Hugby

If there was one thing I hated more than failing, it was being compared to the man who gave me my last name. My father’s shadow was long, cold, and smelled like expensive scotch and disappointment. Every time a scout looked at me, they didn’t see Lucas; they saw *The Legacy*. They saw the son of the Great Miller, and they expected me to skate like a god without ever breaking a sweat.

I’d just stared at the big, fat 'D' circled in red ink on my History of Modern Europe midterm. It was a stain on my transcript, a threat to my eligibility, and a direct invitation for my father to call me and tell me I was losing my focus.

"You’re staring at it like you’re trying to set it on fire with your mind," a voice chirped from the seat next to me.

I glanced sideways. Lilly Rossi. She was a tiny thing, barely reaching my chest even when she wasn't sitting down. She had this wild mane of brown hair and green eyes that were far too observant for my comfort. She was also currently holding a paper with a bright, shimmering 'A+' at the top.

"I don't need to set it on fire," I grumbled, shoving the paper into my bag. "I need to bury it in a shallow grave."

"Maybe if you spent less time in the penalty box and more time in the library, you wouldn't be looking for a shovel," she said, her tone sweet but her words sharp. She started packing her things, her movements quick and efficient.

"I’m the captain, Rossi. I lead by example. Sometimes that example involves checking a defenseman into the plexiglass." I stood up, looming over her, but she didn't even flinch. Most girls on this campus tripped over their own feet when I looked at them. Lilly just looked at me like I was a particularly stubborn math problem.

"Well, Captain, your example is currently failing a three-credit elective. Good luck with the final."

She swung her bag over her shoulder and walked out. I watched her go, my jaw tight. I needed a tutor, and the athletic department’s usual picks were busy or incompetent. Lilly was the best in the class. She was also the only person who seemed entirely immune to my charm.

***

Two hours later, I was sitting in a booth at 'The Greasy Spoon,' the diner just off campus. It smelled like burnt coffee and maple syrup. I saw Lilly immediately. She was wearing a uniform that was slightly too big for her, her hair tied back in a messy bun, scurrying between tables with a tray balanced on one hand.

She spotted me and her shoulders dropped. When she reached my booth, she didn't even pull out her notepad.

"The answer is still no, Lucas," she said, popping a bubble with her gum. "I work forty hours a week, I have eighteen credits, and I value my sleep. I don't have time to explain the French Revolution to a guy who thinks a 'guillotine' is a type of wrestling move."

"It was a joke, Lilly. One time," I said, leaning back and giving her my best, most winning smile. "Come on. I’ll pay you. Double whatever the school pays tutors."

"I don’t want your money. I want a nap." She turned to walk away, but stopped dead.

Her eyes went wide, her cheeks flushing a soft pink. I followed her gaze. Entering the diner was a guy who looked like he’d spent way too much time in a thrift store trying to look 'effortlessly indie.' Justin. He was the lead singer of some garage band that played at the local pubs. He was pretentious, wore too much eyeliner for a Tuesday afternoon, and currently had his arm draped around some blonde girl who was laughing at something he said.

Lilly looked like she’d been punched in the gut. She quickly turned her back to him, fumbling with a ketchup bottle on my table.

"Oh no," she whispered, her voice losing all its sharp edges. "Is he looking? Don't look. Lucas, don't look!"

I looked. Of course I looked. "The guy with the scarf? It’s sixty degrees out, Lilly. He looks like a tool."

"He’s an artist," she hissed, her face turning a deeper shade of red. "And he doesn't know I exist. I’ve been to three of his shows. I even bought their terrible demo CD."

I felt a smirk tugging at the corner of my mouth. This was it. The opening. I knew guys like Justin. They were insecure, driven by ego, and they always wanted what they couldn't have—especially if it belonged to someone they perceived as 'alpha.'

"He’s not looking at you because you’re acting like a mouse," I said, my voice dropping an octave. "You’re hiding behind a condiment bottle, Rossi. That’s not how you get a guy’s attention."

She glared at me, her green eyes flashing. "And what do you know about it? You just snap your fingers and girls fall into your lap."

"I know how men think," I said, sliding out of the booth and standing to my full height. I saw Justin glance over. He recognized me—everyone on campus knew the hockey captain. I saw his eyes shift from me to Lilly, then back to me, a flicker of curiosity crossing his face.

I stepped closer to Lilly, invading her personal space until she was backed against the edge of the table. I reached out, my thumb brushing a stray strand of hair behind her ear. She froze, her breath hitching.

"What are you doing?" she whispered, her eyes wide.

"Winning," I murmured. "I’ll make you a deal, Lilly. You tutor me. You make sure I pass this class with at least a B, and I’ll make sure Justin sees you. I’ll make him so jealous he’ll be begging for your number by the end of the month."

She looked at me, then over her shoulder at Justin, who was now definitely watching us instead of his date. She looked back at me, her rosebud mouth pulling into a frown.

"You’re a jerk," she said.

"I’m a jerk who can get you what you want," I countered. "Do we have a deal?"

Lilly exhaled, a long, defeated sound. She looked at my hand, then back at my face. "Fine. But if you're late to even one session, the deal is off."

I grinned, feeling a surge of triumph. "Deal. Now, look like you’re enjoying my company. It’s part of the training."

***

Our first study session was in the back corner of the library, buried under stacks of books that smelled like dust and old paper. Lilly was a taskmaster. She didn't care that I was tired from practice or that my shoulder was throbbing from a particularly nasty hit.

"Focus, Lucas," she said, tapping her pen against the textbook. "We’re talking about the Congress of Vienna. Not the NHL draft."

"I'm focusing," I lied, leaning my chin on my hand. I wasn't looking at the book. I was looking at her. Up close, her skin really was as white as milk, and she had these tiny freckles across her nose that I hadn't noticed before. She was smart—scary smart. She explained complex political maneuvers like she was describing a play on the ice.

"You're doing that thing again," she said, not looking up.

"What thing?"

"The 'I’m-a-charming-athlete-and-everyone-loves-me' stare. It doesn't work on me. Read page 142."

I chuckled, feeling a strange sense of relaxation. Usually, when I was with a girl, there was a performance involved. I had to be the Captain, the Star, the Guy Who Has It All Together. With Lilly, she already thought I was an idiot, so the pressure was off.

"So," I said, ignoring page 142. "Justin. What's the appeal? Besides the scarves?"

Lilly sighed, finally looking up. Her expression softened. "He's passionate. When he sings, it’s like... he sees the world differently. He’s not all about scores and stats. He’s deep."

"He’s a poser, Lilly. He spends more time on his hair than you do."

"At least he has an interest in something other than hitting people with a stick," she snapped, though there was no real venom in it. "Now, read."

I read. For two hours, we actually worked. She was a good teacher—patient, even when I asked stupid questions. When we finished, she looked exhausted, her eyes drooping.

"I’ll walk you to your car," I said, standing up.

"It’s okay, I'm parked in the back lot. It’s not far."

"I'm walking you, Rossi. Don't argue."

As we crossed the dark campus, the air was crisp. I felt a sudden, protective instinct flare up as a group of loud frat guys walked past. I moved closer to her, my arm brushing hers. She was so small. It felt ridiculous that someone this tiny could have such a big mouth.

"Phase two starts tomorrow," I said. "There’s a party at the hockey house. Justin’s band is playing."

Lilly stopped. "I wasn't invited."

"You’re with me. You don't need an invite." I looked down at her. "You need to wear something that isn't that oversized hoodie. Show a little skin. Not too much—just enough to make him wonder."

She bit her lip. "I don't really have 'party' clothes, Lucas."

"I'll have my sister send you something," I said, then realized how that sounded. "Actually, never mind. Just... be yourself. But the version of yourself that knows she’s the smartest person in the room. Confidence is what guys like that crave because they don't have any of their own."

She looked at me curiously. "You’re surprisingly observant for a guy who gets hit in the head for a living."

"I'm a captain, remember? I have to know my opponents' weaknesses."

"And what’s my weakness?" she asked softly.

I looked at her green eyes, shimmering under the streetlights. My chest tightened in a way that had nothing to do with cardio. "You’re too nice, Lilly. You think everyone has a soul as honest as yours. They don't."

***

The hockey house was a temple to bad decisions and expensive beer. Music blared from the speakers, shaking the floorboards. I stood by the keg, nodding to my teammates, but my eyes were on the door.

When Lilly walked in, the room didn't go silent, but it should have. She was wearing a dark green dress that made her eyes look like emeralds. It wasn't scandalous, but it fit her in all the right places. Her hair was down, falling in waves over her shoulders.

I moved through the crowd, ignoring the girls who tried to grab my arm. I reached her just as she was looking around nervously.

"You look..." I cleared my throat. "You look fine. Good."

"Just fine?" she asked, a mischievous glint in her eyes. "I spent an hour on this hair, Miller. Give me 'stunning' at least."

"You're a brat," I said, but I was smiling. I reached out and took her hand. Her fingers were small and cold. "Ready?"

We walked toward the 'stage'—a cleared-out area in the living room where Justin’s band was setting up. I made sure we were front and center. I kept my hand firmly on the small of her back, a clear 'keep away' sign to every other guy in the room.

Justin saw us immediately. He froze in the middle of tuning his guitar. I saw his eyes travel from my hand on her waist up to Lilly’s face. He looked stunned.

"Lilly?" he said into the microphone, his voice carrying over the chatter. "I didn't know you were friends with the jocks."

Lilly looked at me, her eyes wide. I gave her a small, encouraging squeeze.

"We’re more than friends, Justin," she said, her voice surprisingly steady. She turned to me, a brilliant, fake smile on her face. "Aren't we, Lucas?"

I didn't hesitate. I leaned down, my face inches from hers. I could smell the vanilla on her skin. "Absolutely," I murmured, loud enough for Justin to hear.

I didn't kiss her. That wasn't the deal. But I lingered just long enough to make the air between us crackle. When I pulled back, Justin looked like he’d swallowed a lemon. He started the first song with a disgruntled aggressive strum.

Throughout the set, I stayed glued to her side. We danced—or rather, I moved my feet while she actually danced. She was good. She moved with a grace that made it hard to look away. Every time Justin looked over, I made sure to whisper something in her ear that made her laugh.

By the end of the night, Justin had approached us three times. He was practically tripping over himself to talk to her.

"Hey, Lilly, we’re playing a set at The Cellar on Friday," he said, ignoring me entirely. "You should come. I can put you on the guest list."

Lilly looked at me, then back at him. This was the moment. This was what she wanted.

"I’ll have to check my schedule," she said coolly. "Lucas and I have a lot of... studying to do."

Justin’s face fell. He nodded awkwardly and shuffled away.

I looked down at her, expecting to see her glowing with victory. Instead, she looked a little pale.

"We did it," I said, leaning against the wall. "He’s hooked. You win."

"Yeah," she said, her voice small. She wasn't looking at Justin. She was looking at my hand, which was still resting on her hip. "I win."

"You okay?" I asked, my bossy instincts kicking in. I reached out to tilt her chin up. "You look like you’re going to faint. Do you need water? Or food? I can get you a burger."

"I'm fine, Lucas," she said, but she didn't move away from my touch. "I just... I didn't think it would feel like this."

"Like what?"

"Like I'm playing a part," she whispered. "He only noticed me because I was with you. That’s not really winning, is it?"

I felt a pang of something uncomfortable in my chest. Guilt? No, I didn't do guilt. But seeing her look sad was worse than failing History.

"He noticed you because you’re incredible, Lilly. I just provided the spotlight." I stepped closer, blocking out the rest of the party. "If he’s too stupid to see that without me standing here, then he doesn't deserve you anyway."

She looked up at me, her green eyes searching mine. For the first time, she wasn't being sharp-tongued or sarcastic. She looked vulnerable. And I realized, with a sinking feeling in my gut, that I didn't want her to go to The Cellar on Friday. I didn't want her to be on Justin’s guest list.

I wanted her in the library, bossing me around and telling me I was an idiot.

"Lucas?" she asked softly.

"Yeah?"

"Are we still studying tomorrow?"

I looked at her rosebud mouth, and for a second, the hockey captain, the ladies' man, the guy who didn't do relationships, felt his resolve crumble.

"Yeah," I said, my voice husky. "Tomorrow. Same time."

I walked her home that night, and for the first time in my life, I didn't care about the scouts, the draft, or my father’s expectations. I just cared about the way Lilly’s hand felt when it accidentally brushed against mine, and the fact that I had a lot more to learn from her than just history.