Knox paused at the gate and looked up. The moment his eyes landed on me, his brow furrowed and his expression soured instantly.
"You’ve got to be kidding me," he muttered, loud enough for it to echo in the empty rink. "What are you doing here? Did you actually follow me all the way to the arena to beg for an apology?"
I gripped the strap of my tote bag tighter against my side, refusing to let the cold or his glare make me take a step back. "I’m not here for an apology, Sheridan. And I’m certainly not here to beg."
"Who’s that, Cap?" a tall, broad-shouldered player asked, skating up behind Knox with a massive, sweat-dampened grin. "Is this the girl you ran over in the administrative corridor? The one with the coffee?"
"A pest," Knox said, turning his back to me and adjusting his heavy shoulder pads. "Ignore her."
"I’m not a pest; I’m your new tutor," I said, walking down the steps of the bleachers until I was standing right at the glass. I looked through the clear pane and spoke flatly. "We have a session scheduled for four o’clock, which means you need to be in the athletic study room with your economics textbook in ten minutes."
Knox slowly turned back, looking at me like I had three heads. "My what?"
The loud player let out a booming laugh, elbowing the shorter player next to him. "Oh, she’s got teeth, Knox. I like her already. What’s your name, sweetheart?"
"Nora," I said, keeping my eyes locked on Knox’s annoyed face.
"I’m Milo," the loud one said, offering a mock salute with his glove. "This dry-as-sand goalie is Theo. If Knox gives you any trouble, just let us know. We’ll bench him."
"He won’t give me trouble," I said. "Because he wants to play in the Founders Cup, which means he needs to pass macroeconomics. And to do that, he needs me. So, Sheridan, study room. Ten minutes."
Knox didn’t even look at me. He just grabbed his white towel from the bench, wiped his face, and started talking to Theo. "Hey, what are we doing for dinner? I’m starving. That scrimmage took everything out of me."
"Sushi down the street," Theo replied, adjusting his goalie mask. "But you’ve got to shower first. You smell like a wet dog."
"Sheridan?" I called in a low voice. "I’m talking to you."
No response.
Knox just sat down on the bench, bent over, and began untying his skates, completely blocking me out like I was white noise. The other players on the ice were skating off, ignoring us, but Milo was still leaning against the boards, watching the show with pure amusement.
"He does this when he’s trying to ignore reality," Milo offered helpfully, leaning over the glass. "If he doesn’t look at you, the homework doesn’t exist. It’s a defense mechanism. Like a turtle, but taller."
"I am not a turtle, Milo," Knox grunted, still focused on his skate laces.
"Then answer the lady, Cap," Milo grinned.
I took a deep breath, trying to control the irritation bubbling in my chest. "We are covering the basic principles of supply and demand today, Sheridan. I’ve prepared a study guide, and Coach Brennan said you have a copy of the textbook. I expect you to have it with you."
Knox didn’t say a word.
He pulled his right skate off, dropped it to the floor, and reached for the laces on his left, all while humming a low, irritating tune under his breath that made it clear he was completely tuning me out.
I felt a sudden flash of anger.
I thought of Mrs. Gable’s dry office and the foreclosure notice my mother was trying so hard to hide. I thought of the three thousand dollars currently sitting in the athletic compliance budget with my name on it.
I had spent my entire life working for every single cent, studying late into the night while guys like Knox had everything handed to them on a silver platter. I wasn’t going to let a cocky playboy stand between me and my family’s survival.
Without thinking, I unlatched the gate and stepped onto the black rubber floor. I dropped the heavy, thousand-page macroeconomics textbook onto his gear bag with a loud thud, right next to his hand.
Knox froze. Looking up slowly, his jaw tightened, and his dark eyes narrowed into dangerous slits. "Do you mind?"
"I’m getting paid seven hundred and fifty dollars a week to make sure you don’t fail, Sheridan," I said, crossing my arms. "I’m not leaving until we schedule our first session. If you want to sit here and pretend I don’t exist, that’s fine. I’ll just stand right here and describe the laws of supply and demand until you go deaf."
"Then you’re going to be standing there a long time," Knox said.
He stood up, and even without his skates on, he towered over me. His wet shoulder pads made him look twice as wide as he stepped into my personal space, blotting out the overhead lights. A thick, suffocating scent of ice, sweat, and cheap mint cologne washed over me.
"Look, Bookworm," Knox’s voice dropped into a low, warning growl. "I don’t do tutors. I don’t need some nerd sitting in a library, reading me definitions I couldn’t care less about. I’m busy with practice and meetings, and I simply don’t have time for this."
"It’s not an option, Sheridan," I said, holding my ground even as my heart kicked hard against my ribs. I refused to let him see how much his size intimidated me. "Coach Brennan said..."
"I don’t care what Brennan said," Knox snapped, his irritation finally bubbling over. He looked from me to the empty ice, then down at the spare hockey sticks lined up on the metal rack behind the bench.
A cold, challenging smirk slowly spread across his face as he pulled a spare stick from the rack. Instead of putting it back, he shoved it toward my chest, and I caught it instinctively. The wood felt cold and rough in my bare hands.
"What is this?" I asked, looking down at the stick.
"A deal," Knox said, leaning down so his face was level with mine. His dark eyes were filled with pure, arrogant challenge. "You want to tutor me so bad? You want that paycheck? Let’s make a bet. You put a single puck past me, right now, on the ice."
I stared at the stick, then at him. "You’re joking."
"Do I look like I’m joking?" Knox asked.
Behind us, Milo let out a loud cheer. "Oh, this is gold! Theo, tell me you have your phone on you!"
"I don’t," Theo said, though a small smile touched his mouth.
"One shot," Knox repeated as he gestured toward the empty net on the ice. "You put a single puck in the net, and I’ll cooperate. I’ll do the readings, I’ll show up early, and I’ll actually open the book. But you miss? You sign my compliance logs for the semester, tell Brennan I’m a genius, and stay out of my way."
I looked at the ice; it was smooth, cold, and looked very slippery. I looked at the heavy stick in my hands, then at Knox’s smug, waiting face. Every sensible bone in my body told me to turn around, walk away, and go report him to Coach Brennan.
But I knew what would happen if I did. Brennan would try to force him, Knox would resist, the contract would get messy, and my payment would get delayed. I needed that first week’s check by Friday.
"Fine," I said in a steady voice. "One shot."
Knox’s smirk deepened. "Lace up, Bookworm. Let’s see what you’ve got."