"That's bullshit!" Val yelled, her anger clear. And she wasn't the only one who was upset by whatever was going on. Alyssa looked around, still not sure what happened, then turned back to the ice. Randy was skating toward the box in front of them, his long strides gliding across the distance. Someone Alyssa hadn't noticed in the box before opened the door to let Randy in, then closed it with a loud bang behind him.
And then he was in front of her, sitting on the bench with his back to her. Alyssa swallowed, wondering at the funny little twist in her stomach and the quick flutter of her heart. She leaned forward, ready to tap on the glass to get his attention, but Val's hand shot out and wrapped around hers, stopping her.
"What are you doing?"
"I was going to say hi."
"You can't do that!"
"Why not? I thought that was why we were sitting here."
"No. We're sitting here just to see him, not talk to him."
"But I thought—"
"Would you two ladies knock it off? There's a game we're trying to watch." The man next to Val leaned across and glared at them, urging them to be quiet. Val rolled her eyes then turned back to the ice, but Alyssa just leaned back in her seat and stared at the top of Randy's head. All she wanted to do was say hi. She didn't understand why she couldn't, since they were sitting so close.
Randy shifted on the bench, and she could tell from the way his head was moving that he was watching whatever was happening on the ice. He shifted again, then rolled his head from side to side before running his gloved hand along the back of his neck. Alyssa kept watching him, wondering how heavy the gear was, wondering how hard it was to do what he did, every single day. Then she wondered if maybe the helmet was giving him a headache, or maybe it hurt his neck because he kept rubbing it.
Maybe she could offer to give him a massage later. Sudden heat flared through her at the idea, because she knew it wouldn't be just a massage.
Randy jumped from the bench, his hand tightening around his stick. Alyssa had been so focused on watching him that the sudden move made her jump, too. He took two steps toward the small door, his gaze focused on the giant screen hanging above the center of the ice. Then the door suddenly opened and Randy shot out onto the ice, his strong legs propelling him forward, toward the cluster of players fighting over the puck. The puck shot out, between the legs of the different players, and came to a stop just in front of Randy's stick.
Alyssa had no idea what was going on, just knew that everyone suddenly jumped to their feet and started screaming as Randy pushed the puck in front of him, toward the net at the far side of the ice.
Alyssa jumped to her own feet, her fists clenched as he got closer to the net. There was nobody else around him. Was that a good thing?
He came to a sudden stop and swung his stick back, like he was going to shoot toward the left side of the net. But he stopped at the last minute and moved to the right, then shot hard.
Alyssa didn't even see the puck go into the net, but she heard the loud horn and music, heard the roar of screams as Randy skated around the net and raised his stick in a small salute. His long legs propelled him around the ice, until he was directly in front of where they were sitting.
Then he looked up at them and Alyssa could have sworn his eyes actually met hers. And when he smiled and gave her a little wave, she knew she hadn't imagined the eye contact.
"Oh my God, Alyssa, did you see that?"
"Of course I saw. He waved to us. Didn't you see?"
"Not that. He scored. Randy scored!" She jumped up and down and gave Alyssa a quick hug, her excitement contagious.
"I saw. That's good, right?"
"It's freaking awesome! He's a defenseman. They usually don't score!"
"Oh. They don't?"
"No, they don't. God, I'm so excited for him. This is great!"
Alyssa finished clapping then took her seat with everyone else, still trying to figure out why Randy scoring was so unusual. She really, really didn't understand the game. But she was still having fun, so she wasn't too worried about it. Maybe Val could give her some pointers on the way home.
Better yet, maybe Randy could give her a private lesson.
By the middle of the third period, Alyssa was exhausted. Not physically—she hadn't done more than jump up and down or stand in line for the restrooms during the second intermission. But she was mentally exhausted, worn out, her nerves on edge. The score was tied again, 3 to 3, and the stress was getting to her. Not to mention the Pittsburgh fan that was sitting two seats to her right. She didn't know why she hadn't noticed him before. Probably because she was so wrapped up in the game and trying to figure out what was going on. But she noticed him now. He was loud, obnoxious, and just plain rude. She figured he was also drunk, if the stack of empty cups under his seat was any indication.
But she pushed him from her mind and focused her attention on the ice. Randy was out there, in the tangle of bodies fighting over the puck. She chewed on her lower lip, watching as the play got even more physical than what she had seen earlier. It was almost like the players were just as stressed as she was, and starting to take it out on each other.
Her eyes followed the action on the ice, watched the puck as it shot dangerously close to the Banners' net. But Randy and another big guy raced to stop it, and the big guy sent it flying back to center ice. She exhaled, then sucked in a lungful of air. All this holding her breath couldn't be good for her.
The players gathered around the puck, fighting for control, sticks colliding with loud smacks that even she could hear. One of the Banners took control of the puck and the players circled the net, passing it back and forth. Why did they do that? The move made her so nervous. It looked like it would be too easy for someone from the other team to just reach out and snag the puck, and then what would happen?
Like right now. Sure enough, a player from the other team skated forward and made a grab for the puck. She held her breath, afraid to even blink, as the puck shot across the ice toward Randy. She let out her breath as he skated forward, then passed the puck to another player—who then slammed his stick against it and shot it into the net.
The horn blared and music filled the arena as fans jumped to their feet. Alyssa looked up at the giant screen, clapping and screaming with everyone else. The score was now 4 to 3, which was much better than being tied.
"Holy shit, this is unreal." Val jumped up and down before finally taking her seat.
"What is?"
"Randy just got an assist. That's completely unbelievable."
"But isn't that good?"
"Good? It's great! I've never seen him play like this. He's defense, not offense. This is unbelievable!"
"Then that's good." Alyssa nodded, trying to act like she knew what was going on. Did it really matter if she didn't? No. The Banners were winning, and Randy was playing well, that was all that mattered.
"Now all he needs is a fight."
"What? Val, why would you say that? He shouldn't be fighting!"
"For a Gordie Howe hat trick: a goal, an assist, and a fight."
"What? I don't know what that means." Alyssa moved her head from the ice to Val and back again, not wanting to miss anything that was happening, but wanting to understand at the same time. Val waved her hand, letting her know she'd explain later, then leaned forward in her seat. Alyssa did the same, watching as bodies moved from one end of the ice to the other.
The action seemed to go on forever, too fast for her untrained eyes to really follow. There was another cluster of bodies gathered neared the Banners' net, and Alyssa held her breath, waiting, not daring to even blink in case the other team scored. But no, there went the puck again, shooting back toward the middle of the ice.
Alyssa kept her eyes on Randy, though, watching his large body move so gracefully, his powerful legs propelling him forward with ease. Then another player skated up behind him and did something with his stick, yanking Randy backward so hard he fell. Alyssa shot to her feet, ready to
scream, but Val pulled her back down.
Then Randy was standing, facing the other player, and she could see the anger in his face even from this distance. Then he suddenly threw his gloves to the ice and raised his hands, like he was in some boxing ring instead of balancing on metal blades on a sheet of ice.
The other player took a similar stance, and the two circled each other. Alyssa knew they were saying something to each other, but she couldn't hear, she didn't think anyone could. A shrill whistle split the chilled air, and Alyssa expected the two men to stop and go back to their benches. But they didn't, they just kept circling each other as more players skated closer.
Then the player from the other team took a swing at Randy. He missed, and that seemed to be all Randy needed. His arms came up and one fist reached out, connecting with the player's jaw. Then they were both swinging, sliding together on the ice, moving together like they were dancing to some kind of twisted waltz. Randy wrapped his left arm around the player's black and swung with his right, once, twice, before reaching down and grabbing the guy's jersey. He yanked, pulling it up by the back hem until it was stuck over the guy's head.
There was another shrill whistle, then two refs were stepping between the fighting players, separating them. Alyssa watched, her heart in her throat, as the refs led both players over to the penalty box.
The crowd was going crazy, standing and cheering and screaming. Alyssa stood, too, but she couldn't make a sound.
And she realized, in that second, that she must have more animal instinct in her than she ever knew before. Animal and primal. Two conflicting sensations tore through her, making her legs so weak she was surprised they didn't collapse under her weight.
Lust, hot and heavy and hungry, simmered in her veins and settled with a damp awareness between her legs. She swallowed and balled her hands into fists, not sure what to do. Because not only was there lust, there was a deep-seated anger, a protectiveness, raging through her. At that exact moment, if she could have gotten away with it, she would have completely decked the other player, then immediately jumped Randy.
The instinct, the need, to do just that was so powerful, she was nearly frozen. The only reason she moved at all was because Val was tugging on her arm, pulling her back to her seat.
"Alyssa, what's wrong? Are you okay? You look...I don't know, I've never seen you look like this."
"I...no, I'm..." She cleared her throat and looked down into the penalty box, her eyes focused on the top of Randy's helmet. "I think I'm just really turned on right now."
She must have said the words louder than she realized, because she saw Randy stiffen on the bench in front of her. Val's clear laughter rang next to her, which only made Alyssa's face heat more. She reached for her cup and took a large gulp of the beer, wishing that the floor would just open up and swallow her.
Randy shifted on the bench, and she noticed that the official in the box with him was leaning over and saying something to him. Randy shook his head, then shifted again, turning to the side just enough that she could see his profile.
She took another sip of beer, then slid even lower in her seat. Play was resuming on the ice, but she wasn't paying any attention. What was with her? She couldn't believe she had said that. No, what she really couldn't believe was her reaction. It was that more than anything else that embarrassed her. But then to come out and actually say what she said? Out loud? And apparently loud enough that Randy could hear her?
And oh God, if Randy could hear her that meant the people near her probably heard her, too. And yeah, now that she was starting to notice everything around her again, she could see the rude guy two seats down leaning forward and to his left, like he was trying to get her attention. But she didn't want to look, didn't want to turn her head or even acknowledge him. She didn't think she'd have a choice, though, because the guy was leaning even closer, drawing comments from the poor guy sitting between them.
"Hey sweetheart, don't waste yourself on that old geezer. If you're really turned on, I've got something for you right here!"
Alyssa turned in time to see the guy stand up and grab his crotch. She looked away, mortified, not knowing what to do. Then anger surged through her, anger at his obscene suggestion, and anger on Randy's behalf. She pushed herself up from the seat, but she was a split-second slower than Val, who was already on her feet and pointing at the guy.
"Hey asshole, you don't talk to women that way! Go back to Pittsburgh, before my brother kicks your damn ass!"
"Val, stop."
Alyssa heard the words but didn't know where they were coming from. She didn't care, either, because she was suddenly on her feet, damn near stepping on the toes of the poor man stuck between them, her hand wrapped around her nearly-full cup.
"Yeah? And I should be scared why? I don't see your brother around."
"Oh, he's here. Her brother, my boyfriend!"
"Alyssa, no."
"Really? And who's that?"
Alyssa pointed to the penalty box, her peripheral vision registering the fact that Randy was now standing, turned sideways so he could watch the ice—and what was going on behind him.
"Him!" Alyssa wasn't sure why she did what she did. Maybe it was the smirk on the man's face. Maybe it was left-over adrenaline or something from her earlier primal reaction. She didn't think, she acted. She upended her cup of beer and poured it over the man's head, then threw the empty cup at his chest. "That's for being an asshole."
The crowd around them cheered and clapped as Alyssa went back to her seat. Randy looked over at her, a small smile teasing the corners of his mouth. He raised his stick and banged it against the glass then gave her a quick wink before turning to face the ice.
But not before she saw the cut on his cheek, and the dried blood at the corner of his mouth. Her legs suddenly felt weak and she fell into her seat, grabbing Val's wrist in one hand.
"Oh God, Val. He's bleeding."
"Who?"
"Randy. Didn't you see that blood?"
Val gently peeled Alyssa's fingers from her wrist then gave her a smile. "Don't worry, he's not hurt. That's all part of the game."
"It is?"
"Yes. No big deal. He'll be—oh shit."
"What? What is it?" Alyssa faced the ice, worried that she was missing something, but Val tugged on her arm and motioned at something behind her. Alyssa looked over her shoulder, wondering what was going on. Two big guys in bright yellow jackets were coming down the steps, their harsh faces serious. They stopped at the end of their row and pointed. Alyssa looked behind her, wondering who they were pointing at, then felt Val nudge her shoulder.
"Us. They want us."
"Why? What's going on?"
Val sighed and reached for Alyssa's tote, then stood up. "I think we just got ejected from your very first hockey game."
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Randy had barely knocked on the door before it opened, making him wonder if Alyssa had been expecting him. He tamped down the flare of excitement the thought gave him, telling himself not to read anything into it. That didn't stop the smile from spreading across his face when Alyssa opened the door wider, her hair loose around her shoulders, wearing an oversize jersey.
And nothing else.
"Hey." She gave him a shy smile and stepped back, waving him inside with one hand.
"Hey." Randy watched her close the door, possessiveness engulfing him when he saw his name and number emblazoned on the back of the jersey. It looked right on her, perfect, like she was advertising to the world that she belonged to him, and only him. He wanted nothing more than to shout to everyone that she was his, just like the jersey claimed. And then he wanted to pull the jersey off her, see her lush curves and feel her soft skin under his palms.
Randy shoved his hands into the back pocket of his jeans then rocked back on his heels. Alyssa probably wouldn't appreciate being mauled right now, no matter how sweet and inviting her smile was.
"So." He cleared his throat and took an awkward step
back when she moved closer to him. "You guys got thrown out of the game."
Her smile was immediately replaced by a frown, displeasure clear on expressive face. "I still can't believe they threw us out. That was just wrong. We didn't do anything!"
Randy chuckled and took another step back. "Alyssa, you threw beer on the guy."
"No I didn't. I threw an empty cup at him."
"Yeah, after you emptied it over his head." He chuckled again, his smile growing a little wider at the memory. "It was actually pretty funny."
"You saw that, huh?"
"Alyssa, everyone saw it—it was up on the screen."
"Oh no. It was?" She covered her face with both hands and shook her head. "I'll never be able to go to another game again."
Don't read anything into it, he warned. It doesn't mean anything. But the mental warning couldn't stop him from opening his mouth. "So. You liked it, hm?"
Alyssa lowered her hands and smiled. "I had so much fun! I didn't understand all of it, and it was hard to keep up at first, but it was still fun."
"Yeah? Maybe you should have someone give you some pointers. You know, for the next time you go."
"Maybe I should." Her smile faded and she stepped closer, reaching out with one hand. Her finger gently caressed his cheek, the touch an electric jolt to his system. "Does it hurt?"
"Does what hurt?"
"The cut."
He reached up and grabbed her hand, feeling the butterfly bandage just under her finger, high on his cheekbone. He had completely forgotten about the cut until she mentioned it. No, it didn't hurt. He didn't even feel it. But she looked so concerned, so worried, that he found himself shrugging, like he was just pretending that it didn't bother him. Her forehead creased as she stepped even closer, her mouth pursed with worry.
Guilt crept over him. It didn't matter that her sympathy filled him with a weird warmth. He couldn't let her think he was really hurt, not when she looked so worried.
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