Kiss and Puck

“Mom! This is my friend Cora.”

In the screen, a warm middle-aged woman smiled, looking strikingly like Luca. The moment she saw Cora, Luca’s mom greeted her with bright cheer.

“Bonita!”

“Hello!”

“So nice to meet you! I never knew Luca had such a pretty friend!”

Luca’s mother spoke in English laced with a Spanish accent, saying all sorts of warm things.

If Luca ever misbehaved, she joked that she’d just take off her slipper and smack him on the backside. The moment she said it, Luca sitting quietly nearby cried out, “Mom, please!” and Cora ended up bursting into laughter.

“So always listen to the women in your life, Luca. Got it? Anyway, Cora, if you’re Luca’s friend, you’re family to us. Come over anytime!”

“Haha, thank you so much.”

They were still laughing and chatting animatedly when suddenly a small head popped up from below the screen.

“Hi.”

At Cora’s greeting, Luca introduced the child. The kid was his little brother, Mateo. Mateo stared at Cora with round eyes, gulped down the candy in his mouth, and shouted in Spanish.

“¿Es la chica de la que Luca siempre hablaba?”

After a short hesitation, Luca grinned and answered in the same language.

“Sí, es ella.”

“¿Es tu novia, verdad?”

“Todavía no, pero pronto.”

Since Cora didn’t understand Spanish, she just awkwardly rolled her eyes.

“What the heck are they saying? I’m curious too…”

Suddenly the sound of shattering glass echoed through the pub. Cora and Luca froze, then turned at the same time. A plastic cup lay rolling across the floor.

It was clearly Tristan’s doing.

“Oops, my hand slipped.”

The floor was a mess of half-melted ice and spilled drinks. At the horrific sight, Cora sighed deeply.

That kid’s always causing trouble.

After saying goodbye to Luca’s family, Cora headed for the supply room, leaving their grateful smiles behind. In the corner she dragged a yellow mop bucket, set the mop handle on it, and rolled it out alone.

With a clank the bucket rolled back by itself. Cora wiped the sticky floor with the mop, but then her gaze landed on the table where Tristan sat staring straight at her.

She stopped, eyebrows raised in suspicion.

“You didn’t drop that on purpose just to make me angry, did you?”

“Why? Were you so pissed that your quiet time with your boyfriend got interrupted?”

“Luca isn’t my boyfriend.”

“Then your future boyfriend?”

“No, that’s not it.”

The instant Cora snapped back irritably, his teasing smile faded. The playful glint in his eyes vanished, and he whispered in a dangerously low voice.

“Qué inocente eres. Luca Cruz no es ningún santo, no es tan bueno como cree.”

“……”

“¿Lo sabes?”

“What are you even saying…? Mind speaking English?”

In the sudden tension, Cora unconsciously swallowed hard.

Tristan stayed silent a moment, then tugged his lips back into that same smirk. He lifted the spoon he held and licked the sauce off it slowly, deliberately, eyes never leaving her face.

“……”

He tapped the spoon tip against his tongue, a slow, sensual motion that made Cora’s stomach flip.

He swallowed and said, “Tastes good. Your recommended menu is surprisingly addictive.”

“……”

“You should come more often.”

Cora pulled herself together and answered calmly, “The way you’re saying ‘come more often’ is kind of scary.”

She turned away; the floor was clean now. She dragged the yellow mop bucket out with a loud rattle and slipped into the janitor’s closet. Only then did she exhale.

The memory of Tristan’s sudden appearance, the way he’d toyed with her, the silky tongue that had licked the spoon—her neck burned.

She shook her head hard to banish the thought.

Anyway, what did he say in Spanish?

When she finished cleaning, Luca’s seat was empty. The football team’s afternoon practice had clearly started without her.

Her eyes flicked to Tristan’s chair—and he was gone too.

“Huu…”

Cora let out a relieved sigh, grabbed the dishcloth, and headed to his table.

She cleared the empty soup bowl and was wiping the table when she spotted a crisp hundred-dollar bill lying beside the check. Her eyes widened.

Rich kid, lost all sense of money.

She tucked the bill away and moved to leave when her gaze caught on a plastic card wedged in the leather crevice of the sofa. It was Tristan’s hockey pass with his face printed on it.

“What did he drop this time? Cinderella complex or something…”

Cora grumbled and shoved the card into her pocket.

She’d forgotten to grab the watch he left for a tab, and now he’d dropped a cup on purpose. This captain was annoyingly thorough.

In the Reapers’ meeting room, Coach Jefferson’s passionate voice rang out as usual.

After two hours of a marathon meeting, every player looked exhausted.

The coach jabbed red arrows across the whiteboard, slapping and peeling magnets on and off with quick, frustrated movements.

“See? The formation here is 2-1-2 forecheck. If you lose the puck on the blue line, you have to immediately backcheck and return. Anyone who can’t do this will sit the bench. Understand?”

“Yes, Coach!”

This year’s goal was to win the national championship in April next year. Last season had been full of bad luck; even with Tristan, the best hockey star in college, they’d only made the Frozen Four. Coach Jefferson was still fuming.

Tristan sat in the middle of the tiered seats, sweeping a casual glance over the players.

Legs bouncing, pen spinning, water bottle tossed, classic picture of attention-deficit hyperactivity disorder.

“Look at last game’s video. When the opposing defense pushes forward aggressively, our wingers are leaving the lines way too early. That opens the entire center ice. How many times do I have to say it?!”

Jenkins in the seat in front of Tristan lost focus and let out a huge yawn.

Under the desk he secretly turned on his phone and showed the screen to the guy beside him, Lebinsky, whispering, “What do you think of that girl? She’s a senior server at the Judge Club. She’s insanely hot.”

Lebinsky nodded, clearly agreeing. “Yeah, I know. Psychology major, right? What’s her name?”

“Angela Gardner. I got her number; things are going great lately.”

“Does she have a boyfriend? Introduce me. Pretty girls always stick together.”

“Okay. How about her? Brunette, top-tier looks.”

Tristan was scanning their backs with a disgusted look when a Reapers defenseman named Svensson suddenly leaned in from the left, joining the conversation.

“Whoa, damn. Bikini pics are deadly. Hey, I’m claiming her.”

“Back off, dude. I got to her first.”