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“Just one moment.” Cece bends down, reaches into a tote bag, and pulls out a Rovers hockey jersey, which she tosses to me.
I look at it and wince at the number 15. “Raker? Oh, come on. That’s a little too on the nose, isn’t it?”
“Oops, sorry, that one’s mine.” She snatches it back. “Take this one.”
She tosses me another jersey—23, Beckett Snyder.
“Fine,” I sigh. It’s a good thing it isn’t Mason’s, because he’d be unbearably smug about it and think I picked it on purpose. The last thing in the world I want is to have Mason think that I am fangirling him.
15
ROWAN
Okay,maybe this wasn’t the worst idea. I haven’t been to a hockey game in ages, and I have to admit that the excitement is contagious. The crowd is roaring with enthusiasm, their energy crackling through the air.
There really is nothing like a sports event to draw together a crowd of people from all over—of every race and profession and religion and political persuasion—and unite them with one common goal.
And tonight that goal is to utterly destroy the Seattle Megs. Boo, Megalodons. Those losers. Those vile villains.
We’re sitting right by the ice, our noses practically pressed up against the glass. “These seats couldn’t be better unless we were actually on the ice.” I shout to Cecelia.
“What?” she yells back over the roar of the crowd.
A puck thuds against the glass and I start, then laugh.
The players rotate in and out of the game. I purposely avoid trying to keep my eye out for Mason. I don’t care. I’m here for the entire team, not for him.
Mason scores a goal, and the crowd goes insane. “Mason. Mason. Mason.” they chant. I smile to myself. When he succeeds, Queensby Publicity succeeds.
A group of ladies across the rink from us stand up holding a sign. I lean forward to read it.
We want to have your baby, Mason.it says, in enormous Sharpie-written letters.
What, all of them do?
I shake my head, trying to picture how that would work. They’d all live together in one house and raise the half-siblings together and ...
Cecelia frowns. “Not helping his ladies’ man reputation.” She raises her voice to be heard. “I guess the man just can’t help himself.”
I nod. Well, in fairness, he’s living like a monk these days. His party boy reputation isn’t going to vanish overnight, but we’re making excellent headway.
A player slams against the glass, looks me right in the eye, and winks. It isn’t Mason, it’s his teammate whose jersey I’m wearing. Beck Snyder.
I laugh and give him a thumbs up. He turns and skates off, instantly swallowed up in a cluster of players.
“How is the fundraising planning?” Cecelia asks me during a lull in the noise. “Do you feel confident in your campaign?”
I straighten up in my seat, energy pumping through my veins. I am legit excited about this. Working on a campaign like this is great, but helping families who are living with leukemia is next-level awesome.
“I feel great.” I enthuse. “Here’s the basics. Mid-November we’re going to invite some of the wealthiest families in New York, including celebrities, to the last home game before the holidays and then to a fancy dinner with the team after. They’ll have excellent seats, of course, which they will pay for as a charitable donation. At the dinner, we’re going to put some really coveted items up for auction, and also hold a toy drive. All proceeds and toys will be donated to the children’s hospital. Oh, and during the game, the families and kids who are physically able to will go on the ice.”
“Love it.” She nods vigorously. “Oh, no, the Megs are going to— nope, we’re fine.” Her attention is riveted on the seething, violent mass of humanity on the ice.
A slender blonde next to me leans in and points. “See that guy?” she says excitedly. I nod. Of course, she’s pointing at Mason. “I’m going to sleep with him after the game.” She practically squeals with excitement.
“You ... are?” I’m not sure what else to say.
She bounces up and down. “I sure am. He’s actually kind of my boyfriend.” She’s a stunner, with a cute little nose and big pink lips and feathery black false lashes. Her pink jacket nips in at the waist, and her denim jeans look sprayed on.
