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I lift my hand and give a small wave, like a fucking dork, before I drop back into my seat. I have no idea what he’s thinking. I didn’t tell him I was coming here. And when I really let myself think about it, he’s never asked me to come to his games before either. Ever. So what if he doesn’t even want me here? What if he feels like this is me barging into his real life and that was not the deal?
But then he’s skating straight toward me. He stops abruptly in front of the boards, where he thumps the Plexiglas twice with his gloved hand and aims a bright grin my way before he takes off again. The whole thing only takes a few seconds. Cheers and shouts ring out all around me, and people are on their feet once again.
I’m not sure anybody else even considers that this quick—greeting? Acknowledgment? Claiming?—might be aimed at me.
“Not serious, my ass,” Rach mutters.
I pretend I don’t hear her.
Then the puck is on the ice and away they go. And when I say they go, I mean they go. It’s insanely fast. Blink-and-you’ll-miss it type of fast, where the players snap the puck to each other and I have no idea how the announcer manages to keep track of them. I mean, yeah, jersey numbers help, but there are a lot of players to keep track of.
Lucky for me, I don’t really give a shit about most of them, so I only have to concentrate on Ryker.
And he’s… he’s amazing. I’ve never seen him play in a real game. I’ve played with him myself, but that’s nothing like the real thing.
You’d think all the gear he’s wearing would make him look clumsy. Unwieldy. Instead he’s like lightning. He flies down the ice at insane speeds, handling the puck with easy confidence. My knowledge of hockey is pathetic, really, but even I can see that some of the passes he makes are insane. He slaps the puck toward a player on the opposing team, and it somehow finds its way through the mess of skates and blades to his own teammate.
Rachel’s hand pushes at the underside of my jaw.
“Close your mouth, hon,” she yells over the noise, a huge smile on her face. “You’re drooling.”
Brighton scores their first goal only a few minutes into the game.
Notre Dame scores their first a few minutes before the end of the first period to a chorus of taunts and whistles.
“We should buy season tickets,” Rach says as she drops into her seat when the players have disappeared into their tunnels after the first period is over. “This is so much fun! Go Nomads!”
Her cheeks are flushed and her eyes are shining.
“Kel? You in?”
“Pass,” he says, but there’s a small smile on his face.
Rach aims a well-placed hit at Kelly’s upper arm. “See? You already know the terminology. It’s meant to be.” She gets up and stretches. “I’m gonna hit the concession stand. You guys want anything?”
I shake my head, but Kelly gets up. “I’ll come with.”
They push through the throng of people moving around and disappear from view.
For a little bit I just look around and take in everything.
Until…
“—so hot,” somebody says behind me.
“I bet what’s under the jersey is even better,” another girl says.
“Well, make a move and find out,” the first girl says.
“Sure. I’ll just go chat up Ryker James like it’s no big deal. Be serious.”
“Why not? What’s the worst that could happen?”
“Off the top of my head, I’ll get tongue-tied and make a complete idiot out of myself?” the second girl says.
“Or you’ll be awesome and cool and leave him speechless.”
“Yeah, one of those scenarios is way more plausible than the other one.”
