Page 93 of Hockey Player Seeking Fan

You need to be in the game. You need to be in the game.

I repeat the mantra that I’ve used anytime I’ve been distracted.

“One sheep, two sheep, three sheep, four…”

My eyes flicker open. I can see Erica’s face in the stands. I shake my head.

I’m hallucinating now. I’m going crazy.

And then I realize—I’m not.

Erica is here. And she’s with Sabrina.

What the fuck is she doing here?

I get up and hurry over to the side.

“Hey,” she says, offering me a small wave. “I hope you don’t mind. We came to see the practice. Wes and Miles are here, as well, but they just went to grab something.”

“Oh. Hey.”

I smile at her and look at Sabrina. I give her a quick kiss on the cheek, and she giggles.

“You can kiss me on the lips. Sabrina knows everything I do,” Sabrina says, staring at me with a wide smile. “And I know everything. Like, everything everything.”

“Well, I hope it’s all good.”

“It’s good,” Sabrina says. “And with that, I will go and find my boyfriend.”

She gets up and walks away. I take a seat next to Erica, and she frowns.

“You okay?” she asks, squeezing my arm.

“Yeah. Why are you asking?”

“Because you weren’t playing so well, and your coach looked pissed. He was shouting at you, and… is this my fault? I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have?—”

“Girl, it’s not your fault.”

“But if you weren’t on the phone with me all night, then maybe you’d be playing better today. I distracted you. And I don’t want to be a distraction. And maybe that’s why you’ve not really dated, or you’re not looking to date, because you don’t want distractions, and—oh, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have come. I should’ve just stayed at home. I overstepped. I’m acting like a girlfriend, and I’m not your girlfriend. I’m just your friend of the evening or whatever?—”

“Erica, stop.”

“No, I feel really bad. You’re playing like shit, your coach is mad, you might get fired, you might lose the game tomorrow—and all because of me. Why am I even here? I don’t know. I should have stayed home. I’m stupid, stupid, stupid. I?—”

“Erica,” I say, squeezing her hand. “I’m glad that you’re here.”

“You are?” she asks softly. “Really?”

“Yeah. I stayed up all night talking to you on the phone because I like you.”

“You do?”

“I mean, it’s not like I was banging you all night,” I say with a chuckle. “We were talking. We were getting to know each other.”

“Maybe because you felt guilty…”

“Erica, I don’t feel guilty.”