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“That’s really sweet,” I say, before breaking off into another yelp when the puck bounces off the glass in front of my face. He snorts into his beer and I flip him off, but laugh. He and Nat both try to explain some bits about the game, but I’m not quite following most of it yet. I will eventually, but trying to listen to their explanations while trying to also keep track of the puck—where the hell is it now?—and not flinch or scream every time it, or a person for that matter, hits the glass is nearly impossible.
But, despite all the crazy, I’m enjoying the hell out of it. Once I really understand the game, I know I’m going to love it and may just become a bona fide hockey fan. I cheer and scream and boo along with the rest of the crowd in our section, though to be fair, I don't knowwhywe're booing. We drink and laugh, and I end up have the best night I’ve had in quite a while.
When it’s all over, we take the win four-to-nothing, and it’s exhilarating. Connor catches my eye and I give him a thumbs up with one hand and take a giant bite of the cotton candy I’m holding in the other. He grins and chuckles, his shoulders shaking a bit, and looking way too good even with his hair drenched in sweat. He skates over and tosses a puck over the top of the glass. I fumble it for a second trying to catch it with one hand, but manage to grab it eventually—without dropping my cotton candy, thank you very much. I do a little mock-curtsey when I finally have it under control and he laughs.
“Figured you needed a souvenir of the night you lost your hockey V-card.” He winks and I laugh while Nat and Bobby raise their mostly-empty cups in cheers.
Connor winks and skates off to the join the rest of the guys filing off the ice and heading to the locker room I assume. I turn the puck over in my hand, a smile creeping across my face.
I think hockey may be my new favorite sport.
Chapter Four
Connor
“Can I have your autograph?” a sweet voice says from just behind me in line at the coffee shop. I turn, expecting to find a fan, but instead see Hattie grinning at me. She looks just as beautiful as she always does—hell, maybe even more beautiful in her tight jeans and zip-up hoodie, her hair in two loose braids beneath an LSU ball cap. Casual and sexy all mixed up together in a way that honestly isn't really fair—but she seems more relaxed today, a bit of the heaviness gone from her shoulders. I know that the things she’s done so far on our social media channels has worked great, and Rish heard it from someone that our seasoner opener is actually almost sold out, which hasn’t happened in a while. Apparently the uniforms-to-suits video had gone massively viral—whatever that means exactly. I’m honestly not really up on social media all that much, though I guess I should be. I do know that viral means good, though, so I’m happy that it turned out to be a win.
“It’ll cost you,” I tell her with a wry smile.
“Oh really? I didn’t know that you charged for that sorta thing. I’m a little disappointed.”
“The opposite actually: you have to let me buy you a cup of coffee.”
Her smile widens. “I will never turn down coffee. Ever. If I do, you know that I’ve been replaced by a robot or an alien.”
I chuckle a bit. “Good to know.”
“So, you seemed to enjoy the game last night. Or the cotton candy at the very least,” I say with a smile, remembering her giving me a thumbs up and chomping on a giant puff of blue.
“The cotton candy was on point, but the game wasn’t too bad either,” she says with a grin. “No, it was great actually. Work wise, it was really helpful to see everything in person and I’ve already got tons of stuff cookin’.” She winkles her nose a bit before adding, “Some of which is Christmas related.” I would seriously love to understand her hatred of the holiday. “But aside from the work side of things, it was really cool. I mean, the game itself is total batshit insanity that I don’t actually understand whatsoever, other than the obvious puck-in-net-equals-points part, but I liked it. It was a bit more brutal than I realized,” she admitted, “I mean, hockey and fighting are pretty synonymous, but seeing it in person was somethin' else. Really fun, though.”
We order and a father and son come up asking for autographs and pictures while we wait for our coffees. Hattie whips out her own phone and asks if they’re ok with her sharing some pictures on the Vipers official website and social media accounts, and they eagerly agree. She takes their contact information and lets them know that there will be VIP tickets waiting for them at the box office for the first game. The kid's eyes light up like it’s the best day of his life and it makes my chest feel all warm inside. I don’t give a flying fuck if that’s lame or whatever. I remember being that kid, remember that feeling of excitement and joy of going to a real game with my dad. I love how easily Hattie just created what will be a cherished memory for them like it was nothing. I know that she didn’t have to do that by any means, but she wanted to.
“Do you, uh, want to sit?” Hattie asks once we have our drinks, sounding a bit nervous and gesturing toward a small table in the back corner near the fireplace. We head out for one last set of preseason games this afternoon, and while I’m always excited to play, to feel the rush of the adrenaline that shoots through me as soon as I step foot on the ice, the trips are always hard on me these days. So, I’d planned to grab my coffee and head home to get ready to leave, but I can’t pass up this invitation. I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t been thinking of Hattie way more than I should be since meeting her.
I don’t really get nervous before games anymore, haven’t in decades really. An electric kind of excitement, sure, but not nervous. But when I’d seen her watching the game last night, a flitter of actualnervesran through my stomach. I’d admittedly shown off a bit more than usual, knowing she was watching, hoping she would be impressed.
So, yeah, I’m definitely not going to say no to having coffee with her. I nod and we settle into the mis-matched chairs, which is one of my favorite things about the place. Seattle is known for a very popular coffee chain that shall remain nameless, and don’t get me wrong, I don’t mind their stuff at all, but I like the hole in the walls, the hidden gems.
“So, hockey’s not popular where you’re from I’m assuming?”
She blows lightly over her steaming cup, and the scent of peppermint fills my nose. God, I love that smell. I have a weird obsession with candy canes and have honestly stopped buying them around the holidays because I’ll eat an entire box within a few hours. It’s an addiction. But damn if I don’t lean forward as the steam from Hattie’s cup wafts towards me.
“Correct,” she says with a half grin.
“And where would that be?” I ask, taking a sip of my own drink and kind of wishing I’d gotten whatever peppermint concoction she had.
“South Louisiana originally," she says, pointing to her hat with a smile, "but I’ve been living in Texas for the last few years."
“Ah, I was going to guess Texas.”
She shrugs. “The accent always gives me away. So, yeah, I was born and raised in the church of the pigskin.Thatgame I understand. Hockey? Not so much.”
“Well, I don’t know if you realize this or not,” I say, leaning back casually in my chair, “but Imightknow a thing or two about the game…if you had questions, I mean.” She gives me a dry look and I can’t help but laugh.
She holds her hand out and curls her fingers inward. "Well come on then, Hot Shot. Gimme the run down."
So, I do. I try to explain the game in a way that I hope is easy to understand without seeming like I’m talking down to her. She listens intently, nodding in understanding and asking questions when she doesn’t. After a while, she sits back and crosses her arms over her chest.
