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“Um... nothing? They’re a free perk for the players’ friends and family.”
Oh, this is a mistake. Is she going to get fired for this? Right now, there’s a player out there who’s expecting his sweet mom or hot girlfriend to be cheering him on from the sidelines. And instead, he’s going to get my glaring ass.
It doesn’t make sense, and I want to stand there and question, to demand answers, possibly have her double-check. But I don’t have the time to do all that, so I snatch the ticket and rush into the stadium.
Overeager fans dominate the space, and I have to push my way through, shrinking into myself with every body that jars mine. Flashing memories of hands holding me down threaten to overtake me with anxiety, but I focus on my surroundings. I’m almost there. I’m almost done.
My eyes dart up to the signs while I’m slipping down hallways and stairwells I’m not even sure I’m allowed in.
I’m not a hockey fan, I’ve no idea about the layout of the arena, but there are clearly marked doors that I’m not allowed in.
I don’t care though.
At this point, I know I’m not going to get anywhere in the stands surrounded by screaming fans. Nathan is probably down where all the other hockey players are, getting ready to go on the ice. And I need to get to him.
Security is surprisingly lax at first, until the twists and turns make way to reveal a thick crowd.
At the last second, I spot a hockey player with a sweet smile poised for a girl who’s gripping his jersey like she’ll never let him go. His skates are slung over his shoulder, and he’s clearly about to go on the ice. He brushes her greedy hands off of him before he disappears through a doorway. I pause, my attention flickering to the sign up above that readsAuthorized Personnel Onlyand the security guard that’s pacing in the opposite direction.
And then I dart in just behind the enormous player. His shoulder pads and gear outline his shadowy figure into a giant of a man. He looks back at me in the darkness of the long, strange hallway.
“Oh, you’re gonna be in so much trouble, Little Puck Bunny,” he whispers tauntingly, that smile still as playful as earlier.
Thank god he’s a flirt instead of a fighter.
“Give 'em hell, Bunny,” he bumps his arm into mine before the bright lights wash over us, and he shoves his feet into the skates with a quick lacing. And then he’s gone.
And I’m alone at the entrance to the ice.
There’s a moment where I’m in awe of how incredible it feels to have spotlights shining down on me. I feel small and insignificant in the best way possible. My screwed-up life: my mother being institutionalized, my overdraft fees every month, my stupid paper, it all suddenly feels obsolete standing here with the lights cast down on me and hundreds of people all above me.
I shuffle away from the coaches and players to the right and stumble over into an area that seems like it’s for fans, but I think this may be the friends-and-family seating because I’m front row, and that special divider that keeps fans safe and all their teeth intact has an open door that I sneak through.
And then I see him.Finally.
“Nathan!” I lean out the door that divides us, waving an arm through the air to get his attention. Amongst the sea of faces and adoring hockey fans, I may as well be invisible to the guys on the rink. The women behind me, glaring death rays through my skull, well, that’s another story. The dirty looks from puck bunnies around me don’t deter me. My elbows shove against bodies, and I send out mental apologies as I cringe against the feel of their skin against mine until I push myself out slightly more through the door. “Nathan!”
This close and personal, I finally get his attention. He almost looks different in full hockey gear, but I’d recognize those chips for eyes and that shit-smelling sneer anywhere. Even beneath that sweaty face and hockey helmet.
He’s usually so put together in class. Wearing nothing less than slacks and a collar shirt, sitting next to the professor and looking at the rest of us like we’re mere mortals and he’s a god. Even in all his hockey regalia, that air of pompous importance exudes from every pore.
Those judging eyes flick over me, cutting beneath brown lashes. His gliding seems too slow, and for a fraction of a second, the rest of the hockey team does as well. There’s a brief pause like people are anticipating some sort of show.
Nathan’s nose twitches in my direction. “Maria, right?”
The dripping sarcasm makes me grind my back teeth together. So fucking funny. Call the Mexican girl Maria. His piss-poor accent is supposed to be funny? It’s disgusting. A very obvious microaggression at its finest. That’s something people don’t seem to realize. You don’t have to use slurs to be a racist. Would they put me in that hockey fun box if I clocked him in the jaw right now? Bet they reserve it for the team. They’d just throw me out without any exciting punishments.
“It’s Atlas, actually.”
“Hmm. Riiiight. Sorry about that. How’d you even get down here?”
He doesn’t sound sorry. But that’s the least of my worries.
“Look, I won’t take up much of your time since I know you’re about to begin. I just want to turn this paper in to you.” I lift my assignment in the air, waving the cover of it in his direction so my name and the subject matter are right in front of his eyes. “Professor Morrison said I could give this to you for grading.”
Slowly, he pulls off his glove and takes hold of the bottom of my paper, pulling it gently out of my grasp. His fingers look tiny among the heavy gear that weighs his body. He’s really much too small for hockey. These guys will eat him alive.I hope.
As soon as the papers leave my possession, I want to breathe a sigh of relief at how painless this is going so far.
