Bitter Sweet Heart (Lies, Hearts & Truths #2)(24)

The servers break into an off-key rendition of “Happy Birthday,” and I join in. But that’s not the best part. It’s the sparkler in the middle of the sundae that looks like a mini firecracker, shooting sparks three feet into the air.

“I’m gonna get you back for this. I hope you know that,” Kody gripes.

“You have to get used to the attention, my man. You’re going to be breaking NHL records in a matter of months.” I give his shoulder a squeeze and drop my arm as the sparkler sputters and dies out.

He gives me a sidelong glare, but a hint of a smile pulls up the corner of his mouth. Even though Kody is one of the best players out there, he still needs the praise. Sometimes I think he needs it more than most.

“You’re gonna be right there with me,” he replies, grabbing one of the spoons left by the servers. “It would be so awesome if one of us gets traded when we’re called up and we play for the same team.”

“It would,” I agree. But I’m aware that the chances of that are slim, and it’s more likely that I’ll be playing against him next year, not with him.

I glance over at Professor Sweet’s table, and for a moment, our gazes lock. She averts her eyes quickly, untucking her hair from behind her ear so it falls forward as she leans in. The woman across the table leans in too.

My stomach has been off since the whole sauna thing, but I still dig into the sundae. When Kody and I have eaten as much as we can, we pass it down the table.

I use the fact that my hands are sticky with chocolate sauce as an excuse to go back to the bathroom. It also means I pass Professor Sweet’s table again.

Like me, she ordered the wings, which I can appreciate. Wings are messy, and it’s hard to eat them with manners. As I’m passing, she sucks the barbecue sauce off her thumb and tosses the bone in the discard bowl. I should not find that sexy, but I do. Her gaze shifts as I come into her line of sight, and her cheeks turn pink.

I nod, but don’t acknowledge her otherwise. On my way back from the bathroom, I spot the server that’s taking care of her table and pay her bill on a whim before I settle Kody’s and my tab. When I get back to our table, he’s already got his jacket on, ready to go, so I leave, sparing Professor Sweet one more glance. She’s frowning at the server who motions to our table, but I’m not there anymore. I don’t know if I just nailed my coffin shut or what.

It’s nearly eleven by the time we get home. Kody disappears upstairs to Lavender’s room.

I mentally berate myself for paying my professor’s dinner tab, like I’m trying to buy my way out of my previous fuckup, as I sit down at my desk and pull up my school email. I’ve been obsessive about checking it, hoping for a revised grade on my paper.

I scroll past a couple from my coach about training and practices, and my mouth goes dry when I see one from Professor C. Sweet. Her TA is cc’d, and it was sent four hours ago. Before dinner at Eddie’s.

Dear Maverick,





Based on the resubmission of your assignment, your grade has been updated. There is a twenty percent penalty for late work, as outlined in the class syllabus. Please ensure that you include all components prior to the deadline on future assignments to avoid such penalties. Your revised grade is attached.

Please feel free to email me with any concerns or questions.





Best,

Professor Sweet





I check the comments. I managed to get a seventy-two, even with the penalty and my crappy grammar. It looks like it was marked by the TA again, based on the comments in the margins. I read through the email twice more, searching for a hidden meaning or some kind of . . . sign, maybe? Does this mean she’s not going to report me to anyone other than the athletics facility manager? That she believed me when I told her I was sorry? I don’t even know if she named me or not.

I debate sending her a reply to tell her I’ve just seen this now, but I’m not sure if that’s going to make the situation worse or better. So I leave it.





Two nights later, I arrive to class early. Today we’re talking about story structure, which is something I admittedly know very little about. My older brother, Robbie, always had a book in his hand, where I generally had a hockey stick.

At the end of class, I take my time packing up my stuff, and as expected, Sandy-Suzy asks if I’m going to the bar.

When I say no, her right foot rotates back and forth, and she does that ponytail twist thing, exactly like my cousins do. “Maybe you want to get coffee instead?”

The awkwardness of being asked out by one of my peers is magnified by the fact that it’s happening in front of someone I’ve slept with, and made that much worse since she’s my professor—whose good side I’m trying to get back on.

“It’s cool of you to offer, but I’ve got a lot of stuff going on, and I need to keep my focus on school and hockey this year.”

“Right. Yeah. Of course. That makes sense.” Her expression screams dejection, and I hate that I’ve made her feel like that. “I’ll see you next week.” She rushes for the door and ducks out of class.

I shoulder my bag and push out of my chair. Professor Sweet glances around the room, maybe realizing we’re the last two people here.

She crosses her arms. “What exactly were you trying to accomplish at Eddie’s?”