Revenge Puck (Shot at Love #1)

Chapter 4

4

Preston

T here’s no way of knowing for sure if the woman, Elle, was making shit up about dating Riley or not. But for some reason, I believe her.

“Thanks for holding my bag,” I say to Steve after I walk inside the building. When I hold out my hand, he gives me my duffle back, eyes still wide. The man is probably in shock because he’s been working team security for the past two years and never seen me allow a photo or speak to a female fan before. Kids sure, but no puck bunnies. Ever.

Not that Elle was a fan of mine or the Warhawks. Bobcats all the way for her, even after ending things with Riley. Her loyalty to what I assume is her hometown team shouldn’t tick me off, but it does. What did I expect? That after playing along with her revenge ploy for a few minutes that she would suddenly switch sides?

After all, she only asked me for a selfie. The kiss, well, that was all on me. One hell of a kiss that had me wishing for so much more.

Oh, and I also asked her to lie about her dumping Riley, but that was to her benefit, too.

My phone starts blowing up from notifications before I even make it to the locker room, either from someone recording a video of us or because Elle posted her pic.

I usually hate any sort of media attention, especially when it’s about my personal life. But today it feels different. I want everyone to know I was rubbing up on Riley’s ex right outside the door of his home arena.

The first equipment manager I see is Jim, so I ask him, “Who do I talk to about tickets?”

His brows reach his thinning hairline. “Uh, tickets for today? Here in Greensboro?”

“Yeah.”

“It’s a home game for the Bobcats.”

“And?”

“And not even the Warhawks owner gets a free seat.”

“Well, who can I talk to about purchasing tickets?”

“I’ll see what I can find out, but it’s the first game of the championships. If I can find any, you’ll probably have to pay for them out of pocket and they’ll be way overpriced.”

“Fine. I’ll pay whatever I have to pay for two seats as close as possible to the ice.”

“Okay, I’ll do my best.”

“Thanks, Jim.”

“Huh. I didn’t know you knew my name. You’ve never spoken to me before today.”

I hadn’t? “Oh, yeah? Well, sorry about that.”

“No problem, Mr. Lawrence.”

When he starts to walk away, I get another idea. “Hey, Jim? Do you have any extra jerseys?”

“Jerseys?”

“Yeah. With my name and number on them?”

“Oh. Yeah. In case yours gets ripped. Why?”

“Could you put it with the tickets you find?”

“I’m not sure I’ll be able to get any tickets…”

“Sure, you will,” I tell him because I have to see Elle Townsend’s sign. “Whatever price.”

Elle

“So? How did it go?” Audrey asks when I find her still waiting for me in the front lobby, munching on a giant slice of greasy pizza next to the fan shop.

I flip the screen of my phone around to show her rather than tell. The photo that just went up on my profile is worth more than a thousand words.

Her mouth falls open just before she tosses the rest of her pizza slice in the nearby trash can. “Oh my god! You did it, Elle! You actually did it!”

“He didn’t just let me take a photo either,” I tell her, still a little in shock. “He kissed me.”

“No way!”

“And I think some reporters that saw us in the players’ lot possibly got photos or videos of that, too.”

“Wow. That’s amazing!”

“Now I just need to find some supplies.”

“Supplies? Ohhh. Do you need a tampon? I think I have one,” she says before she starts digging through her purse.

“No, not those kinds of supplies. Art supplies. I have to make a sign.”

“A sign?”

“Yeah, like you know, to hold up during the game. It was Preston’s idea.”

She blinks at me in confusion. “So, one pic and a kiss later and you’re on a first name basis with Christian’s nemesis?”

“Apparently. He really doesn’t like Christian.”

“I wonder what caused the beef between them,” Audrey muses.

“No idea. If I had to guess, it was probably a girl, right? I doubt I’ll ever find out. I just want to enjoy my quick fifteen minutes of fame and hope it burns Christian’s bread to see me with the one guy he told me to never sleep with.”

A laugh bursts from Audrey. “Burns his bread? Really, Elle?”

“Who am I kidding, right? Christian Riley won’t care if I made out with his rival. He’s too busy trying to win the championship trophy and sleep with all the female hockey fans in the world.”

“I guess we’ll find out soon enough.”

“Right. For now, I’m going to need to run to the nearest store that sells posterboard, stencils, markers, and glitter. Then, if we’re lucky, Preston is going to leave us better tickets at Will Call.”

“Way to go, girl! I’m so proud of you,” Audrey says as she throws her arm around my shoulders to give me a hug.

“I’m pretty proud of myself, too. Thanks for encouraging me to go through with this crazy idea for closure.”

“Anytime,” she agrees with a smile.

“I still can’t believe you actually put that on a sign,” Audrey says as we walk back to the arena from the salon with the biggest piece of posterboard I could find clutched in my hand.

“Is it too much?” I ask with a wince.

“No, not at all. There aren’t any bad words, so I bet you’ll even make it on camera. Christian is going to hate it!”

“Yes, he is. That’s the whole point of making it and waving it over my head.”

“Right. If you want to hurt a man, tell the world his penis is smaller than his enemy’s. I can’t imagine a more painful statement to write in glitter markers.”

“This glitter is everywhere! I may never get it all off me,” I remark as I glance down at my blue and yellow shirt that now catches the light in the setting sun like a disco ball.

“It’s cute,” Audrey says. “There’s even a little on your nose.”

“Crap.” I swipe the back of my hand across my nose and face.

“Ah, Elle, you just added, like, a dozen more sparkles.”

“Great. I’ll have to shower when I get home and scrub with a loofa to get this mess off.”

“Not to rush you or anything, but the arena is getting packed. We should probably get to our seats.”

“Seats!” I exclaim at the reminder. “I need to go to the Will Call window and see if Preston got us better tickets.”

Thankfully, the line for that window outside the arena only has two people in it. After all, most people have their tickets on their phones nowadays.

Audrey and I wait our turn, and then I tell the white-haired lady at the window, “Hi, do you have any tickets for Elle Townsend?”

“Got ID?” She looks down through the glasses on her nose at us.

“I do. Here, hold my sign,” I tell Audrey so I can free up my hands to dig out my wallet from my small, clear, arena-approved purse. I learned that lesson from the first game. Clear bags only. I had to walk my ass all the way back to the salon the first game I came to a few years ago before they would let me in.

I open my wallet and turn it to the lady at the window to show her my license under the plastic holder. “That’s me. Elle Townsend.”

With a quick glance, she says, “Here you go,” shoving a pile of something black through the small hole at the bottom of the window. “Tickets are wrapped inside as instructed.”

“Ah, what’s this?” I ask.

“Looks like a Warhawk jersey,” she mutters. “Traitors.”

“Traitors?” I huff indignantly as I turn to Audrey, who is wearing a blue and yellow sundress. It was the best she could do on short notice. “We’re clearly Bobcats fans.”

“Then why did the Warhawks have the tickets and jersey sent over for you?”

“The Warhawks?” I unwrap the sweater-like material, finding the tickets and hold it up in front of me. The jersey is big enough that it could cover me like a blanket. But no, it’s not a blanket. It’s Preston Lawrence’s black jersey with the big bird on the front, number twenty-two sewn in red all over it; and his long name sprawled across the top of the backside.

“Oh my…”

“God!” Audrey finishes. “He gave you his freakin’ jersey! How sweet is he?”

“Like I said, traitors,” the Golden Girl behind the glass remarks again.

“It’s a long story. I’m still a Bobcats fan.” I’m not sure why I feel the need to proclaim my allegiance to our local team, but I do.

“Come on, traitor,” Audrey says, plucking the tickets from my fingers. She grabs my elbow and steers me toward the security check-in line. “Wow, Elle. These seats are so close we’ll be able to smell the sweat coming off the players.”

“Really? How did he get such great tickets at the last minute?”

“Maybe because he has tons of money and was trying to impress you?”

“No. He’s just looking forward to seeing the sign I promised him.”

“He’ll be able to see you alright. Along with the rest of the world,” she remarks. Giving me a hip bump with her bony one, she asks, “So, are you going to wear his jersey or not?”

“I guess I have to, right?” I hold it up in front of me in the security line and hear Bobcats’ fans groan at the sight. “I can’t believe Preston gave me one of his jerseys.”

“Christian never gave you one of his, did he?”

“Ah, no.” I slip the enormous attire on over the top of my shirt and then have to tie a knot at the bottom to keep it from falling to my knees. “Christian did ask me to wear his jersey once…”

“Let me guess, and nothing else?”

“Ding, ding, ding! We have a winner!”

Audrey rolls her brown eyes and steps forward when the line moves up. “That man’s ego knows no bounds, does it?”

“Well, he’s gorgeous, and one of the best hockey players in the league, so I guess he had a right to be arrogant.”

“A little humility could go a long way is all I’m saying. How about Preston? Did he seem more down to earth?”

“He seemed more…” I try to figure out how to describe his demeanor. “Preston gave off strong I’ll-rip-your head-off-if-you-look-at-me-the-wrong-way vibes.”

“Wow. Hot.”

“How is that hot?” I ask because I’m honestly curious. I couldn’t help but think the same thing earlier when meeting him, and it doesn’t make any sense. Pretty, clean-cut guys like Christian are my usual type.

“A big, strong man who doesn’t put up with any shit is hot. He’s a protector. A lot of women are into that sort of thing despite being feminists.”

“I guess so…”

“How about this? If there was an apocalypse tomorrow, who would you want by your side, helping you stay alive—a five-foot nothing guy who weighs a hundred pounds or a huge, ripped dude who could carry you to safety in one hand while busting heads with the other?”

“That…that is…when do you have the time to come up with these things, Audrey?”

“I’m single, and I’ve been single for months. Trust me, I have to figure out some way to get through the nights. While you were screwing a hockey player for nearly half a year, I was alone with my thoughts and a plastic penis.”

“Sorry. I guess I shouldn’t complain about the great sex, even if it obviously meant nothing to him…”

“It never means anything to men. Women are the ones who attach all the little strings. Men only go along with the strings because they like the sex.”

Thankfully, we’re next in line, so we place the sign and our clear purses on the conveyer belt of the x-ray machine and let the nice, bald retired man run his metal detector wand up and down us.