The Hockey Goalie's Tutor: Don't Kiss the Playboy Star

Aria's POV

The first time I met Jason Monroe, he was making out with a girl on his parents' couch.

I' d just figured he' d be one more pain-in-the-neck tutoring gig. That' s it.

Not exactly -by Friday, I' d be the one kissing him.

Worse still, he was exactly the kind of unsteady guy I' d sworn never to like.

Let me back up.

🏒🏒🏒

"For the love of God, Mama!" I groaned, half-asleep, rolled over and buried my face deeper under my covers like I could hide from the voice chasing me into the waking world.

"Aria, come down." The way she said my name told me this wasn't optional. I threw off my blanket cocoon and cursed all of Minnesota' s never-ending snowstorm. No mercy. Not even for innocents like me.

I grabbed mismatched socks and yanked my hoodie over my head. Still half-asleep, I zombie-marched downstairs.

But the second I stepped off the last stair, I froze.

Standing in the living room were two people I'd never seen before.

A woman with the kind of poise that screamed "expensive taste" in a sleek grey coat, and a tall guy with kind eyes wearing a hockey team jacket.

"And Good morning to you Aria," Mom said sweetly.

"Uh... hi," I muttered, trying to force a polite smile even though I was mentally in bed with Lily. "Um, can I help you?"

The woman smiled back. A little too tightly. "We're the Monroes. Emily and Grant. Your father recommended you. He said you're the best."

Mom gently placed a hand on my shoulder like she could sense I was about to bolt. "They want to talk to you about tutoring."

And just like that, the polite smile dropped from my face. "I'm not a tutor. And I have my own plans this weekend."

Emily took a step forward, smoothing her coat like she was trying to stay composed. "We know. We're not asking for anything long-term. Just... help. For our son. He's a transfer student and..."

"No offence," I cut in, my arms folding instinctively, "but I'm not about to become someone's homework babysitter just because my dad made a promise. Whatever he said, that's on him."

Grant let out a low sigh, and I could tell this wasn't their first attempt to fix their son's academic issues. "He's a hockey player. A good one. But his grades dropped, and he's been benched. Your dad said if anyone could help him get back on track, it's you."

"And we'll pay you," Emily added quickly, her tone almost pleading. "You'll also earn extra credit."

My arms stayed crossed, but now my jaw clenched too. This screamed of one of Dad's pet projects-rescue the failing athlete, save his dream, slap a gold star on his parenting report card.

I was opening my mouth to shut the whole thing down when Emily's voice dropped.

"It's been more than grades," she said softly, almost like she wasn't even talking to me anymore. "Hockey is Jason's dream. He was drafted for the NHL before the transfer. But since his girlfriend broke up with him six months ago, he's been closed off. He barely eats. He doesn't talk to us."

Her voice cracked a little. "He needs help. Not just with school. He needs someone to reach him."

I blinked. That hit different.

I hated hockey and its players with a passion. Most of them were loud, cocky, and about as emotionally available as a brick wall.

But something in Emily's voice made me hesitate. The way she said "he doesn't talk to us"...

"How long's it been?" I asked quietly.

Emily blinked. "Since she left? Six months."

I swallowed hard. Silence hung heavy between us. I looked from her to Grant, to Mom, then back to Emily.

"Fine," I said quietly. "I'll take the job."

And just like that, I unknowingly signed up to meet Jason Monroe-who I'd later call trouble in a hoodie with eyes like winter and a heart buried under snow.

🏒🏒🏒

"I still can't believe you said yes," Lily, my best friend, said dramatically, lying upside down on my bed like she lived here (which she basically did), her legs kicked up against the headboard, and her face halfway buried in a family-size bag of chips.

"I couldn't say no," I muttered as I sat in front of my mirror brushing out my hair. "His mom looked like she was about to cry."

"You know what this means, right?" Lily sat up, chip crumbs dusting her leggings, eyes practically glowing with excitement. "Aria. Come on. When has a hockey player not been hot? It's practically part of the sport. The abs are built-in."

I rolled my eyes so hard. "I'll be meeting him and his family at three. Wanna come?"

Her grin stretched ear to ear. "Do I ever say no to watching you suffer? Let's go."

By 2:50, we were bundled up and ready. I kept it chill with a grey sweatshirt tucked into my black sweatpants, a chunky scarf, wool mittens, and sneakers that had seen better days. Comfort was the only thing on my mind.

Lily, being Lily, rocked a soft pink cotton dress with floral leggings and boots. Yes, in this weather. Apparently, she had an immunity to frostbite and an obsession with dressing like it was mid-April in actual spring.

When we pulled into the neighbourhood, Lily slowed her car and glanced around with raised brows.

Every house was like its own little museum, perfectly trimmed lawns, fancy gates, and enough glass panels to make any burglar weep with joy. Everything screamed "money lives here."

"Okay, now I'm nervous," I muttered.

Lily looped her arm through mine and grinned. "Relax. Rich people love you."

I squinted. "What does that even mean?"

Before she could answer, the massive door creaked open.

Lily's mouth dropped. "Are we in a house or a Pinterest board?"

Then we heard a soft, muffled moan.

Lily's head whipped toward the sound. "Um... what was that?"

Another moan. Louder this time.

We both exchanged wide-eyed glances, then slowly tiptoed closer to the sunken living room.

And there, on the couch, was a shirtless guy with tattoos snaking down his arms, muscles flexing as he kissed a girl like he didn't care who was watching.

Well, this was his space and he hadn't noticed he had visitors.

My jaw dropped.

Lily let out a breath. "Well... at least we know he's hot."

I couldn't even speak. My brain stopped working.

Footsteps echoed down the hall, and suddenly Emily Monroe appeared from around the corner holding a file folder.

Her eyes zeroed in on the couch.

Her face went full mom mode in 0.2 seconds.

"Jason!"

The guy broke the kiss, jaw tightening as he looked up at his mom.

He stood up, grabbed the girl's hand, and walked her to the door. On his way back, he stopped in front of me, looking me up and down with that amused, taunting smirk.

"Oh, great," he muttered, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "My dad's latest rescue mission."

"Jason, that's enough," she said sharply. "This is Aria. She's going to help you with your studies."

Jason just stared at me for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Then he said coldly, "How many days till you bail, good girl?"

I froze mid-step, my prepared opening line dying on my tongue.

This was Jason? This was who I was supposed to tutor? Oh no.

I was so screwed.