Puck Block : A Brother’s Best Friend Hockey Romance (Bexley U)
Puck Block : Chapter 9

“One, two, three.” The vitamin D supplements drop into my pill sorter one by one with a little clink. This is something I’ve been doing since being diagnosed with Type 1 diabetes, all because a nurse once mentioned to me that Vitamin D has been shown to improve insulin sensitivity, but it still makes me feel like I’m eighty-four instead of twenty-two. I shake the pill bottle and pour a few more vitamins out into the palm of my hand and drop them in before closing the lid and pushing it to the far corner of my nightstand.

A pill a day–that’s what stands in between me and no longer having diabetes.

I laugh under my breath with the manifestation. It’s unrealistic, but a girl can hope.

I turn toward the door when I hear girly-squealing downstairs. I already know that some hot jock has shown up on our doorstep to take one of the girls out, because it’s the college-girl chorus. The shrill squeal is what every single freshman does when they come into contact with someone other than Joe Schmo from their little ol’ hometown.

It’s exhausting trying to teach the younger sorority sisters how to be safe and not trust every guy who pursues them just because he has a hot smirk and a devilish glint in his eye.

“Ladies, ladies, ladies. I’ll sign autographs later.”

There are more girly giggles, and I snort at Ford’s smooth voice. I roll my eyes so hard it hurts. My back is to him when my door slides over my fluffy carpet, and for the first time in a very long time, my stomach flips with nerves.

I cried in front of him.

Me. Taytum Elizabeth Olson, the composed ballet-dancing college student with an airy attitude who has always seemed collected on the outside, cried.

I never cry, and even though it was in front of Ford—someone who has seen me at my worst—I’m still embarrassed by it.

Even days later.

“You gonna pretend I’m not standing behind you?” Ford asks.

My lips want to curve, but I do exactly as he says. I pretend he isn’t there. I grab my copy of A History of Romantic Literature and sit on my bed. I flip open to the chapter on Sylvia Plath, but my finger freezes on the corner of the page when Ford begins to recite her entire biography from memory.

He acts like an airhead most of the time and strives to make everyone in the room laugh, but he’s smarter than most guys his age. The one thing about Ford is that he never wants to disappoint anyone, so he always goes above and beyond to excel at everything he does.

I disappoint people constantly–mainly my parents and Dr. McCarthy.

“Am I dazzling you with my intelligence?” he asks after finishing her biography.

I flip the page and continue to pretend he doesn’t exist, which makes him laugh out loud.

“Are you seriously going to ignore me? You know very well that I can make you look at me. I know how to press your buttons, Taytum.”

He sure does.

I sigh, continuing to look at the same sentence on the page that I’ve reread five times, and keep my voice neutral. “That depends. Are you here to stay true to your word, or are you going to act like the other night didn’t happen?”

My bed dips, and his jean-clad leg is an inch from mine. I glance at him, and he’s resting against my pillow with his hands behind his head. “The other night…?”

My face is on fire. I hate him. I slam the book shut and begin to stand up. I’m a second away from walking to ballet practice instead of letting him drive me.

“Nuh-uh.” Ford moves quickly. He pops up and traps me in between his legs like a pair of scissors. Our eyes meet, and I wiggle angrily with an attempted escape. “Keep it up. I love a girl who fights.”

“Ford.” I try to unclamp his legs but stop when I realize how stupid I must look. Ford’s cheeks are hollow from sucking them in to stop his laugh, and it makes his jaw sharper than ever.

“Will you relax? I was kidding. You know I always stay true to my word.”

I snort sarcastically and push his legs away. He lets me go and throws my heart-shaped pillow into the air only to catch it a second later without looking.

“You don’t always stay true to your word.” I stand up and grab my ballet bag before moving closer to my door. If I don’t put space between us, I may throw my book at his head.

The pillow falls to the floor, right out of Ford’s hands, and he stares directly at me. “Yes, I do.”

“You do not,” I counter.

I remember the very moment he broke his word, like it was yesterday. “Remember when you promised me you wouldn’t tell my parents about that one night you found me crying in my bathroom with a ripped shir–”

“Don’t.” I look away when I hear the brash tone he uses. “You know I had to tell them.”

“Just like you’ll have to tell Emory about every date I go on or every one-night stand I plan to have? Or what if one of your teammates pursues me and wants to keep it a secret from Emory? You gonna keep your word then? Or…” I smile deviously and bring up my next topic. “What if Cruz shows back up at Rush’s and we’re in a room together again? Are you going to break the door down and make up some excuse to force him leave? Are you going to tell him that I’m off-limits again?”

I’m out of breath by the end of my rant, and my hands have made their way to my hips. Ford stood up at one point, and his feet are now planted firmly over my pink rug. My eyebrow hitches as I wait for his answer. I’ve already prepared one hundred responses by the time he says, “No.”

Surprise renders me speechless. “No?” I’m hesitant but for good reason.

I trust Ford with my life, but I don’t trust him with his ability to keep something from my brother or to sit back and watch me disappear with another guy. I’ve been burned far too many times.

Ford strides over to me with his usual confidence. “I heard you the other night, and I understand where you are coming from.” He shrugs innocently, and I’m left confused. “I said I’d keep your little adventures a secret, and I will. I also said I’d help you…figure it out.”

I blink once, then twice, and then a third time before I blurt out the first thing that comes to mind. “Why?”

There’s a harsh silence that follows my question, and the more Ford bounces his blue eyes between mine, the more skeptical I become. But then he looks away and flexes his tight jaw, and it clicks.

“You feel bad for me,” I whisper.

Ford quickly rebuts, “No.” He rolls his eyes before snatching my ballet bag from my hand. “Well, yes, but not in the way you’re thinking.” The zipper echoes throughout the room, and he grabs my emergency sugar kit. He opens it up and checks the contents before shoving it back into the bag. “I feel guilty, alright?”

I try to take my ballet bag from him, but he slaps away my hand. “You feel guilty?” I repeat.

He nods. “You were right. I have ruined almost every date you’ve ever had, and it’s a dick thing to do. You’re no longer fifteen, surrounded by a bunch of little fuckboys who don’t know a pussy from a papaya.” There’s a look in his eye that I don’t recognize, but it vanishes before I comment on it.

Ford heads for the door, but instead of following after him, I stand in the middle of my room and cross my arms. “Did you just compare my pussy to a papaya?”

He turns and looks over his shoulder. He grins, and this time, I can’t help but let my mouth curve. “I sure did. I bet you taste better, though.”

A clipped laugh leaves me, and I quickly try to brush past him, all while pulling on the straps of my bag. His grip is tight, so it doesn’t let up. Instead, he jerks it, and I slam into his chest. “You gotta promise me something if I’m going to do this for you.”

His cologne engulfs me, and my mouth runs dry.

“Don’t let some guy break your heart,” he whispers.

My bedroom feels infinitely smaller with the sobering look in his eye.

I give him a half-smile. “As if I’d let some guy get close enough.”

My back? Maybe. My heart? Never.

Our heavy moment is fleeting. Ford drapes his arm over my shoulders, and we walk to the stairs together. “Good girl,” he whispers in my ear. “Why do you think I’ve been calling you Heartbreaker all these years, babe? I’m glad to see it has stuck.”

My stomach tumbles down the stairs before us. I keep my steps steady, but I’m so starved for a guy’s attention that Ford calling me babe sends me into a tizzy.

His arm drops when we reach downstairs. Naturally, he stops to flirt with my sorority sisters before we head to his car and climb inside.

“Seatbelt.” I roll my eyes again but do as he says. Once the seatbelt clicks, Ford takes off toward the auditorium.

“Have Claire drop you off at The Bex after practice. And before you try to walk there or refuse a ride, she’s aware that Dr. McCarthy doesn’t want you to drive.”

He knows me too well.

“Why The Bex?”

“You and I have some things to iron out, so The Bex, me and you, seven-thirty sharp.” The car comes to a stop, and we’re suddenly out of time.

“What things?” I ask, reaching for my bag.

“If I’m going to help you with your little exploration, we’re going to need to set some rules in place.”

“Rules?” Great.

Ford unlocks the car door.

“What kind of rules?”

He winks at me. “See you in a bit.”

I open the door and step out. Ford doesn’t drive away until I’m safely inside.

Even though I’m reluctant to hear these so-called rules, I’m sort of looking forward to meeting him at The Bex.

For once, Ford might be on my side.

See ya later, celibacy.