The Goalie's Tutor

Aria's POV

"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. My pillow muffled my scream as I yelled into it, "I swear, if this isn't about someone dying..."

"Aria, come down." Another call came. This one was more urgent. Mama's Serious Voice™.

There is no pain like being dragged out of a perfect sleep under a mountain of warm blankets while a Minnesota snowstorm rages outside.

I was in the middle of a dream... something about winning a national math award and eating warm brownies with Lily when I heard my name.

I huffed loudly, flung my arm out dramatically, and threw off my blanket cocoon.

The cold slapped my skin instantly.

I winced as my feet hit the ice-brick hardwood floor and immediately cursed all of Minnesota.

No mercy.

Not even for innocents like me.

I grabbed a pair of the thickest socks I could find on the floor... okay, they didn't match, sue me... then tanked my oversized hoodie over my head.

Still half-dead and cranky, I zombie-marched my way downstairs, the cold biting at my ankles.

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.

My mom stood next to them.

"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."

I blinked, not sure where this was heading. "For what?"

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."

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."

"So? You don't even know the guy."

"I know he's failing."

"Exactly. Which means he's probably hot."

I turned slowly and stared at her. Flat. Blank. "That makes zero sense."

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.

I called out down the stairs, "Mom, I'm off!"

"Be back before dinner!" she yelled back.

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

"Uh... are you sure this is the address?"

I checked my phone again. "Yeah. Why?"

She gestured out the window. "Because these houses look like they came straight out of a millionaire's fantasy. Like, HGTV after dark."

She wasn't wrong. The street looked like it had been curated by a luxury architect.

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

We parked, stepped out into the cold, and followed the stone walkway up to a modern, two-story glass-panel mansion.

Tall black double doors.

Trees trimmed like it was their full-time job. 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.

We stepped inside.

And stopped.

The interior was simply jaw-dropping.

A chandelier the size of my entire bedroom sparkled above from a skylight, and the floors were this smooth, glossy marble that probably cost more than my college tuition.

The scent was warm vanilla mixed with expensive wood polish, like the inside of a fancy hotel lobby. A staircase with glass rails curved upward like we'd walked into a palace.

Minimalist paintings hung perfectly spaced on the walls, and just below the main entry was a sunken living room with designer couches circled around a sleek stone fireplace.

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.

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

I was so screwed.