GET THAT PUCK

Rules and Exceptions

My gaze drifts to her, deliberate.
"Definitely not a chaos magnet."

She bristles. A tiny twitch of her shoulder. Almost imperceptible, except I'm watching her like a hawk.
Her pen hovers again, like she's two seconds from taking actual bullet-point notes on how to charm my best friend.

"Okay..." she says slowly, "now tell me one more thing."

I drop my head back with a groan. "Shoot—before I shoot myself out of this nightmare called wingman."

"Shut up and listen," she snaps, turning fully toward me like she's about to conduct a damn interrogation. Her curls bounce, her eyes flash, and I swear half the room goes silent. "How do I get his attention... in a subtle way?"

I don't miss a beat.
"Date me."

She blinks. Twice.
"And the conversation ends here," she declares, already turning away.

I laugh under my breath. She has no idea—no, no idea—how she looks when she's trying to be intimidating. The curls, the soft blue eyes that look like they belong on some angelic Renaissance painting, the curves tied up in denim and attitude... any guy on this campus would drop dead at her feet if she crooked a finger. Forget NFL royalty—Liora Holt is a walking, breathing distraction, and yeah, even I'm not immune. My dick twitches just thinking about it. Pathetic. Human. Whatever.

"No, no—hold up," I say, stifling a laugh and leaning closer. "Relax. I'm kidding."
A beat.
"...Mostly."

Her eyes narrow.

"What I am saying is—I can help you." I tap my pen against her notebook like I'm offering a contract. "Kane likes cute with a bite. A little competitive streak. And you? Princess, you're walking competitive chaos wrapped in Prada."

She frowns, which means she's listening.

"And the fact he kept that lunch convo going?" I continue. "Baby steps. He doesn't do that unless he's at least a little interested. Trust me—he noticed you, Holt. You don't have to worry about that."

I lower my voice, let the smirk slide in slow.
"And about the dating thing? I wasn't joking that hard. Kane and I... we don't mind overlapping unless something's official. If it doesn't work with one of us, the other usually shoots their shot." I shrug, unapologetic. "Men are pathetic. We know. But hey—full transparency."

Her jaw drops, horror flooding her face. "You're disgusting."

I grin lazily. "You asked, princess. I'm just giving you the insider playbook."

She exhales—long, deadly slow—like she's counting to ten so she doesn't stab me with her pen right here in Business Law 101.

"You know what your problem is?" she hisses.

"Only one?" I murmur. "That's comforting."

She digs her pen into her notebook again, leaving another dent. "You never take anything seriously."

I lean in—close enough that my breath grazes her cheek, and her spine goes rigid.
"That's not true," I whisper. "I take hockey seriously. I take sleeping very seriously. And I take annoying you..."
My lips tilt into a slow, wicked grin.
"...extremely seriously."

Her head snaps toward me, glare sharp enough to slice bone.

"Bury me in the woods, I know," I mutter, grinning. "Honestly? At this point I'm kind of looking forward to it. Quality time with you, a shovel, maybe a romantic sunset murder—really sets the mood."

She groans, dragging a hand down her face like she's seconds away from slamming it into the desk. The professor drones on about precedent and case law, monotone and soulless, but all I care about is the tiny twitch in her shoulders every time I open my mouth. It's like I'm a mosquito she's legally not allowed to kill in public.