73. Luke
Luke
From the tunnel, I watch as the mascot takes to the ice a few beats later than usual.
I’m ready to play.
Ready to take out my pent-up feelings on Chicago. Like if I can beat their team, I can conquer my issues with the woman who hails from there.
I jump up and down.
The announcer is doing his ramp-up, getting ready to call us onto the ice.
Blizz is moving a little slowly across the ice. None of the usual flash. And the Sleet flag that should be waving above his head is pointed straight out in front of him, like a joust.
It’s funny to watch, but the problem with that is?—
I watch it happen before I can even think it.
The flag sags lower, so it’s dragging on the ice, and, as predicted, Blizz’s skate catches the edge of the material.
I wince as he face-plants onto the ice, and the arena lets out a collective “ooh” in sympathy.
As Blizz struggles to get back onto his skates, I catch my eyes moving lower .
Blizz’s ass is really filling out that suit tonight.
I avert my eyes.
I did not just think that.