by Hilary Storm
She knows me too well, distance no match for the kindred bond we’ve shared since grade school, but I still have to try and one up her, though; another one of our long-standing customs. “Can’t be a cat lady anymore, asshole. My cat died, remember?”
Take that—straight shot of guilt—no chaser.
“Nice try,” she snickers, does the “Sign of the Cross” (not even a lil’ bit Catholic), and blows a kiss skyward. “Pray that your mommy gets some of those cobwebs cleaned out tonight, Tink!” she shouts in the same direction, to my poor, deceased cat… and a few onlookers, who pick up on her meaning, and volume, also amused at my expense.
Sadly, yet mercifully, my old-as-dirt tabby, Tink, had gone to kitty heaven last week—denouncing me as an official member of the “Cat Lady Club”—and eliminating the only excuse I had for sticking close to home. So, I’d shocked my coworkers with the drastic, daredevil move… of finally using a mere fraction of my saved-up vacation time, and flew my ass up here to Nikki’s neck of the woods.
“Who’s that?” I lean in to ensure I’m heard, hopefully by only her. “Number thirty-eight.”
“That’s my girl. You always did have a good eye.” She beams with pride. “You, hot pants, have masterfully picked the captain out of the bunch. Brewer Hayes. Plays center; a lean, mean, scoring machine.”
“Oh, is he your favorite?” I try to mask my disappointment. Rule numero uno of being a best friend—don’t spend all night ogling the man she saw first.
“Nope,” she pops, her lips curling with nostalgic surety; a reminder of why we get along so well. We never hone in on the same guy, thus avoiding any girl-on-girl crime and punishment—our tastes in boys/men have always been cohesively different.
“Hmm,” I hum, playing along, back to my great mood now that I’m free to openly admire. “Just give me a minute to get a better feel for them all, then watch… I’ll find your guy.”
And I will. Bet on it.
****
“Shit!” I shriek, jolting at least two inches off my seat, treating Nikki to another laugh. Yeah… I’ve kept her entertained all night… our front row seats seeming too close when mythically-sized men body slam each other against the what I fear may be flimsy glass, not near far enough from my face.
The game of hockey is barbaric. Chaotic. Mesmerizing. Honestly, I’m beginning to wonder if it’s the overwhelming amount of testosterone in the air—calling to my long-neglected core on some weird, biological level—or if I really do just find the sport sexy as all hell.
Methinks it may be the latter. Or both. Huge men—hulks of raw, potent power, primal force oozing off them as they clash like titans—my thighs clenching harder with every collision. But this particular mash-up in my front and center has more than just my thighs quivering; my whole body’s tingling, heart racing, and breathing labored… because it’s him. Number thirty-eight.
“You’re welcome,” Nik teases me as I gawk, gape-jawed and enthralled, at my close-up of the man who’s kept my rapt attention since warm-ups.
‘And he’s gorgeous,’ I think I only think; struck stupid by his sheer beauty—finally getting a good look at last. Dark eyes, vibrant with virility, a strong, but unfortunate nose (obviously broken more than once, yet looks perfect on him), and a light dusting of scruff, the same shade as his eyes, failing to hide a chiseled jawline.
This is my loudest gasp of the night; one I can’t stop as I drink, gulp, in his every nuance. There’s no way he could’ve heard my sharp inhale, yet, it’s at the exact same moment that he stops fighting and looks me dead in the eyes… as though he heard me loud and clear.
And he winks. Winks.
Panties disintegrated… gone up in flames.
I couldn’t even begin to guess at the responding expression on my face, but whatever it is earns me his smirk. A smirk. Cocky. Confident. Smug. Hot.
But he’s not done. Oh no, he has to take the Whole. Damn. Cake—blowing my mind with the sexiest move I’ve never even imagined—holding up his left hand and wiggling it, motioning with his head for me to do the same. My stomach flips over itself as the most ‘no fucking way, I feel like a part of a movie’ moment in my life unfolds. ‘No, not married,’ my mind screams like a banshee as I rip off my glove, and answer his unspoken question by wiggling my own, bare left hand in the air and flashing him a flirty grin.
And then it’s over. He skates away… and I… I fight for a deep breath, hoping like hell the once-in-a-lifetime memory never fades.
Chapter Two
Brewer
“What the hell do you mean, you couldn’t find her?” I roar, throwing my helmet against my locker.
The usher, Duncan, Dumbass… whatever the hell his name is, just shrugs. “Seat’s empty. She must’ve left early to beat the crowd. Sorry, man.”
“Dude, chill the fuck out. We’ve got tomorrow off. Let’s go out, drink to the win, and I guarantee, we’ll find ya another redhead,” Lance laughs, punching me in the arm.
“Whatever,” I grumble and finish getting dressed. Usually, I’d be happy to have an off-day after winning at home, more than ready to hit the clubs with my wingman, or I his, but Lance didn’t see her.
She was… different. I’m not quite sure why, but damn, I’m positive she was— standing out in a crowd of thousands like the brightest star in the sky, smacking me in the face with instant, magnetic attraction. Gorgeous; long, dark red hair, button nose, fuck-me lips, and the biggest brown eyes, filled with curious energy.
And she got away.
The only one to ever not come to me, cling, let alone escape… even when I sent what’s his name to get her! Something I’ve never done. Fucking figures.
“You ready?” Lance busts up my thoughts.
“Just about.”
“You gonna be alright there, titsack? Quit crying, come on, and I promise, I’ll find you two redheads. If not, I’ll buy you a blow-up doll. Or a pocket pussy. Your choice.”
“Let me ask you something. Your dick long enough to reach your asshole?”
“And then some,” he cocks off, grabbing his crotch.
“Good. Then go fuck yourself.”
****
“How about her?”
“For the tenth time, no.” I down the rest of my beer. “And quit pointing, jackass. I’m not looking to draw a lot of attention our way. I just want to relax, enjoy a drink or two, and go home.”
“And I’m not looking to go home alone, so knock it the hell off already. Seriously man, what’s up with you tonight? There are hot chicks in the stands every game. Hell, there are hot chicks swarming this place right now. Why’re you so bent over one honey you got a five-second look at, while roughing up Jenkins? She probably had like twelve moles you just didn’t see.”
She didn’t have any moles, but still… good fucking question.
Maybe Jenkins slammed my head against the glass harder than I thought, and despite my helmet, I’ve got a concussion. Which means, Lance could have a point… which would also be a first. I did only get a brief look at her, and was, in fact, a tad distracted by my opponent trying to pummel me to death, but… no way in hell I imagined our ‘interaction.’ Or missed a menagerie of moles. And she definitely held up her dainty hand at my non-verbal request, telling me exactly what I wanted to know— no ring. Not engaged or married. I’ve never wondered it about another woman in the crowd, let alone held a silent conversation to ask them. Which she understood and answered.
No, fuck Lance—I’m not concussed or imagining things. She and I had a… a something; whatever the hell you’d call it. And that something lasted long enough that I did get a good look, a really good look, at her. Because even now, I can picture her heart-shaped face, pink cheeks, big brown eyes, and slightly parted, full lips. She was stunning… and far from a run-of-the-mill puck bunny.
“Yo, lover boy,” Lance barks and snaps his fingers right in front of my face. “Incoming. Don’t fuck it up for me. Unless, of course, I signal.”
; I shake my head at the schmuck and wave the waitress over; I’m gonna need another beer. “Since you’ve never used it, gonna need you to remind me what this damn signal of yours is.”
“Scratching my nose. Damn, you suck at wingman. Now shut up; here they come.”
Then again, maybe I have one of those slight, “walking concussions,” ‘cause a random thought hits me from out of nowhere. How cool would it be if I looked up, and by some movie-reel serendipity shit, it just so happened to be my mystery redhead standing there?
Very Fucking Cool.
But… not what happens.
Unfortunately, this is real life… unlike the tits on either of the over-smiling, underdressed women standing way too close when I concede and take a half-hearted look at them.
“Ladies,” Lance greets them with generous benefit of the doubt and stands, pulling out a chair for each, nodding toward the blonde to let me know that’s the one he wants. No worries there, bud. You can have them both. “Let me get you beauties some refills. What’re you drinking?”
I don’t hear their answers, don’t care, but do have mind to thank the waitress when she sets my new bottle in front of me. Sipping on it slowly, since two’s my self-imposed limit, I’ve almost managed to completely tune out the trio’s babble, when the brunette scrapes her talons down my bicep, forcing me to pay her some attention.
“You played great, Brewer, as always.” She thinks it’s a flirty coo, but I hear a pitchy whine. She moves in closer, her tits now resting on my forearm. “But you don’t always wink at me. Tonight though, you finally noticed me. I can’t tell you how long I’ve waited for that!”
I manage not to growl in frustration and move my arm out from under the hard, no pliancy whatsoever, weight of her fake melons—even more annoying, after being reminded of my wasted wink. I shoot Lance a telling glare, scratching the hell out of my nose, but the bastard’s too wrapped up in blondie to notice. Fuck this whole night. I toss back the last of my beer, seconds from leaving, when whiny, concrete-tits chick says something I actually want to hear.
“I was starting to think that stupid bitch in the front row, same. seat. every. damn. game, was never gonna sit her fat ass down long enough for you to see me!”
I only heard the good parts… Front row, same seat every game. That can only mean one thing—season tickets. All the ticket holders’ information is tracked in the team’s system; I’m sure of it.
Well I’ll be damned, this night just turned on a dime. Not the exact serendipitous meeting I’d hoped for… but close enough. I stand, pull out my wallet, and throw a handful of bills on the table. “Gotta go, man,” I yell at Lance, who doesn’t respond, and all but run for the door. I’ve got work to do… and I can’t wait to get started.
You can run, but you can’t hide. I’ll find you, my beautiful doe-eyed ginger.
Chapter Three
Gracie
“Okay, so that was a little weird, and a lot creepy,” Nikki seems dazed and is mumbling as she walks up behind me.
“What was?” I ask, meeting her glassy eyes in the mirror as I add a few finishing fluffs to my hair.
“Some lady called, said she was with Freeze Hospitality, or something like that. She wanted to confirm that I’d be using both my seats for tonight’s game.”
“I’ll bet they’re calling around to see if anyone can’t make it, so they can give the seats to someone else. No biggie, nothing to worry about.” I give her reflection a reassuring smile.
She shrugs, an iffy smile of her own slowly forming. “Just odd they’ve never done it before, but you’re probably right. Okay then, you ready to go?”
“Yep.” I cap my lip gloss and pivot, ready as I’ll ever be.
Now her smile’s big and bright. “Just like that, huh? No trying to talk me into doing something else? No bitching about the cold?”
“Nope.”
“All rhetorical questions, G,” she laughs. “Knew you’d be more than up for another game before I even suggested it. Oh”—she stops at the front door, glancing back at me over her shoulder— “and just in case you were wondering, yes, I did notice the lack of twelve layers over your low-cut sweater this evening.”
I flip her off and follow her out the door, ignoring her ongoing laughter as we climb into her car. So, I didn’t balk at going to a second game; what’s the big deal? And yes, I might’ve put some extra effort into my appearance tonight. Again, why’s that noteworthy? Because Nikki’s a pain in the ass; that’s why.
I’m a single, adult woman… who hasn’t been on a decent date, or had sex, in almost three years, dammit! Eight-hundred-and-ninety-seven days, to be exact! So yeah, should the sexiest man I’ve ever seen happen to flirt with me again tonight, I’m gonna do everything in my power to encourage him not to skate away this time.
Well, he’ll probably need to skate away, because of the game and all… but if I have my way, he’ll skate back too.
And although she loves teasing me, Nikki’s all for my plan, and its possible perks—not able to hold it in any longer, as we park and head toward the arena. “You know, you never got around to guessing my favorite player the other night.”
“Didn’t I?” It’s Nikki’s turn for some ribbing. So, not only do I play coy, I add in an extra dash of torture. “Oh, that’s right. I decided not to risk it because I was torn, still am, between my winker, Brewer, and number Fifty-Two. Thinking about checking his fine ass out a little closer tonight.”
Right on cue, she halts mid-step and gasps. “What? No, no, no, selfish. You only get one, and it’s not gonna be Lance Fox. He’s mine.”
I’m aware—exactly why I said it—and her reaction’s even better than expected. Too bad I can’t prolong her suffering just a bit longer, but I also can’t hold in my snickering. “You make it too easy, Nik.”
“Bitch,” she grumbles, shoulder-bumping me. “Now move your ass, funny gal. I don’t want to miss warm-ups.”
Neither do I.
****
I should’ve known better than to get my hopes up so high—once-in-a-lifetime moments are called such for a reason— emphasis on the once. It’s already the first break thingy, where they call the kids out on the ice to play a few games… and nothing.
All through warm-ups and the first period, he didn’t so much as glance my way. And now, I really wish I would’ve worn a coat, or two, because I’m freezing to damn death in this stupid sweater he hasn’t even noticed! In fact… “Hey Nik, would you be mad if I wanted to leave? I’m cold, and-”
“Disappointed? Pouting?” she finishes for me honestly, versus whatever excuse I was gonna make. “Yeah, I would be, but only because that’s some bullshit. You’re a strong, independent, gorgeous woman, whose self-worth has never, nor will ever, be defined by the attention, or lack thereof, of a man! We’re staying. And dammit, we’re gonna have fun!”
Alrighty then… guess I’m staying. And maybe marching in some sort of Women’s Movement Parade later. Hopefully, we’re gonna burn our bras too, because again, I. AM. FREEZING… so a fire would be a nice bonus.
“Miss Everett?” Both our heads turn at the sound of her name, to find a smiley usher standing beside us.
“Yes?” Nik answers him with a question.
“I was told to give you this.” He hands her a small envelope. “Enjoy the rest of the game, ladies.”
“What is it?” I ask anxiously, earning myself a sarcastic ‘really’ glare from Nikki.
“Since I seem to have misplaced my see through paper superpower”—another saucy look my way— “maybe I should open it? I probably won a random drawing by seat number or something. Please, please, let it be a ‘meet the players’ pass,” she chants as she rips it open. I try to read the letter over her shoulder when she has it out and unfolded, but like a brat, she shifts away so I can’t see.
“Oh my God, Hooked on Phonics, what’s it say?” I jab, too loudly—really hoping no one who’s actually hooked on phonics heard me—but I’ve lost all
patience waiting on her to finish reading the damn thing. I grab for the paper, but she dodges, then whirls toward me.
“It says, you really are a bitch. Seriously Gracie, how the hell do you manage to sit down with that giant horseshoe up your ass?” she snips, shoving the letter at me.
I quickly scan it, wondering what’s got her so grouchy, then… holy shit… read it again, slowly, savoring each and every word.
It’s a handwritten note, meant for me.
Nichole,
I’d apologize for this being too forward but that’s the only direction I move in- forward. Especially when I see something I want, and I. Want. You. To meet you, spend some time with the beauty I’ve been thinking about for days. You managed to escape me once. Not tonight. Tonight, go straight home after the game. I’ll pick you up by eleven.
Until then,
Brewer Hayes
Forward? He’s being too hard on himself… except, not hard enough… I mean, all he did was track down her name, and apparently her address, where he’s going to pick me up. Not if I accept, not an invitation… basically, just a courtesy copy of his agenda.
I should probably be freaking the fuck out, maybe even calling the cops, but I’m far from doing either. Oh, my heart’s racing, whole body’s trembling, and beads of sweat, while sitting in an ice hockey arena, just trickled down the back of my neck… but none of it from fear… all of it from exhilarated anticipation.
“Okay, now we can leave,” Nikki squeals, obviously over her case of the grumps and breaking my train of thought. “Gonna have to work hard and fast to get you ready, because I know your cat-lady-ass hasn’t been keeping up maintenance. Just out of curiosity, which is longer, the hair on your legs or chach? And don’t worry, I have a sexy bra and thong set you can have, since I also know you didn’t pack any. Somebody superglue you to that seat? Get up, let’s go!” She stands, yanking on my hand. “Don’t want him thinking he’s fucking a hippie grandma, do you?”
“Jesus Christ, Nik, could you not speculate as to the length of my pubes loud enough for the whole arena to hear?” I hiss, yanking her to get her to sit back down. “Just, just wait here, okay? I need to run to the bathroom.”