Chapter 77: The Top-Shelf Snipe

NORA’S POV

My breath hitched in my throat, freezing in my lungs.

Knox was pressed flush against my back, his towering six-foot-three frame completely surrounding me. His chest felt solid against my shoulder blades, radiating a heat that burned right through my green top.

His large, calloused hands covered mine completely on the hockey stick. His grip was firm and warm, confidently guiding my stiff fingers into place.

Every single nerve ending in my body flared to life with terrifying intensity.

My mind spun in wild, frantic circles, violently flashing back to the fever dream from the night before... the phantom weight of his body pinning me to the mattress, the rough rasp of his voice against my ear, the burning sensation of his hands tracing up my ribs.

Except this wasn’t a dream.

This was real. Broad daylight. The middle of the central campus quad with hundreds of students, professors, and teammates watching our every move.

"Stop overthinking the physics, Bennett," Knox’s low, raspy rumble vibrated directly against the sensitive shell of my ear, his warm breath sending a violent shiver down the back of my neck. "Hockey isn’t an economics equation. It’s leverage."

"I... I know what leverage is," I stammered in a whisper that was barely audible over the thump of the festival music.

"Good," Knox murmured, his chest rising and falling against my back as he chuckled softly. "Then let me show you how to use it. Don’t try to muscle the puck with your arms. Shift your weight from your back hip to your front foot. Keep your wrists loose... open the blade angle."

He shifted his weight, his hips nudging mine to adjust my stance on the ice mat.

The intoxicating scent of cedar, clean soap, and autumn wind surrounded me completely, making my pulse race so violently I was terrified he could feel it hammering against his chest.

"See that top right corner target?" Knox whispered, tightening his fingers gently over mine as he drew the stick back across the synthetic ice. "Keep your eyes locked right on the center of the circle. We sweep through on three. Ready?"

I swallowed hard, nodding weakly. "Ready."

"One... two..." Knox counted down in that gravelly rumble, his body moving in perfect, fluid synchronicity with mine. "Three... snap!"

Together, we drove the stick forward in a powerful, explosive sweep.

The composite blade whipped across the slick synthetic surface with speed, connecting cleanly with the purple puck with an echoing THWACK!

The puck launched off the blade like a missile, cutting through the autumn air in a blur of motion.

CLANG!

A metallic crack echoed across the quad as the puck smashed into the target in the top right corner of the net.

The large digital radar gun display above the crossbar flashed in bright red LED numbers: 52 MPH.

For half a second, the entire quad fell completely silent in stunned disbelief.

Then, the crowd exploded into absolute, deafening pandemonium.

"TOP SHELF!" Bear bellowed at the top of his lungs, throwing his massive arms in the air like we had just won the national championship.

"SHE WENT BAR-DOWN!" Milo shrieked through the megaphone, jumping up and down on the grass. "FIFTY-TWO MILES AN HOUR! THE TUTOR JUST SNIPED THE CORNER!"

Jake started banging two composite sticks together, leading a roaring chant that rippled through the gathered crowd:

"BENNETT! BENNETT! BENNETT!"

Scores of students cheered, clapped, and whistled, recording videos on their phones as the energy around Booth #14 and #15 reached a fever pitch.

Knox didn’t move immediately.

He stayed right there behind me for one long, lingering second, his chest pressed to my back, his warm hands resting over mine on the stick as a low, deeply satisfied chuckle rumbled deep in his throat.

"Told you, Bookworm," Knox murmured softly, his lips brushing the crown of my head as he spoke. "Natural coordination. You’ve got an eighty-mile-an-hour slapshot hiding behind those color-coded highlighters."

He slowly released my hands, stepping back onto the grass to give me space.

The sudden loss of his body heat felt like stepping out of a sauna into freezing air.

I turned around slowly, my cheeks burning a furious shade of pink, my chest heaving as I handed the stick back to him with trembling fingers.

"That was... eighty percent you," I said, trying desperately to sound composed while my pulse hammered in my throat.

Knox took the stick, spinning it effortlessly, his dark eyes sparkling with wicked, unapologetic amusement. "Take the credit, Bennett. You aimed it. I just gave you the push."

The crowd swarmed the synthetic ice, eager to try their luck after seeing our shot.

"Hey, Nora!" a girl from my advanced microeconomics seminar yelled from the front of the line, waving a twenty-dollar bill. "If you can shoot like that, your pumpkin muffins must be magic! Give me four!"

"I’ll take three muffins and five cookies!" another student shouted, dropping a crisp fifty-dollar bill into the clear plastic Children’s Hospital donation jug on our table.

What followed over the next two hours was a complete, chaotic whirlwind.

Students, faculty members, and local families flooded Booth #14 in an endless stream. Everyone wanted to buy homemade baked goods from the girl who had helped the hockey captain snipe a top-shelf corner shot on live campus video.

Knox’s fifty-dollar contribution had started a bidding war of generosity among the varsity athletes and students. People dropped twenties, fifties, and hundred-dollar bills into our collection jug.

By three-thirty, every single one of the thirty-six pumpkin-spice muffins and twenty-four walnut-chocolate cookies had completely sold out.

Chloe, our honor society treasurer, sat behind the table counting the cash with wide, disbelieving eyes.

"Nora, this is insane," Chloe gasped, her hands shaking as she tallied the final stack of bills. "We raised twelve hundred and forty dollars from our table alone! That’s four times our goal for the Children’s Hospital!"

"Really?" I beamed, feeling a deep, rewarding warmth bloom in my chest. "Twelve hundred?"

"Twelve hundred and forty," Chloe confirmed proudly, sealing the donation envelope. "And the hockey guys raised over three thousand next door. Briar’s donation total is going to break the all-time university record!"

By four-thirty in the afternoon, the autumn festival began winding down. The golden sun dipped low beneath the campus tree line, casting long amber shadows across the grass as food trucks packed up their gear.

I stood by our table, stacking our printed economics advising pamphlets and wiping down the folding table with a damp cloth.

Footsteps approached from the synthetic ice next door.

I looked up to find Knox carrying our two heavy metal folding chairs under one muscular arm. He set them down beside our storage crate, then reached down and effortlessly lifted the heavy plastic bin filled with our leftover supplies before I could even touch the handles.

"I can carry that, Sheridan," I said, reaching for the edge of the bin.

Knox pulled the bin easily out of my reach, giving me a dry, unimpressed look. "You’re five-foot-four and spent the last four hours on your feet, Bookworm. I’ve got the heavy lifting."

"I am perfectly capable of carrying a plastic container," I argued, though my lips curved with a faint, reluctant smile.

"I know you are," Knox murmured, his voice softening as he looked down at me in the fading afternoon light. His dark curls were messy from taking off his baseball cap, and a relaxed, genuine warmth replaced his usual defensive swagger. "Doesn’t mean you have to do it alone."

My breath hitched slightly at the sincerity in his tone.

Knox set the bin down near the student union cart, then stepped back toward me, wiping his hands on his track pants.

"Study Room 4C," Knox said, his tone shifting into business mode, though his dark eyes held a teasing glint. "Tomorrow morning at nine. Sunday morning at nine. Midterms start on Monday, and I’m not walking into it without my tutor drilling all I need to know into my skull."

"Nine sharp," I agreed, grateful for the familiar, safe territory of academic structure. "Bring your graphic notebook and three working pens. No excuses."

"Yes, ma’am," Knox chuckled, offering a mock two-finger salute from his brow. "See you tomorrow, Bennett."

He turned and walked toward the athletic center with Bear and Jake, his broad shoulders silhouetted against the amber sunset.

I watched him go for a long moment, my chest tight with a strange, fluttering ache, before I grabbed my backpack and headed back toward my dorm.