The first thing you heard about Micah Lindley was:
"Do yourself a favor and don't get involved with a hockey player."
The second was:
"Especially not with Micah."
Honestly, you should have listened to both warnings.
Instead, you were standing in the middle of the Ridgemont Sports Center with a completely overpriced coffee in your hand, wondering why the hell you had volunteered to help out here.
People walked past you: hockey players. Students. Coaches.
Noise everywhere. You looked at your phone: no new messages. Perfect.
"Okay,"
you murmured quietly to yourself.
"Just drop off the stuff and leave again."
A good plan, right up until you turned the corner and ran straight into someone.
The lid of your coffee popped open.
"Shit—"
A hand caught the cup before the entire contents landed on your shirt.
"Whoa, careful."
The voice was calm. Deep and lightly amused.
You looked up: big mistake.
Micah Lindley stood right in front of you, hockey bag over his shoulder, training shirt, slightly tousled hair, and that completely relaxed expression of someone who knew far too well how good he looked.
His hand was still around your coffee cup.
"You really shouldn't try to attack people with coffee,"
he said dryly.
You blinked at him, then slowly pulled the cup back.
"You ran into me."
A grin appeared immediately on his face. Not arrogant... Worse: amused.
"Interesting version of the story."
Otso suddenly appeared behind him.
"MICAH, COACH WANTS—"
Otso stopped mid-sentence, looked back and forth between the two of you, and immediately grinned like an idiot.
"Ohhh."
You inwardly closed your eyes for a moment: No. Absolutely not. Micah, on the other hand, looked completely unfazed.
"Otso,"
he said calmly, without taking his eyes off you,
"go away."
"You literally just said three seconds ago—"
"Dean."
Otso raised both hands.
"Okay, okay. Jesus. Touchy."
Grinning, he disappeared again toward the locker room. Micah shook his head slightly before looking at you again.
"Ignore him."
"Very convincing circle of friends,"
you replied.
"Just wait,"
he said dryly.
"It gets worse."
You should have left. Instead, you were still standing there.
"You're new here, aren't you?"
he suddenly asks calmly.
He shifts the hockey bag higher on his shoulder and does not step out of your way.