Filed to story: Luci Forrester and Easton Reed: Hockey Romance Story
“Are you feeling okay? Did you fall off another shelf?” I direct my question at Becker, who’s stifling a laugh next to me. “Is he really okay?”
“Well, you see, Luci Lou, he finally found his spine and his senses. They’ve been missing in action. A few good slaps to the back of his head did the trick,” Becker quips, his laughter contagious as Jackson and Kingston join in.
“He’s a regular f*****g comedian,” Easton shoots back with mock annoyance. “But maybe someone else needs a slap too.” He reaches down and playfully whacks Jackson’s head, who turns with a glare that could melt steel.
Just then, Maxton strides into the classroom, and my heart sinks. His eyes lock onto mine, and I instinctively shrink back in my seat, noting the tension in his jaw. “No, Luci, sit up. He isn’t allowed near you,” he commands, his voice low and serious.
Before I can protest, he yanks on my left sleeve while Becker tugs at the right, pulling them up past my elbows. “Right side, small bruise,” Becker growls, and I quickly yank my sleeves down, trying to hide the evidence of Maxton’s earlier grip.
“Cole told us he touched you. Next time, I want you to tell me,” Easton orders, his glare now directed at Maxton rather than me.
“I bruise easily,” I mutter, feeling a mix of embarrassment and frustration.
“More reason why he shouldn’t touch what doesn’t belong to him. Cole said he asked you out,” Easton presses, his tone darkening.
“He didn’t grab me that hard this time. I stabbed my nails into his hand. He knew who Cole was, and it seemed to infuriate him,” I respond, watching Easton’s expression shift.
His eyes flare with intensity as he turns back to me. “He’s never met Cole. He shouldn’t even know who he is. That jerk has been up to no good. Are you sure?”
A wave of dread washes over me. “Yes, he said, ‘I know that kid,’ and accused me of… ummm, trying for the Reed brothers. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have brought him to campus.”
“No, Luci, don’t apologize for that. I’ll handle it,” he asserts firmly.
“Either Coach told him, or he’s been digging around,” Kingston adds quietly, his brows furrowed in concern.
I pull out my planner, hastily jotting down reminders before they slip my mind. I had to tape it back together after Maxton’s earlier destruction.
“That reminds me,” Easton says, eyeing my battered planner for a moment before rummaging through his bag. He produces a sleek, stylish planner that looks far more sophisticated than mine. “Here. It has pockets so you can slip the sheets you’ve already filled out into them. Less work for you,” he explains, handing it to me.
I stare down at the planner, my mouth agape. I know planners well, and this one must cost at least four times what I paid for my current one.
Our professor strides into the room, and I shake my head in disbelief. “Seriously, what’s gotten into you?” I ask Easton, bewildered.
He raises an eyebrow, his expression as blank as ever. “You’ll figure it out,” he replies cryptically.
Every day, he continues to act this way, leaving little surprises on my desk during class-chocolates, pretty pens that I can’t resist. I swear I saw him shadowing me to a few of my other classes. When I mentioned it to Syd and tried to turn around, she simply looped her arm through mine and told me to watch where I was going instead. I haven’t seen Julian or Maxton anywhere near me all week either.
Then there’s the way he watches me during dinner, which they suddenly seem to be home for every night. On Wednesday, he stepped into the playroom, announcing that dinner was ready while holding out a pair of soft, wool gloves in a delicate shade of purple. “These should keep your fingers warm so you don’t have to rub your hands together and shove them into your pockets all the time, especially early in the morning when it’s damp and cold,” he said, his tone surprisingly thoughtful.
“How did you know I don’t have gloves?” I asked, surprised. I keep meaning to buy a new pair but always forget.
He shrugged nonchalantly. “Thought you might like that color.”
By Friday, I’m convinced I’ve entered some bizarre alternate reality. It all starts when I open my apartment door, only to be greeted by an enormous bouquet of flowers sitting on the mat. There must be two or three dozen sunflowers and Gerbera daisies in every color imaginable. They’re breathtaking, and I carefully bring them inside, struggling under their weight as I search for a card. Someone’s going to be furious when they discover these went to the wrong person. I lift the card out, reading it twice: “For Luci and the best ‘mistake’ I’ve made.”
Who on earth would send me flowers? It must be some kind of elaborate joke-a very expensive, beautiful joke. I leave them on the kitchen island, promising myself to call the florist later and find out who’s behind this trickery. I pull out my phone, adding it to my to-do list for the day.
Just then, Syd bangs on the door, and I rush to let her in. “I thought you’d be waiting in your car already,” I say as she walks in, her eyes scanning the room expectantly. They light up when they land on the flowers. “Those are stunning and huge! And that’s at least two dozen flowers, maybe closer to four,” she exclaims, laughter bubbling up.
“Yeah, and they claim to be for me. Someone made a mistake. Who would send me something so fancy and expensive?” I reply, making sure I have everything I need.
“Someone very easy to make jealous over half a dozen flowers, I’m guessing,” she murmurs, a teasing smile on her face as she turns to me.
“What did you say?” I ask, narrowing my eyes.
“Nothing. I think you have a secret admirer, Luci Lou. Are you ready to go watch Coco gobble like a turkey?” Her grin is infectious.
We’re skipping our first class to attend this event, which isn’t a big deal according to our professor. He mentioned that on the last day before Thanksgiving break, he really wasn’t planning on teaching much. Sydney insisted on riding with me. “Those are pretty gloves,” she comments, admiring my new accessories. “I’m impressed you remembered to buy some. And is that a new scarf with a matching hat?” She fingers the soft knit pieces, all in a lovely pale lavender, my favorite color. The hat features a big purple pom-pom on top.
“Easton gave me the gloves two nights ago,” I confess, frowning slightly. “He’s acting weird.” I mention how he brought the scarf and hat last night, explaining that he seemed concerned about the cold weather this weekend. “I just don’t get it.”
“So, to recap: He keeps bringing you chocolate, bought you a very fancy planner-which is remarkably important for keeping you organized-some cool pens in different colors, gloves, a hat, a scarf… anything else?” Sydney ticks off her fingers, her voice dripping with amusement. “By the way, that scarf and hat are cashmere, in case you didn’t know. That’s why they feel so soft.”
I remember the rest, feeling a mix of disbelief and confusion. “He also got me a notebook organizing set with skinny post-its, tiny butterfly paper clips, fancy stamp pens, and highlighters. Maybe he’s just trying to make sure I don’t mess up Cole’s schedule by being disorganized or getting sick. He did say he needs me Saturday night for extra babysitting,” I muse, fingering the luxurious knit around my neck. Why is he doing all this?
“Yeah… that’s gotta be it,” Sydney replies dryly, her tone teasing.
“What?” I challenge her, sensing something beneath her words.
“I didn’t say anything,” she defends herself, a mischievous glint in her eyes.
“You’re acting weird too,” I point out as we park.
“No, I’m just enjoying seeing you all flustered. He’s being nice, Luci. Thoughtful even, don’t you think? Like verrrryy thoughtful,” she adds, emphasizing her words with a playful grin.