8. Griffin

I have more nerves this morning for my test than I do for most of my hockey games. I want to do more than pass; I want to ace it. Proving not only to myself, but also to Blair that I can succeed in this class.

I even looked up things you should do before an exam to mentally prepare. I went to bed at a decent time and made myself eggs, sausage, and toast for breakfast. Now, I'm rolling into class ten minutes early. I'm not exactly sure how this is supposed to help, but I'm not in any position to question the test gods right now.

If I don't pass this exam, my ass is going to get benched for who knows how long. I can't afford that, and neither can my team. We are a perfectly well-oiled machine; if one part is removed, we will fall apart. Maybe that's a bit dramatic, but you get the damn point. Perhaps the team would be just fine, but I definitely wouldn't be.

"Mr. Hawthorne, you're not late today. I'm glad to see your tutor has been rubbing off on you." Dr. Schrute greets me with a big smile as he writes on the whiteboard.

"Yeah, she's good at her job," I tell him truthfully as I walk toward the stairs to take my usual seat.

As I walk up the first couple of steps, I glance up and lock eyes with Blair. How have I not noticed her the last few months that we've been in class together?

I think even if I were blind, I would know how stunning she is because her beauty radiates from every pore of her being, like a force you can't help but be drawn to.

Locking my gaze on to hers, I continue to climb the stairs until I reach my row and stop. Her face warms, and her lips purse while she holds my stare, seemingly refusing to be the first to break the staring contest.

Oh, it's on.

"Excuse me," someone whispers behind me, and without blinking, I scoot into my row while looking straight at Blair, who's talking to Lumi.

Lumi leans over and whispers in her ear, and Blair's cheeks redden immediately.

"Is there a reason you are eye-fucking your tutor right now? Can I join?" the deep voice says in my ear, not nearly as quiet as I would like.

"Fuck off, Malik. It's a simple stare-down, nothing more."

Proving my point to him, I break the eye contact and find my seat.

Blair's smirk falls when I end our little game, and I can't ignore how my chest twists in pain at her disappointment. I want to know what she's thinking right now. I'm two seconds from going up there and finding out, but Dr. Schrute has other plans.

"Good morning, class. You know what today is, and for your sake, I hope you have prepared thoroughly." He chuckles like he doesn't hold my entire future in the palm of his hand. "Before we begin, phones, study guides, and everything else must be cleared off your desk, aside from a pen. Thank you."

Checking my phone one last time, I see a text from Blair.

Tutor: Good luck. You're going to do great.

With a shit-eating grin warming my face, I shove my phone in my backpack and tuck it beneath my legs. I take a deep breath and exhale. I've got this. I went through Blair's study guide until I had it practically memorized. The only part I'm semi-nervous about is the essay question, but I guess I'll worry about that when I get to it.

"Take one and pass it down your row, please. When you are finished, bring them up front. Good luck," Dr. Schrute announces to the class as he hands a stack of tests to the first person in each row.

"Thanks," I mumble to Malik as he hands me the stack, and I take one off of the top and pass them along.

"You got this, man." He hypes me up, and I'm grateful for the mini pep talk.

After filling in the top of the test with my name and the date, I read question one.

What did one toilet say to the other ?

Is this seriously a test question? At least he has a sense of humor.

The multiple choice options include, You look like shit , You're full of shit , or You look flushed. All of the answers seem like they could be correct, so which one do I pick?

"There isn't a wrong answer for question one; don't panic. I want you to pick which answer you would finish the joke with. It's just for fun." Dr. Schrute chuckles.

If I wasn't failing this class, I would think it's funny. But I'm too stressed out to think about a toilet joke right now; I'll come back to it.

Reading the following question, I know the answer before I finish reading the choices. Pride and joy pump through my veins as I circle the correct response and move on to the next question.

Before I know it, I've finished all of the multiple choice and fill-in-the-blank portions, and now, all that remains is the essay. I wish coming up with the words were my struggle. I don't have a lack of ideas. I have a lack of vulnerability. Why couldn't Dr. Schrute pick any other damn thing to focus on this semester that isn't ourselves?

Tell me about a childhood memory you will always cherish and how that moment still impacts you today.

I had the best childhood with loving parents and the sweetest little brother, but that doesn't mean I want to share anything about them with a professor who won't understand how even thinking about them burns a hole in my chest.

They left me long ago, and they still refuse to return. Maybe I was too selfish, or perhaps they just got sick of me and left. Regardless, it's only been Mrs. Potts, Chip, and me since I was fifteen. Any good childhood memory that I have will forever be overshadowed by the day they abandoned me.

Writing rapidly, I pour words onto the page that will tug at Dr. Schrute's heartstrings and hopefully give me an A. It might not be a real story—at least not one I have ever experienced—but it sounds real enough to be believable.

I talk about how, as a young boy, I met a hockey player who changed what I wanted in life. Meeting my hero made me realize that I could become that hero for another little kid one day. By the time I finish constructing this adorable little lie, I'm even questioning whether it actually happened. It might be a fake story, but it's structured properly, it has no spelling errors, and it's grammatically correct, so I'm happy with it.

A warmth spreads through my chest as I take a deep inhale and slowly dispel it, feeling every muscle in my body relax. There's no way that I won't get a near-perfect grade on this test. Setting my pen down, I flip the packet back to the front page and realize I have one more question to answer. I fill in a new answer to Dr. Schrute's toilet joke— You're full of shit .

I gather my things and rise from my seat, making my way to the stairs to turn my test in. Glancing up at where Blair sits, I find her scribbling like a maniac on her paper, like she can't write fast enough for what she wants to say. I wonder what childhood memory she's spilling onto the pages. Her eyebrows furrow with focus, and she bites her bottom lip between her teeth. She looks cute like that.

As if she can feel my stare, her eyes flick up and land directly on mine. It takes her a second to react, and she gives me a shy thumbs-up. Smirking, I reciprocate it and hold my thumb up.

She goes back to her work, rapidly writing. Her face finds that adorable balance of stress and concentration. I descend the stairs to Dr. Schrute's desk and, for once this semester, confidently drop my answers into the bin.

"Thank you," he whispers, and I nod in response before walking out of the room, the door clicking shut behind me.

He usually has grades posted by the end of the day, so fingers crossed, I'll find out before tonight's game because I don't want anything but hockey on my mind when I take the ice.

Lingering in the hallway, I wait to see if Blair comes out so I can ask her how she thinks she did, although I imagine I could answer that myself. I only have a few minutes before I have to dip and head to the pregame skate, so hopefully, she finishes quickly.

I count tiles on the floor as time seems to drag out forever while I wait for her to walk out of class. I jump slightly as the door finally swings open, but it's not her. It's Lumi.

"Hey, man," I greet him. "How'd it go?"

"Good, I think," he says with pep. "You?"

Yawning, I respond, "That's awesome. I think I di?—"

Blair walking out of the room takes my full attention, cutting me off mid-sentence.

"There you are. I never finish before you," Lumi teases her as she types angrily into her phone.

What the hell is that about ?

"I know. I couldn't get focused right away, which is weird for me, but I got there eventually," she mumbles and looks up, her eyes widening when she sees me. "You're still here?"

Glancing away, I clear my throat and calmly say, "Yeah, I was waiting for Malik to finish up."

Lumi side-eyes me, and I ignore him.

"So, how'd it go?" she asks enthusiastically.

Wringing the straps of my backpack on my chest, I proudly say, "I think I fucking killed it."

"Yes! I knew you could do it. You just needed a good study guide and some pointers," she praises me, and I lap up the compliments.

"Good thing I found the best tutor in the class," I respond kindly, and she smiles softly in return. "I've got a game tonight. I'm not sure what you guys are up to. But it would be cool if you guys came." I say before adding, "Unless you already have really important plans."

"We don't!" Lumi practically shouts, and Blair turns bright red.

"Perfect. Game's at seven," I respond without leaving a moment for Blair to turn down my invite. "I've got to head to the rink. I'll see you guys later."

As I step away from them, Blair speaks up with a glimmer in her eyes. "I thought you were waiting for Malik?"

Shit.

Rubbing the back of my neck, I say, "Yeah, I was. But he's taking too goddamn long, and I don't want to be late. "

"Fair enough. I usually have the same problem with Lumi." She laughs as he glares at her.

I chuckle and smile before turning around and walking toward the exit. I really do hope they come out tonight. It would be cool to have someone I actually know in the crowd. Mrs. Potts and Chip attend a game every so often, but Chip isn't the biggest fan of the loudness.

My phone buzzes as I enter the locker room, and I pull it out to find a text from Blair as I sit down in front of my locker.

Tutor: I'm just letting you know we are coming tonight. Hope you don't suck.

I wish she would let some of this sass shine outside of our texts.

Biting down on my cheek to stifle my smile and laugh, I type out my response.

What do you even know about hockey? You won't be able to tell if I'm doing well or not.

Tutor: A bunch of oversize humans wear blades on their feet, chase after a rubber ball with a stick, and rage out when things don't go their way. I feel like that sums it up .

A laugh bursts out of me, and I quickly respond, feeling electricity begin to pulse through my veins at our back-and-forth banter.

Okay, that is wrong on so many levels. In the vaguest of ways, I suppose you're right, but also, you know nothing about hockey.

An idea jumps into my head, and I type it out before I can even think it through and she can respond.

You help me with our class, and I'll help you better understand hockey.

Tutor: Success in class is essential. Me understanding a sport? Not so much.

Think of it as an addendum to our original deal. No negotiation. I want it written into stone.

Tutor: Is that blackmail? That I have to learn hockey or our deal is off?

Yep.

She must be contemplating my offer deeply because she doesn't answer me nearly as fast this time. Glancing up from my phone, I nearly shit myself.

My entire team is silent and facing me with a variety of smirks and smiles on their faces.

I huff. "What the fuck are you guys doing?"

They explode with laughter like they couldn't keep it inside themselves for a second longer. Malik is bent over at his waist, cackling so hard that it sounds like it hurts.

Malik is still heaving from his laughter as he forces the words out. "Don't worry; I took photos so we could look back at this moment."

Knowing he's baiting me for his punch line, I follow along so we can get this over with. "What moment?"

Asher stalks over to me, chuckling, and throws his arm over my shoulders. "Proud of you, man. Finally growing up."

"Will someone tell me what the fuck is going on?" I demand, my voice powerful enough to chill some of the craziness down.

Malik turns his phone around and shows me a picture of myself sitting on the bench with my face buried in my phone, and quite literally, I have the biggest smile I've ever seen in a photo of myself. Granted, most pictures of me are of me playing hockey, and I tend not to smile on the ice unless we score or I'm about to beat someone's ass.

Playing it cool, I shrug it off. "What about it?"

Malik squints with a knowing smirk. "Are we going to have to drag every single word out of you? Who were you talking to? Who's got you smiling like that, Griff?"

These boys know me well, and I'd trust them with my life, but for some reason, I lie, "No one. I found a bunch of funny memes and shit."

"All in favor of accepting Griffin's answer, say aye," Malik calls out loudly to the team.

Silence falls upon us.

He continues, "All those opposed to his bullshit answer and still waiting for some truth, say aye. "

"AYE!" everyone screams.

Why in the hell are they like this?

"Try again," Malik says. "Who were you texting? Was it that hot little nerd from our English class?"

Clenching my jaw, I tilt my head, my blood boiling at his nickname for her. "Yeah, it was. And? She's my tutor. I was telling her how good I did on the test. And Malik?"

"Yeah?"

"Don't call her that," I order him.

The guys look at each other, seemingly assessing whether or not they are happy with this response, but a majority of them are clearly not pleased. But by the glare on my face right now, they back down and remain quiet.

Dean breaks the silence and asks, "And how did our boy do on the test?"

Looking back down at my phone, I see Blair responded, but I swipe out of our messages before I can read it and pull up my grades, specifically my English class, and find the most recent entry from tonight.

Holy shit.

"I got ninety-two percent!" I cheer like we just won a championship game because, fuck, it feels that good right now.

The room explodes in chants, hoots, and hollers as we celebrate my small victory.

"That's what I'm talking about, Griffin. The motherfucking BEEEAST!" Dean growls out.

I can't believe I got an A on my test. Like, I'd thought I was going to, but, damn, to see that really happen is something else altogether .

"Now, let's go get a W, boys!" I shout, and the group gets distracted with gearing up for our game.

Taking one more second, I open Blair's text.

Tutor: I'm not going to cheer. I'm going to be straight-faced the entire time.

Grinning, I text her back one last time before storing my phone away.

I wouldn't have it any other way.

In a matter of a half hour, we are warming up on the ice as the arena fills in around us. I would be lying if I said I'm not trying to spot her in the crowd as I skate around. Of course, I'm not making it obvious, just taking little glances now and then. But I haven't seen her yet.

Warm-ups quickly come to an end. After a twenty-minute break, the starting lineup is announced for the visiting team, the Pirates, and finally, it's our turn.

"Let's meet the starting lineup for your HEAU Legends!" the announcer's voice booms into the mic. "Starting in goal, number thirty, Finn Rutherford!"

Our other starting defender, Dean Kensington is shouted into the mic, and he skates out as the entire building comes to life with the energy and cheers of our fans.

I'm up next.

"On defense, number seventy-five, Griffinnnn Hawthorne!" He drags the IN out in Griffin .

I fly onto the ice .

As our fans do every game, they roar my nickname. "Beast."

Goose bumps scatter across my body as I take my place next to Dean on the blue line, practically vibrating as adrenaline pumps through my veins.

Nothing makes me feel more at home than being on the ice.

Our forwards are announced next, Malik Ravenwell and Asher Kensington, followed by our center, Elias Lancaster.

I rock back and forth on my skates as the anthem starts, and thankfully, the singer tonight is fast-paced. It's the worst when they are torturously slow and it feels like it lasts forever.

" And the home of the brave ," the singer finishes, and the lights turn on as the air electrifies.

The crowd cheers and claps as we line up for puck drop, and I take one last glance around the rink to see if I spot Blair and Lumi. But I fail to locate them and have to forget it, needing to get my head in the game.

"Let's go, boys!" I huff and ready myself, bending at the waist with my stick on the ground.

Chaos ensues as the puck drops between one of the Pirates and Asher, one of our best players in winning face-offs.

Asher dishes the puck between his legs, and it flies backward to Elias. With a flick of the wrist, he passes it across the center line to Malik, who, with a quick deke, gets around the defender and races toward the goal on a breakaway .

Drifting to the left side of the net, he pushes his stick far left before bringing it across his body lightning fast and shooting it. Unfortunately, their goalie seems to have magical fucking reflexes and snatches the puck out of midair, killing the play.

A goal on the opening puck drop would have been insane, but maybe another time.

The rest of the first period flies by without either team getting a point on the board, and I have yet to grant myself a moment of time to search for Blair. But that changes when we retake the ice for the start of the second.

Our line is first to start, and while we wait for the other team to be ready, I look into the crowd.

Nope. Nope. Not her. Definitely not him. Not her. Nop?—

As the hairs rise on the back of my neck, I can almost sense her for a mere second before my eyes lock with hers and her lips part with a gasp. Two rows up from behind the penalty box, she watches me. Her luscious hair cascades down her shoulders in loose curls, and her cheeks are rosy from the chill of the arena.

The usual smirk that tips her plump lips up is gone and replaced by a vulnerability she hasn't let me see before. My skates guide me toward her, but before I get lost in whatever fantasy my mind is stirring up, I get ripped back to reality.

"Griffin. Hey! Let's go!" Malik whistles at me, and I line up, doing my best to push Blair out of my mind.

After we score, I can't help but turn to her and see her reaction. When a player gets in my face and wants to fight, I'm unable to resist glancing at her to see the fire in her eyes, and as the game comes to an end, I'm incapable of doing anything other than watch her cheer us on in victory, knowing that I'm completely fucked because I have feelings for my tutor.