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Juliet
Oh great. I'm terrible with surprises.
Then nothing… no more bubbles.
More time passes as I stare at my phone every few seconds as brush through my eyelashes with mascara and line my lips with lip pencil.
Finally, the bubbles return and my heart leaps.
I didn’t actually agree to be his valentine. I agreed to drinks after the game.
Nervous energy starts to rise at the thought of being his valentine and an unknown surprise.
I’ve been called a control freak before but it doesn’t bother me. In my line of work, being detailed and wanting everything to be perfect is why people hire me and why my business is growing so rapidly.
After that last text, Ryker doesn’t text again.
My notification dings that my rideshare has arrived and I head out the door.
Whatever it is, I’ll know soon enough.
“Hi, I have a ticket waiting for me on will-call. Juliet Di Costa,” I tell the man at the ticket window in front of the stadium.
“I’ll just need to see some ID,” he says, turning back into the building and going through a file folder.
He pulls a ticket from the folder and then lays it on the counter, taking my ID that I already have out for him.
Once he verifies it’s me, he slides the card back in my direction.
“Have fun tonight,” he says.
I nod with a smile and then turn from the long line behind me and make my way through security at the front entrance.
Walking into the stadium tonight, the atmosphere is electric. I navigate through the sizeable crowds as I head for the section that Ryker got me a seat for.
Walking into the arena, it’s just as cold as I remember and I’m glad I opted for jeans instead of a dress tonight.
Once I find where I’m supposed to be, I notice that my seat is only six rows up from the home player's box and not far from the player’s tunnel. I’ll be able to watch Ryker from behind the player’s box.
Excitement bubbles in my belly, anticipating the first moment that Ryker and I will lock eyes and he’ll see that I came like I said I would.
I settle into my seat as the surrounding seats all fill up with excited, boisterous fans. The smell of popcorn and beer… but also the clean smell of ice, fills the surrounding space.
After the opening music and monologue plays on the two large jumbotrons, the players start coming down the tunnel.
“Seattle…. here are your Hawkeyes team!” the announcer says as strobe lights go wild and the stadium is illuminated with multi-color lights.
Sitting with the tunnel to my left and facing the ice, I can’t see the players until their height peaks past the tunnel walls.
I watch as player after player racing out through the tunnel and onto the ice.
My eyes meet the jerseys of every player as they pass by, but I still haven’t seen the number I’m waiting for.
Number 19.
My heart rate increases with anticipation, wondering if he’ll spot me in the crowd we’ll he’s out on the ice, or if it’s too hard for a player to see into the stands from out there. I have no idea. This is only my second game and I have so much to learn.
So many players have passed the tunnel and are out circling the rink. For a moment I think I might have missed him and I quickly look out to the players skating rounds, checking for that illusive #19 but I don’t see it.
