Two
Alex
“You’ve got us rink-side seats?” I shriek when I reach the bottom of the stairs, spinning on my heels to face Nate, my best friend and clearly a very sneaky fucker.
His face lights up with a sheepish grin, his head bobbing in an excitable nod. “Hell yeah, I did! I haven’t seen you in, like, a month, and I wanted to spoil you.”
I press my hand against the boards and gaze over the pristine white ice. It looks like a mirror with the colored lights flashing from above.
There’s something so majestic about ice hockey arenas.
The vibrating energy of a packed stadium.
The anticipation of puck drop. The accolade banners spanning decades of accomplishments; retired numbers of legendary players, Conference Champions, Division Champions, Stanley Cup Champions.
These walls have seen so much history that it feels surreal to be standing here.
Ice hockey has been a love of mine since I was a child, when I used to sit with my grandpa to watch the Chicago Thunder on TV.
The speed, the determination, the passion, the aggression.
It sucks you into its orbit and keeps you hooked.
It’s an incredible sport, and I haven’t been able to indulge in it in a while due to a few issues.
The biggest one of them being money.
“These must have cost you a fortune,” I say quietly.
Guilt churns in my stomach; there’s no way I can repay him for even half of my ticket. I nearly cried when I spent twenty bucks on a hot dog and beer ten minutes ago, and these seats often sell for hundreds of dollars.
Money isn’t a luxury I have at the moment, and I always feel bad whenever people spend their hard-earned cash on me, even though I know they wouldn’t do it if they didn’t want to.
Nate comes up beside me, wrapping his arm around my shoulders, and gives me a small squeeze.
“You deserve it after everything you’ve been dealing with over the last couple of years.
Losing your grandparents, graduating college while grieving.
Now you’re working yourself into the ground trying to make ends meet. ”
He turns me to face him, his smile tinged with a hint of sadness.
“I fucking love you, Alex, and it’s been killing me to see you lose that sparkle in your eyes.
Plus, I can tell it’s currently eating at you that you want to pay me back but don’t know how, but look at it this way…
” He brings me into a hug, kissing the side of my head.
“This is your combined Christmas and birthday gift. Let me treat you, please; you deserve it.”
Wrapping my arms around his waist, I swallow the lump in my throat at his words, blinking away the tears in my eyes.
Nate has been my rock throughout these last two years.
My grandparents raised my brother and me, they were the pillars of strength in our lives after we lost our parents at a young age. Losing them both within a week of each other was heartbreaking in ways I could never explain.
“Thank you. I love you too,” I croak in his ear, giving him a squeeze, then shaking off my emotions.
We walk down the aisle to our seats, and once again I’m nearly knocked off my feet with shock. “We’re next to the penalty box, too?”
Nate beams, rocking back on his heels as he rubs his hands together like a happy otter. “Oh yeah, I have a feeling tonight’s going to be pretty exciting on the penalty front, so we have front-row seats to the good stuff, literally.” He wiggles his brows.
I laugh, wiping away tears from my eyes with my thumb. I’m so overwhelmed with emotion right now. I can’t believe this is happening.
The handful of times I’ve been to the Thunder arena was with my grandpa when I was in high school. We were so high up we could almost touch the rafters, so being down here, so close to the action that we’ll be able to see the facial expressions of every player as they fight for the puck…
It feels out of this world.
With the clock on the jumbotron counting down to warm up, we both unwrap our insanely expensive hot dogs and settle into our seats.
“I think we should hit up Gino’s after the game,” Nate suggests, screwing his foil into a ball and balancing it on the ledge of the boards in front of us.
“Do you think they’ll be there?” I point to the empty ice, referring to the players.
“If they win, yeah.” He props his feet up on the ledge. “They usually go there after a win; people don’t always see them after a loss, but it has happened.”
I chew on the inside of my lip.
The first thought running through my head is can I afford this? , and the simple answer is no, but I’ve been lacking on the social life front, especially since I graduated college and started working full time.
Surely one night with my best friend won’t do too much harm if I’m sensible.
“Okay, we’ll go, but I have to be up at four for work, so I don’t want to be out too late.”
Plus, my brother Jacob won’t let me hear the end of it if I’m late, seeing as we both get to the shop at five to start baking the day's selection of desserts.
As the arena begins to fill ahead of warm-up, people of all ages stand by the boards with homemade signs.
Nate and I take endless photos and selfies with the ice behind us and beside the penalty box.
Some people might think it’s pathetic to be so elated over some seats, but when you’ve been a fan for as long as I have, it's exhilarating to be this close.
The chances of reliving this experience are slim, so I’m making the most of every second.
And let’s face it, there’s something undeniably sexy about hockey players.
These big men fighting over a tiny, rubberized disc is what dirty fantasies are made of. And to be this close? I'm in heaven.
My crushes on hockey players began in college when Nate took me to a game during our freshman year, and since then, they’ve been my kryptonite.
And the reason why my heart constantly gets broken.
I have vowed not to give in to temptation anymore because hockey players definitely don’t equal Prince Charming.
Goose bumps erupt across my skin as the lights go up and the iconic notes of their warm-up intro song, Thunderstruck, blast from the sound system.
“Welcome to the ice, your Chicago Thunderrrr!” The announcer's voice booms throughout the arena.
My heart rate goes to a thousand as the players step out onto the ice one by one, knocking over the neatly stacked pucks as they go. I slap my hands against the boards as player after player skates by, my cheeks beginning to ache from the uncontainable grin on my face.
The first one to drop down onto the ice in front of us is Zach Reid. The defenseman looks even bigger in person, and a quick Google search tells me he’s six foot six without skates and one of the heaviest players in the league.
My tongue suddenly feels too big in my mouth. My pulse increasing at a dangerous pace as I watch the players in various positions, absolutely mesmerized by how flexible they are. Even with all the goalie padding on, Elliot Olsen is nearly doing splits.
I fumble with my phone, making sure to capture this on video so I have something to look back on.
Next to skate toward us is the team captain and left winger, Ethan Parkes. His signature broody scowl does nothing to hinder how handsome he is. He’s all dark hair and darker eyes. He leans back against the boards between Nate and me, and we both glance at each other with large grins on our faces.
“So fucking hot!” He mouths, pressing his hand against the bottom of the glass, pretending to squeeze his ass, and rolls his eyes to the back of his head with a moan.
I laugh hard. “You’re ridiculous.”
Nate winks, then presses a kiss to the boards behind Ethan’s head.
We watch the warm-up in contented silence.
Our gazes jump from watching them stretch to skating so seamlessly and effortlessly on the ice.
Some players are standing off to the side, working on solo puck handling, while others are running different passing drills and shooting pucks at the goalie in the net.
After I take a sip from my beer, hoping it can cool my blazing insides, I set it on the small ledge as Blaine Olsen skates toward us, wearing what could only be described as a mischievous smirk.
I realize my mistake seconds too late, when I realize exactly what that smirk means.
The noise from the arena becomes distant, and the panic bursting in my chest keeps me rooted in place.
Time seems to slow down as Blaine turns on his skates, jumping up and slamming his shoulder into the plexi.
It bows under his weight, causing my beer to fall and spill across the front of my jeans.
Nate erupts into laughter beside me, tears beginning to stream down his face.
Glancing down at my now-beer-soaked jeans, I can’t help but laugh. “Oh shit.”
I’d heard about people being soaked when their own drink gets knocked over by a player, but I never would have imagined it happening to me.
Regardless of the fact I’ve never been so embarrassed as I am right now, I kinda like it.
But that may be more to do with the guy than anything else.
Looking back up at Blaine, the stare in his light gray eyes is intense, his wicked grin doing nothing but adding kerosene to the fire that is currently burning inside me. He flicks a puck up over the boards, but I'm so enthralled that it drops to the ground at my feet.
Our eyes remain locked in a heated stare. His gaze is a heady mix of determination and desire, and with all his focus on me, it’s like the thousands of people in the arena have disappeared and it’s just the two of us.
I’m pretty sure my poor little heart stops beating.
If I die right now, surrounded by hot hockey men, I’ll die a very, very happy guy.
He winks, a playful grin on his full lips, and I can’t help but wonder what he’d look like wearing only that grin, but I quickly shake those thoughts away as my face heats.