Chapter 2
CALEB
I’m in the very last row of the stands in the Green Mountain Stags Hockey Arena.
I am in the arena.
I can’t freaking believe it.
I duck my head to hide my grin even though there’s nobody here to see me.
Because, as previously mentioned, I am in the very last row of the stands of the Green Mountain Stags Arena. During practice. When no one but a die-hard hockey fan would possibly venture in.
And I am. A die-hard hockey fan. In a way.
I’m watching players weave in and out of cones. I think this is an edgework drill. And earlier I’m pretty positive they were running breakout drills.
One player finishes the run with finesse, curving in a half circle, spraying ice as he goes. I practically want to cheer.
I know this is a little weird.
I know I don’t have a friend or a boyfriend or a brother on the team. I know I’m just some freshman weirdo, sitting alone in the nosebleeds watching practice. If anyone asked, I’m not even sure what I’d say. That I like hockey? That would be true, but...
Doesn’t matter. I couldn’t not come.
Coach blows his whistle, and the team skates around to center ice.
I lean forward, pushing my glasses back up, even though I know I’m not going to be able to recognize any of them from here.
I did thoroughly examine the roster online, though.
You know, just so I’d be ready for the season.
Too bad they seem to be using random number practice jerseys because otherwise I—
Movement catches my eye, and I freeze.
Holy—what? Why? There’s someone else here. A guy. A guy my age. I don’t know how long he’s been here—he must have been standing in the entrance where I couldn’t see him. But I can see him now, because he’s climbing up the stairs into the stands.
I don’t think he’s seen me yet. Maybe I could slip away? I scoop up my stuff—my bag, my phone, the game schedule flyer I picked up off the rack in the lobby—and look around frantically, but there is nowhere I could go that wouldn’t be in plain sight.
I sit like a deer (a Stag?) in headlights, hoping he somehow won’t notice the skinny dweeb in the back row.
Oh God, and he’s cute. Like, really cute. Dark wavy hair, thick brows, a kind of easy energy about him, like he doesn’t have a care in the—
He spots me.
I have never seen such gorgeous eyes.
Which is a super weird thing to think while being caught doing something embarrassing.
He smiles. And then he arches a single brow.
And suddenly, it is very, very warm in this ice rink, and I’m pretty sure it’s because my face has just turned purple. I quickly become extremely interested in that schedule flyer.
A minute or two passes, and I steady my breathing. When I chance to look up again, I see him settling into a seat a little further down and a couple sections over, a respectful distance away.
Below, Coach blows his whistle, and the skaters glide into new positions. There’s some chirping and some kind of fast-moving drill starts up, but I can’t pay attention to any of it. For the rest of practice, I am hyperaware that I am no longer alone in the stands.