Chapter 17
Chapter Seventeen
Andi
“We can see everything from here.” I gestured for my mother to sit in an armchair near the plexiglass window. The team box was comfortable enough to accommodate even her particular needs.
Okay, that depended how particular she was on any given night. Tonight, she was quiet, clicking her tongue and looking displeased in general.
In other words, it was going to be a long night.
“So I see,” she said, looking unimpressed. She perched on the edge of the chair and looked down at the crowds and ice.
I suppressed a sigh and sat beside her. “Thank you for coming to the game with me tonight. I thought maybe we could…I don't know, have fun. ”
She cast me a sidelong look. “I was curious to see what you do here.”
Of course she was. She couldn't just enjoy a night out with me. Let loose for a while. Was she capable of having fun?
When I was a kid, she used to read to me a lot, but I didn't remember her sitting down with me to play. My father would, when he wasn't busy, but those instances were rare.
Mostly, I spent my time with Pia, or whichever nanny we had at the time. We went through two or three before my parents hired Bethany. She stayed with us until neither of us needed a nanny anymore.
I lost count of the amount of times I'd wished Bethany was my mother instead of Cynthia. Even though Bethany was paid to care, she seemed more genuine in her affection than my mother ever was.
We still kept in touch, texting and chatting from time to time. She worked for another family now, on the other side of the country. I missed her, but I swore if I had children, I'd never need someone like her. I wanted to be there for them myself.
“What did you think I do here?” I asked.
For all I knew, she assumed I'd learned to skate, and now spent my days whizzing around on the ice. Or maybe driving the Zamboni .
I won't lie, I'd considered asking to learn how to drive the big machine. It looked like fun. I saw no reason not to try, but for now I'd leave it to the experts. That was currently a man named Hank. Not much older than me, he was so grumpy, he made Cam look like a ray of sunshine. For some reason, all of the guys seemed to adore him.
I'd yet to hold an actual conversation with the man. Whenever I saw him, I said hello, but he usually responded with a grunt and a nod. I made a mental note to try harder.
Cynthia sniffed. “I have no idea. Apart from having inappropriate relationships with men who play games for a living.”
It was impossible not to bristle at that. “I'm not having an inappropriate relationship with anyone. And playing hockey for a living is much more difficult than you think. It's a lot of hard work. Much more difficult than attending charity galas and tea parties.”
I should know better than to bite, but I couldn't contain myself. If she'd come here to insult me, then she shouldn't have come.
“Are you suggesting raising money for charity isn't important?” she asked coolly.
“Of course it is,” I said. “Which is why the team does a lot of charity work and makes hefty donations. Giving back is one of the most important things we can do.” This might be the only time we were on the same page about anything.
She sniffed. “Yes it is.” Grudgingly, she added, “I suppose if them hitting a piece of rubber around ice with a stick leads to them doing good work, then it might be somewhat worth it.”
I didn't miss her emphasis on the word 'somewhat.' Was it too late to have security remove her from the box and banned from the arena? It would create more trouble than it was worth, or I might give it serious consideration.
The only conflict I wanted to see tonight was the Sea Dragons taking on the opposition team, the Tangleville Tornadoes.
The last time the two teams played each other, the Tornadoes won. There was no reason to think they couldn't be beaten tonight. That was what Coach Lambton told me anyway. Since he knew what he was talking about, I took his word for it. Someday, I'd be able to make predictions based on my own knowledge, not that of someone else. For now, I'd rely on his expertise.
“Look, here comes the team.” I pointed through the window, as if she couldn't see the Sea Dragons step out onto the ice to warm up.
My gaze quickly found Cam, number twelve. He was having a conversation with Blake Eastwood, number three. Whatever he was saying, Blake seemed to find it hilarious. He tipped his head back and laughed before skating away in his goalie padding that looked awkward to me. He made wearing it look effortless.
Cam shook his head and skated after him.
His movement on the ice was so smooth, like he was born for it. My eyes followed him everywhere he went. I was drawn to him like a magnet. A moth to flame, might be a better analogy. If I wasn't careful, I was going to get burnt.
“He's the one who's compromised your reputation,” Cynthia stated. She must have noticed my gaze glued to him. Or maybe she'd looked him up. She never could resist the chance to stick her nose in my business.
She'd say she cared, that was why she did it, but I was thirty years old. I didn't need my mother fussing over me like that anymore. Caring, yes, but not interfering. If that was her intention here, she could think again. The situation between me and Cam was complicated enough .
Friends, but seeing him down there, my clit throbbed. Being in the same arena as him made my pulse ratchet up. Even with rows and rows of seats, and plexiglass between us.
“I think it's the other way round,” I said without glancing at her.
I'd seen the shift in public sentiment, but it didn't do much to ease my discomfort. The winds changed and changed back too often. Tomorrow, they could hate me for being here to watch him…I mean, watch my team. Where else would I be when they were playing?
No doubt, I'd get hate if I was absent. When it came down to it, all I could do was keep on keeping on and try not to screw up too publicly.
“All the more reason to return to working with your father,” Cynthia said. “If the situation isn't tenable for you, why are you still here?”
“It's perfectly tenable,” I said without flinching. “Remember the time you wore the same outfit to two different tea parties, on the same day? The scandal was absolutely shocking. And yet, you still attended a charity ball that night.”
“It's hardly the same thing as kissing some hockey player on an amusement ride,” she said.
“It's definitely worse,” I said sarcastically.
Honestly, who in the world had time to give a shit what someone else wore, much less care if they wore it twice? On the same day, no less. As if she was supposed to do— What? Go all the way home and get changed into some other ridiculously expensive outfit, just so people wouldn't take photos and gossip?
That was a humongous waste of time and money. I had to commend her for donating her outfits after she wore them, so they weren't completely wasted, but I didn't care if anyone saw me wear the same jeans I was wearing right now, tomorrow, or next week. If that was the worst they had to say about me, let them.
“I know you don't take those things seriously—" she started.
“No, I don't, and neither should you.” I held up a hand to her. “But you know what, you do you. I know you do good work raising money, and if different outfits help, then I say go for it.”
“Thank you for your permission,” she said dryly.
I gave her a watery smile. “You're welcome. I'm getting something to eat. Would you like anything? I made sure there was salad for you.”
“Perhaps later,” she said absently.
I nodded and walked the handful of steps over to the food table that ran along the wall to the side of the room. It was covered with dozens of plates of food. More than enough for the families and management who occupied the box with us. Wives, girlfriends, parents and children of the players and coaches. All chatting, laughing and waiting for the game to start.
I eyed the salads, but decided to go for a hotdog instead. With ketchup and mustard, just how I liked them. I placed my hotdog on a small plate and carried it over to my seat.
Predictably, Cynthia cast her gaze at my choice of food. “You're not going to eat that are you?”
“Of course I am,” I replied. “What else would I do with it?”
“Do you know what those things are made out of?” She looked disgusted. “And white bread? Honestly, Andrea.” Her lips were twisted to the side like she couldn't comprehend that anyone would perceive this as food, worthy of being put into their body. As if the fact they were delicious didn't matter.
For love of puck, it wasn't like I ate this stuff for every meal, and twice on Sundays.
“They're made of tastiness.” I smiled and picked up my hotdog before tilting my head to wrap my lips around the Frank that stuck out of the end of the roll .
At the same moment, I caught sight of myself on the big screen at the back of the arena and froze. Eyes wide, mouth around the Frank like I was doing something inappropriate to it.
The arena erupted into laughter. As if somehow I was caught giving a blowjob to a hotdog.
Hell, I was just eating. If I was a man, they wouldn't have had the camera on me like this. Of course not, sexualizing women eating was much more entertaining to narrow-minded people.
My face pink, I bit down on the Frank and lowered the rest of the hotdog away from my face. I chewed a few times and tried to swallow, but the chunk of Frank stuck in my throat, cutting off my airway.
My face turned red as I struggled to breathe. I shook my head, trying to suppress the fast building wave of panic. I was going to die here, choking on a hotdog. Shit, I didn't want to go like this.
My vision began to haze.
Beside me, my mother finally realized what was going on. She shot up in her seat and shouted, “She's choking! She's choking on a piece of hotdog!”
I didn't know who came up behind me, but a firm hand pushed me forward and slapped me hard between the shoulder blades. Once, twice .
The offending piece of Frank popped out of my mouth, flew right into the plexiglass and bounced before falling onto the floor at my feet.
I sucked in a huge gasp of precious oxygen. And another for good measure. I coughed a couple of times and took a sip of water when someone offered me a cup.
“I'm okay, I'm okay,” I said between coughs. “I'm fine.”
Except I was still on the screen. The entire arena had seen a Frank fuck my mouth before almost choking me to death.
The entire arena, including Cam, who was standing in the middle of the ice, staring at the screen along with everyone else.
Shit.
Shit.
“Shit.”
I handed back the empty water cup, stood and grabbed up the rest of my hotdog before fleeing from the box.