Shoot Your Shot

Chapter Twenty-One

Twenty-One

Lucy

JAYLEN:

LUCY:

JAYLEN:

LUCY:

JAYLEN:

Cooper drags Maya and me through an arena packed full of prideful Rainiers fans, eager for the game to start. We are minutes away from puck drop, a fact Cooper has been shouting at us for a while now as he attempts to encourage us to move faster through the crowds. Instead, we stop for drinks, and Cooper huffs. He wants to watch the pregame show, the player introductions, the opening face-off; he might not have paid for these tickets, but he’s determined to get his money’s worth.

Cooper is the only one of us who has ever been to a Rainiers hockey game. Correction: he’s the only one of us who has ever been to any hockey game before tonight. Maya quickly grabs our drinks off the counter and we head to our seats.

I’ve been watching some of Jaylen’s games on TV, mostly to see how powerful my good-luck texts really are. If I was smart, I would find a way to monetize this—although, I think it might be all in Jaylen’s head. Not that I would ever tell him that; I prefer the excuse to talk to him, and of course, the free tickets.

To Cooper’s relief we make it to our seats as the lights dim and the pregame show begins. Music blares as a light show commences on the ice. For a sporting event, this is very theatrical. The crowd stands as the MC bellows out the starting line. Jaylen Jones bursts out from the bench and onto the ice with force. He gets the loudest applause—most of which comes from Cooper shrieking like a Swiftie who was chosen for the concert ticket presale.

After the anthem, Jaylen readies himself at center ice to take the opening face-off, and the crowd settles back into their seats. Our seats are great. They’re near center ice, about twenty rows up. I have the perfect view of the ice, and the Rainiers’ bench.

The atmosphere is electric, and energy is palpable. I have never been a sporty person, but after that pregame show I’m ready to chug my beer, crush the can against my head, and get into a verbal altercation with a fan of the opposing team.

“Screw it, I’m going to come out and say it. The fact that he got us all tickets to the Pride game feels kind of homo-phobic. Did he assume we’re all gay?” With great suspicion, Maya takes in the arena’s atmosphere.

“We are. And this was the first game that finally worked with all our schedules,” I say, reminding her of the coincidence.

Tonight, the Seattle Rainiers are celebrating the LGBTQIA+ community by hosting a Pride-themed night. The arena is festive for the evening, with rainbow flags lining the giant scoreboard that hangs over center ice. And by the look of it, lots of fans are joining in on the celebration by wearing various rainbow--branded hockey merchandise.

“I’m not complaining. All the gay hockey boys in one place,” Cooper says, waving to a guy at the end of our row.

Maya, however, is still taking in her surroundings, likely calculating the facility’s carbon emissions.

“See anyone you know?” I ask.

“Not yet, but we passed a lot of Subaru Foresters in the parking garage on the way in so it’s only a matter of time,” Maya says, looking up and down the rows of fans. “Oh! There’s Danni!” Maya offers an overexaggerated wave across the arena to get her attention.

Since watching some of Jaylen’s games, I’ve picked up on the basic rules of the sport. Well, I know that each team is trying to score while simultaneously attempting to knock the heads off each other. Jaylen has been helping me learn some of the more complicated stuff.

One time I asked him if it was okay to bump into the goalie. He called it goalie interference, and then proceeded to talk about it for an hour. Eventually I had to ask Jaylen what was up with all the fighting just to get him onto another subject.

The three of us are at the edge of our seats watching the game. Our eyes are wide as we follow the fast-paced play up and down the ice, mesmerized by the players’ movements. Two players come crashing into each other against the boards and stay there well beyond the play, rubbing their bodies against each other in an aggressively erotic display of passion. Even after the whistle, they cling to each other.

“Who knew hockey was so homoerotic?” Maya remarks softly to no one in particular.

Cooper leans across my lap. “I did,” he quickly replies.

“Did Jaylen spank you like that when you two hooked up?” Maya points to the bench where one of the players is skating off the ice and is greeted by encouraging butt spanks from his teammates as he shimmies past them to find his seat.

“No, but I wish he did.” I hover in my seat, leaning forward to get a better look at the team’s bench below us.

“Can you ask him to get me whatever popper the players are sniffing?” Cooper asks.

“Those are smelling salts—and unless you’re trying to run through a brick wall, I suggest you avoid them.” My nose still burns from the smell.

“Sorry, did you say something? I was too distracted by the guy at the end of the bench deep-throating that water bottle.” Cooper points across the ice to the opposing team’s bench where one of the players leans over the side squirting a water bottle into his eager mouth.

“They all shower together naked in an open room. Do you think they’ve explored each other’s bodies?” I ask.

“They should, for the convenience factor alone,” Maya says.

“God, I love hockey,” Cooper says breathily. We all share a laugh.

During a break in play, a group of beautiful women make their way into the row below us. They are all dressed nicely in expensive-looking non-team-branded outfits, with shoes that click loudly against the cement floors and handbags that look like they cost more than my rent. If I didn’t know any better, I would assume it was a sorority sister reunion, but I know they’re the girlfriends and wives of the Rainiers players.

I suddenly feel stupid wearing the Rainiers crewneck I victoriously thrifted last week. I pull at the ratty sleeves of my worn sweater like I pulled on the hem of my crop top at that restaurant weeks ago, worrying that I’m wearing the wrong thing again.

“This must be the section where they put all the hot people,” Cooper says loudly as the women find their seats. They look over and giggle.

I lock eyes with the one on the end. The woman sweeps her long honey-blond hair out of her face as she holds her stare on me long enough to make me wonder if she knows about me. Did Jaylen tell anyone about us? No. She must recognize me as the girl who painted the mural.

The woman simpers at me, and I’m convinced that she’s Hannah, Wells’s wife. Jaylen’s told me about her. I awkwardly lift my hand to wave, but Hannah is already sitting in her seat with her back turned to me. I can feel Maya’s eyes burning a hole into the side of my head.

“Say it,” I say softly to Maya. I then brace myself, expecting a comment about how different I look compared to those women, and how I’m nothing more than a good-luck text to Jaylen. That the second my luck runs out, I’ll never hear from him again. I would look so out of place sitting in that row, and I know it because I’m still out of place sitting behind them.

“Nothing. Just don’t go bleaching your hair again,” Maya teases, gaze still on the women.

A couple years ago, after a bad breakup, I bleached my hair in my bathroom and fried off all my ends. I ended up needing a pixie cut. It was so bad that I looked like Alice Cullen for months.

“Blond didn’t really suit me anyway,” I say. I’m not watching the game anymore; I’m staring at the row of perfect women in front of me.

During the first intermission, I spot Anna from marketing walking up the stairs approaching us. I panic, worrying I’ve done something wrong, but quickly remember that I haven’t been painting here in weeks.

“Lucy! I saw your name on player tickets at will call tonight. Can’t say I recommend dating a player, but I do respect the hustle for free tickets in today’s economy.” Anna slides into the empty row where all the significant others were sitting.

“Oh, we’re not dating. I’m a good-luck charm.” I peer around, making sure my voice isn’t loud enough for others to hear.

“I’m familiar with the BDSM community,” Anna says, holding up a hand. “No need to explain.”

“Oh my god. It’s not a sex thing!”

Anna couldn’t care less. She continues on. “Listen, the execs were thrilled you completed the mural without becoming an anecdote on 1,000 Ways to Die . Everyone loves your art.” She leans over the seats in front of us.

“Really? I didn’t get much feedback from you, so I wasn’t completely sure. Actually, I don’t think you gave me the correct email. I’ve been trying to reach you. I would love to get a reference letter from you, if possible,” I say.

“I don’t really have time to shoot the shit, Lucy. Someone just mistakenly posted an incriminating video of themselves on Instagram Stories rather than sending it directly to their sneaky link and now I have to convince the public that ‘Daddy Long Leg’ is his well-known innocent nickname and not what he calls his dick. Do you want to paint more murals for us or not?”

“Yes,” I blurt before she has time to become so frustrated that she revokes the offer.

“Great! I’ll be in touch. Don’t call me.” Anna pops up out of the seat and turns on her heels, disappearing as quickly as she appeared.

Looks like I’m painting more murals at the rink. While I’m not thrilled to be putting so much of my focus on painting, I am relieved to have secured some income for the next little while. This incoming money should be enough to hold me over until I hear back from tattoo artists about my apprenticeship applications. And if nothing else, it’s more art to add to my portfolio.

I can’t wait to tell Jaylen after the game; he’ll be thrilled to see me around the rink more. He says an in-person good luck is always luckier.