PUCK ME ON ICE

Chapter 4

Tessy’s POV

I stared down the crowded hallway, wishing Mrs. Zoey’s words were a hallucination I could blink away. Out of the entire student body, she’d paired me with Ryder King. This was a nightmare with a syllabus.

“Hey — hey, wait up!”

His voice cut through the noise behind me. I stopped, dragged an exasperated breath toward the ceiling, and turned. “What do you want, Ryder?”

He caught up, hockey bag slung over one shoulder. “For the record, I don’t want you tutoring me either. Let’s get that straight.”

I crossed my arms. “Good. At least we agree on something.”

“But,” he said, leaning down with that same familiar smirk, “I need my grades up to stay on the ice. So I guess I’ll survive it.”

“Survive it?”

“Yeah.” He laughed, completely unbothered by my glare. “You seem like a lot of work, and I don’t have the bandwidth for drama. When are we doing this — today at four?”

“Busy.”

“Tonight, then?”

“Still busy.”

He dragged a hand through his hair, exhaling hard. “When, then?”

“Tomorrow morning,” I said, jabbing a finger at his chest. “And don’t waste my time. If you’re not ready the exact minute I show up, I’m gone.”

He raised both hands, mock-surrendering. “Why are you always so feisty?” My glare only deepened his smirk. “Fine. Tomorrow works. I’ll text you the address.”

“Why can’t we just do it at my place?”

He laughed, low, scanning me once. “You want a hockey captain showing up at your apartment? Think about the rumors, miss.”

I paused, the reality of campus gossip landing with an unwelcome thud. It would be a disaster for my reputation, and he clearly knew it before I did.

“Fine. Your place.”

“Good. Hand me your phone.”

I handed it over reluctantly. He tapped out a message to himself so he could text me the address later, then passed it back. “See you around, miss,” he said, throwing me a sharp wink before sauntering off down the hall like the conversation had cost him nothing at all.

“Unbelievable,” I muttered, and walked home fast enough that I was practically vibrating by the time I got there.

I slammed the front door hard enough to rattle the walls.

“Wow!” Sophie yelped from the kitchen. “Trying to bring the house down?”

“Sorry.” I collapsed onto the couch and buried my face in a throw pillow.

She wiped her hands on a dish towel, studying me. “What happened? You were glowing this morning.”

“I was. Until I found out I have to tutor Ryder King.”

Her eyes went wide. “No way.”

“Yes. It’s a catastrophic disaster. You remember exactly how I feel about him, especially after what he pulled freshman year.”

“How could I forget? He turned you into a walking lightning rod on your first day of college.” She burst out laughing at the memory.

“Not funny, Sophie.” I hurled a cushion at her.

“Sorry, sorry!” She caught it easily, still grinning. “But look at the bright side. If you’re tutoring Ryder, you’re going to be around Tristan constantly.”

I blinked, my irritation stalling out. “What do you mean?”

“Think about it. Ryder and Tristan are roommates. If you’re at that house for sessions, you’re automatically around Tristan too.”

Something clicked into place, warm and hopeful. “Wait. That actually works. If he sees me more, he might finally notice me.”

“Exactly. This isn’t a nightmare, it’s the universe doing you a favor.”

“Maybe. But I still have to deal with Ryder. He’s the worst.”

“He’s not all bad,” she said, already halfway back to the kitchen.

I shot her a look with real venom in it. “He’s toxic.”

“Whatever you say. I’ve got meatloaf if you’re hungry. Deli, not homemade.”

We both laughed, and for a second the whole thing almost felt manageable.

The next morning I stood on the porch of the massive off-campus house, checking the address against my phone one more time. It matched. I took a breath and pressed the doorbell.

The door swung open, and my breath caught somewhere behind my ribs.

Tristan.

“Hey, beautiful,” he said, easy and warm, like he said it to everyone and meant it every time.

“Hey — I—” My brain short-circuited on the spot.

He laughed softly at whatever expression I was making and stepped back to let me in. “Come on in.”

I nodded, walking into the grand foyer on legs that didn’t quite feel like mine.

“Ryder’s upstairs. First door on the right.” He was already turning toward the kitchen, unbothered, already thinking about something else.

“Thanks,” I managed to the back of his head.

I watched him go, a giddy little smile breaking loose. I hadn’t expected to see him this soon. It felt like a sign — even if some smaller, quieter part of me noted he’d said the exact same “hey, beautiful” to the girl who’d opened the door for pizza the week before. Sophie had told me that, laughing, not thinking it would matter to me. I decided it didn’t matter now either.

I climbed the staircase, heart picking up speed with every step, and knocked on the first door on the right.

Nothing.

I knocked again. Still nothing. Assuming Ryder was ignoring me on principle, I turned the knob and pushed the door open.

“Ryder, I told you not to—”

The words died somewhere in my throat.

Ryder was on his knees at the edge of the bed, head buried between a girl’s thighs, her back arched, fingers twisted into his hair, a breathy moan cutting straight through the room.

“Oh my god—”