Page 2 of Wild Card 13
He pointed at me. “Right there. Tiny little stress twitch.”
“You are the reason for the twitch.”
“Wow.” He pressed one hand dramatically against his chest. “After everything we’ve been through together.”
“We’ve gone over mitochondria.”
“We’ve shared experiences.” His grin widened, triumphant and warm in a way that made something in my stomach flip over stupidly. Ty leaned across the table suddenly, closing the biology textbook in front of me with one sharp thud.
I jumped. “Fine,” I snapped. “We can do flash cards during study hall tomorrow morning. Happy?”
Crossing his arms, he shook his head slowly. “You’re coming with me.”
My eyebrows pulled together. “Where?”
“Kellers’ place.”
“That tells me literally nothing.”
Ty stared at me like I was personally offensive. “You’ve never been to Mason Keller’s lake house?”
“I avoid places where hockey boys gather in large groups.”
“That feels discriminatory.”
“It’s self-preservation.”
He laughed softly under his breath. “Some of the guys are having a fire tonight,” he explained. “Lake’s frozen over. We’re skating.”
“I don’t skate.”
“You’re from Minnesota.”
“And yet.”
“Come on.” His voice softened just enough to feel dangerous. “Please?”
I looked down at my notebook, pretending to think about it while my brain completely abandoned me.
Objectively, this was a terrible idea. I did not belong at hockey bonfires on frozen lakes with loud boys and beer coolers and whatever else happened at those things. I belonged here. In libraries. With books and sensible decisions.
“You’re seriously not going to stop asking, are you?” I muttered.
“Nope.”
“You’re impossible.” I sighed dramatically. “Fine.”
His entire face lit up. It happened instantly. One second he looked relaxed and teasing and lazy in his chair. The next, genuineexcitement cracked across his expression so openly it caught me off guard. “Seriously?”
“Do not make this weird.”
“Too late. I’m thrilled.”
Mrs. Jensen shushed us from across the library.
Ty grinned unapologetically.
I should not have noticed the way the fluorescent lights caught against the messy ends of his hair. Or the way his hockey practice had left his cheeks pink from the cold. Or how unfairly good-looking someone could be while carrying a backpack with one broken strap held together by athletic tape. But unfortunately, I noticed all of it, which felt medically concerning.
