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I blushed a bit at theheavyinsinuation in her voice…choosing to ignore it.
She didn’t leave until I was settled in my seat, promising that someone would be by to take my food order in just a few minutes. I finally allowed myself to breathe a bit as she hustled away to do whatever it was she did for the Knights.
As I sat there, the energy of the crowd washed over me like a warm blanket. The stands were absolutely packed with fans, each one wearing the colors of their team and waving signs in support—most of them having to do with Lincoln. A Jumbotron displayed player stats, replays, and the occasional message from sponsors. An announcer's voice boomed through the speakers, adding to the frenzied atmosphere.
Players moved with lightning-fast speed, gliding across the ice and slamming into each other with thunderous force. I could hear the thud of the bodies hitting the boards and the crack of the sticks as they collided. The crowd roared with every move they made. The energy was palpable, and I felt myself getting swept up in the excitement of the game.
I scanned the ice, my eyes searching for Lincoln.
And then I saw him, gliding across the ice with a fluidity that was almost otherworldly. From the internet search I’d done on him, I knew he was considered a phenom in the hockey world, and even with my limited knowledge of hockey, it was obvious why. He wore the number 13 on his jersey—something pundits made a big deal about—and it seemed like every time he touched the puck, something incredible happened. He moved with such grace and precision that it was almost mesmerizing. I could see the concentration on his face as he weaved in and out of the opposing players, his stick deftly handling the puck. He was like a magician, performing impossible feats with ease. My heart rate sped up as I watched him, and awe trickled through me.
* * *
Lincoln
I stepped onto the ice, feeling the familiar cold seeping through my skates and into my bones. It was game day, and I should have been fucking pumped. Instead, I was worried as shit.
Would she show up?
Had I done enough?
I’d left right after her class, leaving her alone except for sending a text with directions and arranging a car to pick her up since I knew public transportation was unreliable as shit, and it drove me crazy that she used it to begin with.
I tried to shake off the feeling of unease as I joined my team for the pre-game skate. My coach was yelling out orders and the other players were joking around, but I could hardly hear any of it. My mind was consumed with thoughts of her.
Every time I glanced up at her seat…she wasn’t there.
The buzzer sounded, signaling the end of the warm-up. I took one last look up at the stands, hoping to catch a glimpse of her. But her seat was fuckin' empty. My heart sank like a fucking rock.
I tried to focus on the game, but my mind was gone. The clear-headed coolness that I’d made famous was nowhere to be found. This girl was driving me insane, somehow rearranging my cells into a creature I no longer recognized.
I was out of control right from the get go, laughing madly when I was checked hard against the boards.
I needed the pain, anything to help erase this ache she’d created inside me.
And then…when the first period was halfway done…
There she was.
The most gorgeous thing I’d ever seen in a hockey jersey.
It was as if someone had shot me with a rush of adrenaline. The pumping thud of my heart echoed in my ears, drowning out the screams of the crowd.
I’d never been nervous playing hockey before.
Until now.
She was so dazzlingly beautiful.
My own dream girl.
I wanted to make her first time here perfect.
I wanted to make all her first times perfect.
Down boy,I cursed as my dick tried to make an appearance.
This game would go down in history. I’d make sure of that.
