ICE BETWEEN US

Chapter 3: A Terrible First Lesson

Zara arrived at the tutoring office fifteen minutes early, notebook in hand, hoping to at least get a sense of what she might be walking into. Her stomach was tight with anticipation. She had prepared herself for the worst, but nothing had fully braced her for him.

Of course, he was late.

By the time he walked in, the air seemed to shift. The door swung open, and there he was—hooded sweatshirt sticking to him from practice, hockey pants and sneakers making him look like he’d just skated off the rink, hair tousled and eyes sharp.

That familiar confident smirk was plastered across his face, and Zara immediately felt the weight of it, as if the room had shrunk around him.

“Damn,” he muttered, tossing his bag onto a chair. “I didn’t think this was actually happening.” He glanced at her with that half-amused, half-annoyed look, the kind that made her stomach tighten.

She straightened in her chair. “Yes. It’s happening. Now sit, so we can start.”

He snorted. “Start? Really? You do know who I am, right? And you’re supposed to… help me?”

Zara’s eyes narrowed. “Haven't we gone through this already? Yes. Me. The person you’re paying to help you. The person you would need if you had bothered to pass your classes on your own.”

His smirk widened. “Ouch. Straight to the throat. I like it. But come on… tutoring? You’re sure you’re qualified? Or is this just another girl thinking she can… cash in on my money?”

Her pen paused mid-note. She glared. “If you had done your work, you wouldn’t need me. So maybe you should focus on that before insulting the person trying to save your grades.”

He leaned back in his chair, arms crossed, that infuriatingly confident stance that made him seem even bigger and more intimidating. “Wow. Straight shooter. I like that. But really… tough love already? And we haven’t even started.”

Zara bristled. “I’m not here for hugs and praise. I’m here to make sure you don’t fail. I don’t care if you like me or not, and I don’t care if this is your first private tutor or your tenth. If you take this seriously, we might get somewhere. If not…” She let the words hang, sharp enough that he knew she meant it.

“Oh, I’m taking this seriously,” he said, voice low and mocking. “Just… don’t expect me to act like a model student. I’ve got a hockey season to worry about.”

“That’s your problem,” she shot back. “Not mine.”

The tension built fast, each word a spark ready to ignite. He rolled his eyes dramatically. “So inspirational. Got it. Maybe I should take notes… on how to be lectured by someone half my age.”

Zara slammed her notebook down, startling even herself. “You are half my age in responsibility. If you had spent more time paying attention in class than showing up for photos and parties, you wouldn’t be in this position. Now sit. Or I can leave, and your grades can fail. Your choice.”

He laughed, sharp and loud, a sound that made her teeth grit. “Okay, okay. You’re feisty. I’ll give you that. But wow… you’re aggressive for someone who’s supposed to be my… what… savior?”

The argument escalated until a knock at the door interrupted them. The tutor coordinator stepped in, her expression calm but firm, eyes flicking between them.

“Hello,” she said evenly. “I see we’re off to a… lively start.” She sighed. “I need to remind you both why you’re here. This tutoring arrangement is critical. If it fails…” Her voice dropped slightly. “He loses the ability to play hockey this season, and you lose your payment. Understood?”

Both froze for a moment. The stakes hung in the room, heavier than before. Zara’s chest tightened, and she realized just how precarious this was. The hockey player’s smirk faltered, replaced by a flicker of unease, just barely noticeable but there.

“Three times a week,” the coordinator continued. “That’s the minimum requirement. No exceptions. Make it work.”

He muttered under his breath but nodded.

“Fine. Three times a week. Don’t push me, and I won’t make it hell for you.”

“Three times,” Zara said, tone firm. “No excuses.”

The coordinator left, leaving them alone again, and the silence that followed was tense. Zara felt the pulse of frustration, irritation, and… something else she didn’t want to acknowledge.

He leaned back, exhaling slowly. “You’re… intense. I’ll give you that. Honestly, I thought tutoring would be boring. Not this.”

“Good,” she replied, straightening her notebook. “Boring doesn’t fix grades.”

“Right,” he said, smirking again. “Let’s see if this fiery little tutor of mine can actually survive the semester with me. I’m warning you, it won’t be easy.”

“Neither will failing,” she muttered under her breath.

And with that, they both knew—this was going to be a long, complicated, and infuriating three times a week. But for now, they had agreed. Reluctantly. Begrudgingly. And somehow, just barely, they had a start.

Zara opened her notebook again, pen ready, and braced herself for the long road ahead. He stretched lazily, leaning back in his chair, and watched her with that same arrogant, calculating look. Sparks of irritation—and something else, though neither would admit it—were already flying.