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I look up from the tablet screen to find that Connor has made his way over to me, away from the rest of the group. He absently unbuttons the top buttons of his shirt, pulling the collar open. I swallow hard before yanking my eyes back up to his face. I don’t know what is wrong with me. He’s just a guy. An extremely attractive guy, but still—just a guy. A guy that I think I could be really great friends with actually, so I need to get my hormones in check ASAP.
“Oh, yeah, I am. Gonna do some work in the crowd tonight, get a feel for how the games usually go and get ideas on what we can improve, how we can drive up attendance.” The season doesn’t officially start for another week, so this is more like a preseason game. But, it’ll give me a good baseline for where things stand and get a feel for everything before we really get started.
“Do you ever take time off?” he asks, not critically or full of spite, the way Josh used to, but with humor and even a bit of admiration in his tone.
“Not when I’m in a new job trying to prove myself,” I say, matter-of-factly.
He nods as if understanding. “Well, try to enjoy some of the game too if you can.” He walks backwards, and starts smiling, straight, white teeth gleaming against his tanned skin.He must spend a lot of time outside when he isn’t on the ice, I think. “I’ll be the one standing in front of the goal with the Vipers jersey on.” I roll my eyes, but smile, and he winks before turning and catching up to some of the other guys.
I stare after him as he playfully fights with Rizzo. He might look like he would fit in with a dangerous motorcycle gang, but I get the feeling Connor is kind of a teddy bear. Goofy. Fun. Easy-going. There’s something about him that just draws me to him, makes me like him, and I don’t mean physically, though obviously there'sdefinitelythat aspect. I just feel like I could hang out with him, eat pizza or binge watch movies, bitch about work or play beer pong. So, yeah, I think I’m going to take him up on his offer sooner rather than later.
“I’m pretty excited to see how we’re going to edit this all together to make something awesome out of it,” Nat says, pulling my attention away from the guys’ retreating forms and yanking me out of my own head.
I grin at her. “Well, let’s go play around then.”
The video came out amazing, even better than I’d planned. It started with all the guys looking like sweaty messes in their practice uniforms. They jumped up and when they landed, they were all magically transformed into handsome devils in their sharp suits. I posted it an hour ago and it already has over four hundred thousand views, with the numbers climbing every second.
“Oh my God, you’re a genius,” Nat says, high-fiving me.
“I think you might break the internet,” Bobby adds, eyeing the video over my shoulder.
“That’s the plan,” I grin. “Now, let’s go see what this whole hockey fuss is all about.”
I’m pretty pumped to check it all out, actually. I am going to be working, like I told Connor, but I do plan to try to relax and enjoy the game some too. Maybe in the second half. Or…wait, I don’t think that’s right for hockey.
“Is it halves?” I ask as the three of us make our way up to the private box reserved for staff. The game is already underway and I can feel the dull reverberation from the crowd and loudspeaker beneath my feet. A thrum of excitement goes through me. I’ve always loved going to big sporting events, namely football games, and I miss Death Valley like an old friend. When I’d been a student at LSU, I never missed a single home game. Even when I broke my leg tailgating, I was back in the stadium with a cast and crutches before kickoff, loopy as all get out on pain medicine, but cheering on my Tigers like my life depended on it. After graduation, I tried to make it to at least a handful of games a season. "Like football? Oh! Is there a halftime show?” I ask excitedly. I’d always loved watching the band during halftime.
Bobby chuckles. “No. Hockey has periods. Three of them, with fifteen-minute intermissions in between.”
“Oh. Interesting.” I really do need to step my knowledge of the actual game, but I’ve been so busy with everything else, I haven’t had time to dive into that piece of it yet. Maybe I could ask one of the guys to help me. Maybe Connor? Er, Shep.Ugh, whatever.“Ok, let’s grab some food and then mingle a bit and get some shots for the social media pages and whatnot.”
Though the crowd is a bit thin, it isn’t as bad as I’d been expecting.I can so fix this, I think with absolute certainty.I can do this. As we walk around, I can see the excitement and joy in the faces all around me. Everyone truly seems to love being here, and there are obviously some die-hard fans, so I can definitely work with that. I get a lot of good insight and already have some good thoughts on how we can improve things. We make a few videos to use for social media posts and upcoming promotions, talk to some fans about things they’d like to see, and give away some swag which makes us very popular.
After a while, I decide to turn work brain off—or well, let it run in the background anyway, it never completely goes off—and just enjoy the game. Our staff badges get us past security and into some reserved seats right along the glass not far from our goal. There’s a time out or something happening, so Connor pulls his helmet off just as I’m taking the last step to my seat. He runs an arm over his sweat-soaked face before shoving his wet hair back. He looks even more massive than usual with all the pads on, and I frown for a minute. Does he really need all of those? I mean, I know people are hitting pucks at him, but…can they actually hurt him? Likereallyhurt him? Even football players don’t wear that much padding and they get bulldozed by three-hundred-pound tanks on the reg.Maybe goalies are just big babies, I think with a wry grin, imagining saying just that to Connor and seeing his reaction.
He scans the crowd, smiling and waving to a few kids, which makes me smile. I’m glad he’s one ofthosetypes of players, the kind who seem to understand that they wouldn’t even have a job if it weren’t for fans, that he’s basically just a glorified kid himself getting way too much money to play a game. Too many athletes get too big for their britches with that shit if you ask me, act above it all, hardly even acknowledging their fans. It pisses me off and it’s one reason why I’ve always loved college sports far more than professional ones. The college kids seemed to be there for the love of the game, and a lot of the professionals seemed to only care about the money and the fame. No thanks.
Then he turns and our gazes meet. His grin widens and I give him an awkward little wave as I sit down hastily. Some kind of signal that I don’t hear or see must alert Connor that break time is over because he pulls his helmet back on and somehow…transforms. I can’t even really explain it, but it’s like every muscle in his body goes rigid, like he’s on high alert. I can’t see his eyes, but I somehow know that they’re scanning the ice, picking up on minute details that I can’t possibly see or understand. Even crouched before the net, nearly immobile, he looks intimidating and almost dangerous. Lethal. Intense. There’s a contained power in his stillness that’s fascinating and beautiful and impressive, like one of those big jungle cats getting ready to pounce.
A whistle blows, and commotion breaks out in the middle of the ice. It’s utter insanity, and I can’t even see where the puck is. Everything is too fast, moving at fucking warp speed, and I have zero hope of tracking anything at all. The guys all move so fast it’s like they’re flying over the ice, not even actually touching it. It’s impressive as hell, but just plain crazy. I don’t even realize the puck is anywhere near the other goal when the crowd erupts in cheers. Apparently we scored.What? How??
“What the fuck is this game??” I yell over the crowd. Nat laughs as she settles down beside me, expertly holding three full beers between her fingers. Bobby and I each take one and the three of us cheers. After I take a long sip, I say, “How do y’all even see what’s happening? I can barely tell where the puck is and as soon as I find it, it’s somewhere else.”
Nat laughs. “Once you watch a bit more, it’ll get easier.”
“Oh my god!” I gasp when one of our guys slams one of theirs into the wall with such force, I can’t understand how bones don’t shatter. “Is thatallowed?” Next thing I know, a fight breaks out. An honest to God fist fight. I know hockey is known for fighting, but come on! Throwing punches? Seriously? “Ok, thatdefinitelycan’t be allowed.”
Bobby laughs. “It’s always fun watching a game with a newbie.”
Rizzo handles the puck like it's part of him, like the stick and the puck are both just extensions of his arm. He skates faster than almost anyone else out there. At one point, he drops to his knees and slides on the ice, but pops back to his skates a heartbeat later, the movement so fluid and graceful and quick, I honestly wonder if I imagine it for a second.
Some of the guys from the other team make their way closer to our goal, skating like bats out of hell right at Connor. If I were him and saw that coming at me, I’d be shittin' bricks. But he looks so at ease, so ready. A loud smack splits the air and before I can even comprehend what’s happened, Connor has the puck in his glove. The crowd goes crazy and my mouth gapes. How could he even see that, let alone catch it? His reflexes are insane, faster than I thought humanly possible. And now I understand the pads. I can only imagine how fast that puck is going, it’s like a bullet hurdling at his chest. Over and over, shots are fired at him, and over and over he deflects them in the blink of an eye. He’sreallyfreaking good. I mean, I have no real frame of reference, but, to my completely untrained eye he looks freaking fantastic.
Fights break out here and there, guys are put in the penalty box, and pucks fly into the freaking crowd like foul balls at a baseball game.
“This sport is fucking crazy,” I say after a particularly brutal collision happens against the glass right in front of us, making me yelp and duck my head as if they’re going to come through and land on top of us. Nat laughs loudly at my reaction, and Jules actually grins and winks at me before skating off.
“It is, but it’s amazing, isn’t it?” Bobby says, eyes filled with excitement. “I freaking love it. I used to play when I was a kid. My dad was my coach, it was kind of our thing,” he explains. “I was never all that good, truth be told, but I still love it.”
