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"Yes," I blurt before I can change my mind.
The crowd goes wild.
I drop back down into my chair and cover my face with my hands, whimpering.
I hate hockey. And Weston Davies.
Ispend the restof the game trying to avoid looking at anyone. Every time I do, they're staring at me. Some of the women look like they want to shiv me between the ribs and hide my body in a cornfield. Others are less outraged that I won. People keep congratulating me.
It's stressing me out.
I just publicly agreed to go on a date with Weston Davies.
"Excuse me, Ms. Briggs?"
I turn to look at the woman standing beside Addison's seat. And then I blink. It's the blonde who was on the ice with Weston earlier. I think she's their publicist. She's cute, petite like Addison but with this whole southern belle thing going on.
"Hi," she says, smiling brightly at me. "I'm Kelsey Lane."
"Hi."
"I'm the Predators' publicist," she explains in a chipper southern drawl. "Weston would like to speak to you after the game. If you'll follow me, I'll take you back to see him."
"I…" I gape at her, not sure I want to speak to him.
"Of course she'll go," Addison says, shooting me a look that I assume is supposed to make me feel like I've got this under control but only serves to illustrate how very much I donothave this under control.
I came here to thank him. Now, I'm leaving with a date with him. And I'm pretty sure he rigged the contest to ensure I won. What is even happening right now?
"I can't go without Addison," I mumble.
"Of course, she's invited back as well," Kelsey says, smiling like it's not a problem.
The crowd starts screaming.
I glance at the ice to see what's going on.
Weston is barreling toward the Red Wings' empty goal with the puck. The Red Wings have pulled their goalie and put another attacker on the ice in a last-ditch effort to catch up. They're down three goals. There's no way they're going to pull out aW, especially with Weston on the ice. He's a good man-length ahead of everyone else, and he's been on fire tonight. Oddly, he hasn't been sent to the naughty box a single time this period.
Kelsey, Addison, and I watch in silence as he sinks the puck.
The Predators' fans go wild. The Red Wings' section boos.
"We should probably go before this place turns into a madhouse," Kelsey suggests.
Right.
I reluctantly climb to my feet. Addison does the same, thrusting my bouquet into my arms. One of the refs brought the flowers up to me before the third period began. The roses are pink and red with baby's breath mixed in. They're very pretty.
Kelsey waits until we're in the aisle and then turns to lead us toward the exit. She says something, but it's so loud in here, I can't hear her.
"We're not friends anymore," I mutter to Addison.
"You love me," she says, smiling sweetly.
She's right. I do love her. Even if she is the devil. She's taking way too much pleasure in this situation, especially for someone who wanted to strangle Weston when I told her that he offered to sign my boobs.
We follow behind Kelsey as she weaves her way through the arena, her heels clicking on the floor. The final buzzer sounds just as we break out into the concession area. People start pouring out of the arena behind us.
