30. Lizzy
“You know what we should do?”Bethany appears in my doorway, braiding her long hair.
“No, I don’t know what we should do.”
She grins. “The guys have a game against Bishop.”
“What guys?”
I’m in the middle of filling out my agenda, one of my favorite downtime activities. Gel pens, stickers, sticky tabs, washi tape, and paper clips are scattered around me as I sit cross-legged on my bed.
I don’t actually look at the agenda once I write in it, but the creative process soothes me. I can clear my head and listen to a podcast while I work.
“Uh. What guys, she says,” Bethany grumbles as she steps inside my room, slinging her braid to her back now that she’s done braiding it. “The guys next door. Brodie, Charlie, Sully…whatever the other guys” names are. Them. They have a game.”
I tilt my head to the side. “When?”
“Uh, now.”
“Why are you saying it like I should know this information?”
“Because. How do you not know this?” She throws her hands up. “You are literally talking to one of the guys on the team. You—of all of us—should know this.”
“I’m not sportsy.” I don’t follow that stuff.
Any of it.
“Sportsy?” she titters. “Do you mean athletic? Not a fan? Don’t do it for me. Do it for the eye candy.”
“Eye candy?”
“It’ll be a buffet of hotness on ice.”
She’s been reading too many novels, but I can’t help but share her enthusiasm, already setting my things aside so I can climb off my bed and get ready.
I must have a clean State hoodie somewhere in my closet.
“Well, who am I to turn down such a delicious feast for the eyes?” I’ve said it a million times; Brodie is delicious.
With a shared giggle, we head out once we’re ready for the game.
“Count me in.”
“Sweet!” Bethany lets out a whoop of excitement, pumping her fist in the air. ”That-a-girl, that’s what I like to hear. Grab your coat, we”re heading out in ten.”
I scramble to my feet, excitement coursing through me like a jolt of electricity.
I’ve never gone to a game to watch a guy play. Shit, I haven’t known any actual athletes; the male athletes in my classes do not count because I do not speak to them. Never have a reason to.
So I have butterflies in my stomach as we make our way to the rink, walking to save ourselves time. If we took a rideshare, it would take forever since traffic gets so congested any time there is a game, even if it is a scrimmage.
Not that I have any clue when those are, but.
Whateves.
Bethany chatters excitedly about her favorite players and the strategies she hoped to see on the ice and I crane my head as we walk to stare at her. Is she being serious right now? How the hell does she know all this shit? I know nothing!
She knows the players” names? Not just the players that live next door?
I’m shook to my core…
I laugh as she prattles on, our pace at the level of Olympic speed walkers, glad she crashed my agenda decorating dorkfest.
The atmosphere surrounding the stadium is electric, the air buzzing with anticipation. We scan our activity pass at the turnstiles and walk through the crowd.
The stands are mostly filled, hockey fans decked out in team colors, their voices rising in a cacophony of cheers and chants. Go Jacks!
I shiver, the bleachers shaking beneath my feet.
Bethany practically drags me to the Student Section, our seats half the way up—not near the plexiglass partition but not so far up we can’t make out which players are which—her eyes shine with excitement as she points out the players warming up on the ice.
”My god, that guy is so hot.” She’s gaping with her mouth open as dudes skate by.
They’re huge.
Giants.
I have no idea which one is Brodie.
“Which guy?”
I’m not following her gaze at all; I’m busy trying to find our neighbors, one in particular.
“Oh shit.” She taps on my arm, pulling on the sleeve of my gray State crewneck. It turns out it’s not clean. I found it on my closet floor, where the demon squirrel probably danced all over it.
“There he is, Lizzy!” She tugs on me again. “Number twenty-four.”
I squint down at the ice. “Twenty-four, twenty-four, where are you, twenty-four…”
Eleven skates by.
A cluster of guys from the other team.
Number three.
Nine.
The goalie does a lap.
Then I find him.
Brodie skates gracefully across the ice, face hidden behind his protective helmet as he practices a few shots on goal.
My heart skips a beat at the sight of him, a rush of warmth flooding through me like a tidal wave that hadn’t been there moments earlier. Ugh, he gives me butterflies.
”He looks amazing,” I murmur, unable to tear my eyes away from him.
He circles the goal, working the puck back and forth, then takes another practice shot.
Bethany grins knowingly, nudging me with her elbow. ”I knew you”d think so. Now, let”s cheer our hearts out for our favorite player!”
“Oh, he’s your favorite player now?”
“Duh.” She pauses. “Until he fucks up and pisses you off, then we’ll have to burn his house to the ground.” Ha ha.
My roommate is only half kidding. Loyalty is no joke, and in our house, it’s ride or die. Friends willing to hate someone simply because you hate them is true friendship.
We stand at our seats, riveted, watching Brodie glide across the ice, pride swelling inside me. He moves with such grace and determination, his focus unwavering as he chases the puck with single-minded intensity.
It’s such a turn-on.
“My god. I want to have sex with him so bad right now,” I say out loud, not sure if Bethany can hear me over the noise.
She does. “I don’t blame you. They all look so hot in those uniforms.”
”Okay, prepare yourselves for some serious hockey action,” I announce. “Oh my god, I’m so nervous!”
“It’s just a scrimmage.”
I shake my head, hands clasped in front of me. “Doesn’t matter. Still nervous.”
“Well. We’re not here to witness the Stanley Cup finals, so you can dial it down a notch and stop pacing.”
I’m not pacing, but I would be if I had the space to roam, and she knows it. She’s seen me pacing before, during finals.
I roll my eyes, nudging her back. ”Hey, act like this is serious business. This is my first time at a game. Like, any game.” She knows I don’t do sports. I’ve never been to a football game at the stadium and don’t watch the baseball team, which are division one and best of the best.
Maybe now, after tonight, I will.
Bethany, ever the voice of reason, chimes in with a laugh. ”I”m mostly here for the snacks and the fights. I hope one breaks out…”
“You hope a fight breaks out? Bethany! Are they allowed to fight?”
She laughs. “I don’t think so. I think it’s against the rules but sometimes it’s inevitable. You’ve seen all his bruises. Where did you think they came from?”
“Shhh,” I shush her. “It’s time.”
Players line up at the center line on the ice, and the arena falls quiet, anticipation hanging in the air like a heavy blanket. The announcer”s deep voice booms over the speakers, echoing through the stands as he calls for everyone to rise for the national anthem.
With hands over hearts and heads bowed respectfully, the crowd around me stands as one, a sea of faces bathed in the soft glow of the arena lights. The strains of the anthem fill the air.
I can’t help it. I lift my head, peeking down at the ice to see if I can spot Brodie somewhere in the line, their sticks bent, touching the ice.
I sing. Bethany sings.
Not well, but we’re no Mariah Carey and Celine Dion.
A kid in front of us watches a cartoon on his tablet, not paying one bit of attention to the action in front of us—and probably won’t.
As the final strains of the anthem fade away, the energy in the arena reaches a fever pitch. The crowd’s anticipation is palpable. Tangible. A force that crackles in the air.
Players from both teams take their positions on the ice, their skates carving smooth arcs in the freshly Zamboni-ed surface. One player from each team skates to the center where the referees stand poised, the puck cradled in the palm of one hand.
The players line up on either side, eyes fixed on the puck with laser-like focus, adrenaline coursing through their veins. Like starving dogs ready to chase a bone…
Time stands still as we all wait for the puck to drop and the game to begin in earnest.
Then, with one swift motion, the referee drops the puck to the ice, releasing it from his grasp.
It hits the surface with a satisfying plunk, sending a ripple of excitement through the crowd. Players surge forward, their sticks flashing as they battle for possession of the puck.
The game was on.
With lightning speed, our team races across the ice, puck bouncing between them like a frenzied game of hot potato—a game I’m terrible at, by the way. It gives me too much anxiety…the kind of anxiety I already have watching these bodies collide, sticks clash—and the sound of skates scraping against the ice.
The sounds fill the air as the players fight for control.
And as the first period gets underway, the game”s intensity only continues to escalate, each team vying for dominance in a battle of skill, strategy, and sheer determination.
I had no idea watching a guy ice skate would be such a turn on. Hot.
My eyes track Brodie”s movements as he skates furiously over the ice as if he’s been doing it all his life, effortlessly. He’s fueled by adrenaline and a burning desire to win.
I know this.
This is the reason he’s so preoccupied and not easily distracted…
…By me.
I’m looking at this resolve in person.
I’m glad I’m here to see this for myself, this purpose. The concentration…reminds me of his face between my legs and his tongue inside me, determined to give me an orgasm.
“Whoa baby, is it getting hot in here?” I joke to Bethany, but she’s not paying attention to me. She’s jumping in her seat, screaming along with the rest of our section.
With each hard check and missed opportunity by the other team, the pressure mounts until it finally reaches a breaking point.
In a flash of fury, some guy wearing a number nine jersey pulls off his helmet, something I didn’t know they were allowed to do because OMG, how dangerous!
Jeez!
Tempers flare.
A scuffle erupts on the ice that doesn’t quite turn into a fight—but it’s close.
Two players I cannot identify exchange heated words before dropping their gloves and shouting with abandon.
“Yes!” Bethany shouts. “This is what I’m talking about!”
Dear lord.
She’s a bloodthirsty wench.
But she’s not the only one. The rest of the crowd erupts too, choruses of cheers and jeers and gasps as the referee’s break up the players; tension permeates the air.
They boo as referees rush in to break up the brawl, but their efforts are futile as the players continue to grapple, fists connecting with resounding thuds.
I watch in disbelief, heart pounding in my chest.
“This isn’t just a game anymore. This is a battle,” I shout to my roommate, who looks over at me and has the nerve to roll her eyes.
“Stop being so dramatic. This is part of the game.”
I pout, crossing my arms.
“Look at it this way. You can go next door tonight and play nurse.”
Oh.
Oohhhh, I love that idea.
Playing nurse.
Healing his wounds with touch and nakedness.
”There he is!” I exclaim, pointing excitedly as Brodie skates past, the bright blue letters on his jersey gleaming under the bright lights of the rink.
”Oh yeah!” Bethany claps. “There he is! There”s our star player.” She claps some more, putting her hands in her mouth to let out the loudest whistle I’ve ever heard. “Get ready to swoon, Lizzy!”
He looks so damn hot out there.
So.
Damn.
Hot.
He’s hotter with his shirt off. Those thick thighs. Those wide shoulders. The broad back…
My heart swells with pride, and my vagina fills with tingles as I watch Brodie weave through the other players with skill and finesse.
With each powerful push, he propels himself forward, his large body leaning into the turns with practiced finesse. His arms move in perfect synchronization with his legs, providing balance and stability as he navigates the twists and turns.
As he picks up speed, Brodie does things with his body no man his size should be able to do.
He truly is a sight to behold—and I get to play nurse with him later, bandage up his scrapes and bruises…
Rawr.
One period turns to the second. The second turns to the third.
We cheer. We laugh. We scream.
We even engage in a friendly bet on the outcome of the game with the guys seated behind us from the other school.
”Five bucks says we score the final goal!” Bethany boasts, winking at me conspiratorially.
They laugh. ”You”re on. But if they win, you have to come out with us later.”
We have giggle fits, laughing at the idea of going out with random guys to the bar, guys from the opposing team, no less.
As if.
As the game progresses—it’s back and forth. They score; we score. Time on the clock passes. Late in the third period, we manage to gain the upper hand, thanks in no small part to Brodie’s impressive skills on the ice.
With each slick pass and lightning-fast shot, my admiration for him grows tenfold.
My admiration and attraction.
”Looks like your man is on fire today, Lizzy,” Bethany teases, a glint in her eye as Brodie makes a spectacular save at the goal.
I grin, unable to contain my pride. ”I know, right? He’s so fucking adorable.”
I can’t even take it.
I cannot wait for this game to be over so I can rush home and wait for him to text me. I can’t wait to tell him I was here.
”They’re superhuman when they’re out there. I almost feel sorry for the other team.”
“Hey, don’t feel sorry for the other team. They were up a goal in the second period.”
Listen to me! I sound like I know what I’m talking about.
So impressed with myself.
Then. As the final buzzer goes off, the flashing lights and blaring horn cause an outbreak of cheers as our team emerges victorious. Once again, we erupt into applause, our voices blending with the roar of the crowd, and I know for a fact I’m not going to have a voice when I wake up tomorrow, but I do not care.