Chapter 20
ALEX
Two hours later, I get a text from Nora that says, Wow, an orgasm and a latte? This fake dating thing is awesome.
Four hours later, I get a text from my sister that says, Plus eighty-eight ticket sales!
Six hours later, I get another text from Astrid that says, Plus one hundred and four ticket sales! And there is a bag of avocados here for you??
That’s followed by a text from Nora that is just a series of emoji faces with party hats on their heads, blowing party horns.
I just smile. And shake my head.
They’re sending me avocados.
Seven hours later, Astrid sends, Holy crap! Three hundred new season tickets sold! You two are amazing!
Seven hours and fifteen minutes later, a major sports podcaster texts, Hey man! It’s been a while! Can we set something up? I’d love to talk about what you’re doing in Louisiana.
Seven hours and seventeen minutes later, Sutton texts, Hey, that big podcast guy Greg Whatever-His-Name-Is said he’s going to text you when I reached out about the Revelers!
Seven and a half hours later Declan O’Grady texts, Sounds like things are going well. Tell your sister to pick up my calls and stop only texting like we’re in high school.
I only answer Greg Simon, the podcaster.
I don’t think the others need an answer.
Except maybe Declan. But yikes, I’m not getting in the middle of those two.
Anything I would text Nora would end up dirty and distracting, and I’m trying not to show up at her office, drag her into the storeroom that is considerably less crowded than her office, and replay last night.
And ten hours and forty-two minutes later, I’m standing just off the ice, frustrated, confused, amazed, and…frustrated listening to Nora address the crowd who showed up for the first scrimmage between the Revelers and the Rascals.
My head has been spinning, and my chest has been tight with this exasperation for an hour.
Ever since I skated onto the ice and realized that we were going to be scrimmaging in front of nearly five hundred people who were dressed up, with signs, jerseys, and hats—Astrid and Nora have already managed to get jerseys and other merch?
—as if this is a game, not a practice. There are even concessions, though they are less elaborate than they will be once the season officially kicks off.
Still, this has the feel of an actual game, and I have been off kilter from minute one.
Minute one of many minutes.
The first period took forty-two fucking minutes.
Because there is a lot more than just hockey happening.
And sure, I knew that. Bonkers hockey has been a part of this deal all along. But this is bonkers hockey in real time with an audience, refs, an opposing team, the whole thing.
And it is so much worse than I’d expected.
Sutton and Nora gave us a quick run-down before we came out on the ice.
For the first five minutes of play, it seemed like regular, normal hockey.
Then there was a penalty called.
The two players were given a choice of how they wanted to “serve” their penalty.
They could either sit together, wearing a huge T-shirt that went over both of their heads and allowed each of them to stick one arm out, for two minutes in the penalty box, or they could lip sync the first verse and chorus of “You’ve Got A Friend In Me”, from, of course, Monsters, Inc.
The guys turned to the crowd and, using applause, let the fans vote. The crowd chose the lip sync.
And they pulled it off perfectly. Everyone loved it.
My headache started around the time three guys from each team joined them on the ice, swaying with their arms around each other, behind the lip-syncers.
Later in the period, the ref made a call that the crowd hated. Nora agreed to show the replay and let the fans decide. When it was determined the call was wrong, the ref, Tanner, had to wear a dunce cap for the next two minutes of play.
And then we got to the last minute of that first period.
There was a buzzer, and Nora and Sutton tossed twenty pucks onto the ice at once.
Every puck in the net still counted as a point, and we were torn between defending our net and trying to put as many of the extra pucks into the Rascals' net.
In other words, it was chaos.
Now we’re preparing for the second period, and Nora is center ice, with that fucking microphone, explaining what will be added in this new period of the game.
And she looks fucking adorable in a pair of bright purple overalls and purple skates.
And even as she literally makes my head pound by heaping more craziness onto this ‘game’, I still want to peel those overalls off of her and lick her from head to toe.
Maybe after painting her body with cherry cold foam.
“So now,” Nora says, her grin bright, the spotlight shining on her like she’s a rockstar, “We’ve got even more fun.”
I rub a hand over my forehead.
“But we want you to be part of it,” she says to the crowd. “We want to know what you think players should do for penalties, we’re going to let the teams celebrate after they score four points—oh, in this second period, goals are worth two points!” she adds.
The crowd cheers.
I sigh.
“And we want you to choose each team’s celebration song. And finally, you get to pick what happens in the last minute of play! Turn your attention to the big screen for the options!”
She points to the big screen that hangs over center ice.
Then she has everyone pull out their phones and reveals the new app they’ve created, where people can vote for all of this shit right from their seats. No applause necessary.
Oh, and they can definitely buy tickets, gift tickets, and put together packages that include tickets, merch, concession vouchers, and local hotel stays.
They can also share photos and videos they take during the games, message the team, check out behind-the-scenes content, and order merchandise for both the Revelers and the Rascals from the app.
Nora and Astrid have clearly been working on all of this for a long time. They’ve thought of everything. It’s impressive. If you want intense fan engagement and in-the-minute audience participation during the games.
But who the hell wants that?
The “there’s no such thing as too much” owner of the team and the “everything has to be a good time” PR director—which is, let’s face it, what Nora is for the team—that’s who.
And judging by the cheering and excitement buzzing in the air, the few hundred people in here tonight.
A few minutes later, we skate out onto the ice, prepared for which song we’ll be performing after we score two goals.
We also know that if we get a penalty we’ll have to answer three trivia questions at center ice—but not if the trivia is about hockey, or otters, or something completely unrelated to anything going on here (and that would be my bet)—and that the last minute of play will involve us trying to hit colored wiffle balls into the nets with our hockey sticks.
Of course, there will be forty wiffle balls bouncing around on the ice, and the Revelers can only score with the purple ones while the Rascals’ balls are green.
Because why not?
My headache is worse, I’m wound tight and completely distracted, even during the first six minutes of play that are completely normal.
Then Beckett scores our second goal, and I actually groan in disappointment.
Because now I have to dance to “I Gotta Feelin’”.
Of course, after they play a few seconds of “Simply the Best”, by Tina Turner—the part about being simply the best, better than all the rest—Beckett’s choice for what’s to be played every time he scores.
It’s not even the most fitting one.
Zeke Landry’s “Ice, Ice Baby” is maybe obvious, but it made me, and everyone else, laugh.
But Ingrid’s might be the best. “Immortals” by Fall Out Boy really fits our left winger.
I told Sutton to pick one for me. I heard it for the first time tonight in the first period when I scored. “Don’t Stop Me Now” by Queen. I gave her my stamp of approval, and she said that growing up with Beckett means she knows all about how to pump up cocky men.
But I thank God, literally, that Beckett loves being out front and actually has a good singing voice. Thank you, lord, for this funny, outgoing goofball. Beckett is already happily taking the mic from Nora and skates to mid-ice.
As we start, looking like lumbering jackasses going through dance steps on skates, I look at Nora. She’s front row, right by the glass, of course, across the ice from the benches. Ruth is beside her, phone up, recording every second, I’m sure.
But I can’t look away from Nora.
She has that same look on her face she did at movie night.
A mix of delight and affection. The look that I wanted to keep there.
The look that made something shift in my chest that had nothing to do with how attracted I am to her physically.
Or maybe it made my physical attraction to her even stronger.
I just know that seeing her watching this now, looking like that, I suddenly don’t hate this as much.
And then I don’t pull my gaze from her fast enough to execute the twirl—I’m supposed to fucking twirl—and my skates tangle, I lurch into Ingrid, who weighs half what I do, and send her sprawling to the ice.
Lawson trips over her skate and starts to fall, grabs our goalie, Wes’s, arm, and, surprised, and with only one skate on the ground because he’s doing some kick-thing, Wes goes down with Lawson instead of holding him up.
It all happens in the matter of a second.
I just stand there, stupidly staring.
The music stops.
The place is totally quiet.
I look at Nora. She’s staring at me with her mouth open.
So I say the first thing to come to mind.
“Oops.”
There’s another beat of silence.
Then Nora bursts out laughing.
So does the rest of the crowd.
And just like that, it’s all fine. The team helps Ingrid, Law, and Wes up. Law rolls his eyes at me. Wes shakes his head but grins. Ingrid rubs her ass, then grins and skates off.