He winks, but his tone and ensuing laugh oppose his sarcastic comment.
“But don’t get any ideas we’ll be doing anything else tonight or tomorrow. Just, gross. Ew. No.”
“Tell me how you really feel about it.”
Rather than do that, I ask, “How do you feel about cuddling?”
His actions scream louder than any words as he pulls me into his side and kisses the top of my head. “It’s one of my favorite things in the world.”
While I highly doubt that, right now, I’ll accept it.
As he steps up to play the game, I can’t help but wonder how much truth there is to everything I know about Walsh Keeley.
CHAPTER 23
WALSH
Tate seems off or distracted when returning from the bathroom. Once she told me about getting her period, I thought she’d relax a little, knowing my stupid mistake was just that—stupid and a mistake. I didn’t mean to set her off, spiral her into a freak-out, but I get where she’s coming from. Obviously, I need to be safe as much as she does. I can’t “afford” an unwanted pregnancy in my life now. Actually, never. Not when graduation looms and I’ll soon be starting my career.
I was fortunate when Megan got pregnant with Lennon—my life didn’t change a whole lot. I still got to attend college, play hockey, and work toward my dream of becoming an athletic trainer, all with a baby and toddler in tow. Megan wasn’t initially wrong—her life changed the most—but we’ve both altered our plans for Lennon’s sake and make sure she gets what she needs before her parents. It hasn’t always been easy, but we’ve made it work. A similar situation would upset the balance in our lives…and not in a good way.
“She’s a pretty one. Where’d you find her?” Cody asks, bringing me out of my head with a nod to Tate. He’s drunk more than his allotment of one beer but still on the right side of tipsy. He seems to think some rules don’t apply to him.
“Her daughter and Lennon are in the same preschool class.”
He almost chokes on his beer. “She’s a mom?” His subtle once-over of Tate doesn’t go unnoticed. “Damn. Can you hook me up with any other moms?”
“Um, no. Not happening. Pretty sure they’re all married or way older than us.”
“Dude, I’m totally into cougars,” he drawls, his non-Vermont accent stronger with each sip.
