Chapter 14
LILA
I never thought I’d attend a professional sporting event.
I also never thought that if I somehow ended up at a packed arena watching men hit a rubber disc around a sheet of ice, that I’d pop that particular cherry on my damn wedding day.
But somehow, this is what my life has come to, because here I am: sandwiched between Ally and Hazel behind a sheet of plexiglass, a beer clutched in my engagement-ring accessorized hand and a FISHER jersey on my back, mere hours before Fisher becomes my last name.
Well, could become my last name…today, I’m a lot of things I never thought I’d be, but I sure as hell am not becoming Lila Fisher after I say “I do” later.
The thought of saying those words out loud makes my stomach feel queasy.
I take a sip of my beer, hoping the alcohol will settle my nerves as I search the sea of turquoise and purple jerseys on the ice until I find number 60.
Fisher’s already huge to begin with, but on skates, he’s a mountain of a man—broad shoulders, gloves covering his big hands, and muscular glutes that strain against his hockey pants.
I watch as he shoulders a guy on the other team out of his way, snagging the puck deftly with his stick.
He dodges around another opponent and slaps the puck further up the ice to another giant of a man, who neatly knocks it into the back of the net.
Their second goal of the game, putting the Lions in a comfortable lead.
“Yesssss,” Hazel screams as the whole stadium jumps to their feet, yelling and applauding.
I stand, too. The buzz of energy in the crowd is contagious. Out on the ice, Fisher throws his gloved hands up in celebration before hugging his teammate. Then, he looks our way, and when his eyes meet mine, he winks.
I smile. My husband to be, ladies and gentlemen.
“Isn’t this fun?” Ally squeals, clutching my arm as she jumps up and down. “That was such a smooth play.”
“I’m more impressed by how you can jump around like that in those heels,” I tease as I look down at Ally’s sparkly gold platform sandals.
The hockey game is actually way more entertaining than I imagined it would be.
The crowd is rowdy, the players are fast and aggressive, and the girls have been explaining the rules to me as the game goes on.
But best of all, it’s taking my mind off how nervous I am. My stomach was in so many knots last night, I didn’t sleep a wink.
“I think Ally’s favorite thing about being a hockey WAG is all the glittery-themed outfits in team colors she gets to wear to games, ” Hazel says.
Ally wrinkles her nose before conceding a nod. “It’s a close call between that and how hot it makes me to see Noah out there being all sexy.”
“Mmm, like when Penn got in a tussle with that Houston player a couple of weeks back,” Hazel says, her pale cheeks flushing.
“Usually I don’t condone violence, but the way he laid that guy out was just…
” She trails off, a dreamy look in her eyes as she sinks her teeth into her bottom lip. I bite back a laugh.
“Hockey really does it for you two, huh?”
“It does it for every red-blooded straight female on the planet.” Ally smirks at me.
On the Jumbotron overhead, the image of the goal-scorer, someone named Derek Carver, appears, and I look up at the image of his smiling face.
He’s not as handsome as my fiancé—I’m not sure anyone is—but he’s an objectively good-looking dude.
“I guess the players are all pretty attractive,” I say with a shrug.
Ally grins. “We don’t call it the boy aquarium for nothing.”
I sputter with laughter as my mind conjures up a perfect image of a surrealist painting with this description: a plexiglass fish tank in shades of icy blue, a million pairs of wide eyes peering through it at the players inside, their jerseys made from shimmering rainbow-hued scales.
“Whether we like it or not, it’s a truth universally acknowledged that hockey’s hot—both the players and the game itself,” Hazel adds.
As she says this, I let my gaze zero in on Fisher again.
His green eyes are focused as he moves up the ice at breakneck speed, incredibly agile for a man of his size.
Sweat glistens on his face, flushed beneath its golden tan.
A part of my brain short-circuits and I get a sudden, primal urge to lick the skin on his neck.
I bet his sweaty skin would taste hot and salty beneath my tongue.
“You’re blushing,” Ally says, snapping me from my sexy little daydream. I blink, then take a hurried sip of my beer—my mouth has gone dry.
Hazel smiles knowingly and adds, “Because you’re as hopeless for hockey’s hotness as the rest of us.”
“Nuh-uh.”
“Okay,” Ally says, raising her brows in challenge. “Look me in the eye and tell me you weren’t just having sexy thoughts about Fisher after watching him out there in action.”
I shake my head as I take another sip of my beer.
“See. You can’t,” she taunts.
“Fine, you win.” I laugh. “I’m not sure what witchcraft this is, but I can sort of understand the appeal of hockey…I guess.”
Ally nods in smug satisfaction. “As I thought.”
“I’ve never dated an athlete before. In the past, I always dated more creative types.”
“Other artists?” Hazel asks.
“The last guy I was seeing was a poetry major at USF.” I snicker. “I ended it after he wrote me a poem with the line Lila Chen, you’re a goddess among men.”
“Noooo,” Hazel says with a cackle. “Poetry’s sexy, but that is not poetry, that’s an abomination.”
“I’d get the ick so fast.” Ally gags. “A hockey player is a huge step up from that.” She grins and pats my shoulder. “And now look at you, your debut visit to the boy aquarium…and you’re here to see our Fishy.”
“Now that’s poetic,” Hazel quips, and we all crack up laughing.
I take another sip of my beer. And another. It’s flat at this point, but it’s liquid courage so I keep drinking it. The more I drink and giggle with the girls, the more loose and relaxed I am about today being my wedding day.
Fisher looks over at us as he skates off the ice for the end of his shift, as the girls told me it’s called. When he sees us laughing together, he smiles. And when his eyes find mine, his smile gets a little wider.
“You good?” he mouths.
I nod.
We’ve already signed a contract that his inheritance will be used to save the firehouse, and a prenuptial agreement protecting the rest of his assets.
All we need to do is complete the ceremony…just two words, I do. Three letters, the deed is done, and the firehouse is safe.
I can do this.
I can’t do this.
An hour later, I’m squished into a stall in a public restroom at the courthouse, trying not to panic as I shimmy Fisher’s hockey jersey over my head.
Goosebumps prickle on my skin, and I can’t tell if they’re from the building’s sub-arctic air conditioning, or the fact that this whole thing feels surreal—like I’m living out a scene from a movie, but I can’t tell if it’s a rom com or a horror yet.
The ruffly monstrosity that is my wedding dress is thrown over the stall door, and I lift it down and step into it slowly, trying to avoid it dragging in the pink wad of gum on the tile floor as I go.
Pulling the poofy sleeves up over my shoulders, I’m seriously considering climbing up on the toilet, wrenching open the tiny window, and attempting to wiggle myself through it—runaway bride style.
But when Ally and Hazel’s cackles of laughter prickle my ears, I stop in my tracks.
“Lila? Are you dressed yet? You have to come see this.” Hazel’s in stitches.
Curious, I unlock the door and step out, my panic dissolving into giggles.
Ally and Hazel are wearing matching eighties style prom dresses with frothy lace skirts and large satin bows on the sleeves.
Ally’s is yellow, and Hazel’s is blue, matching with their groomsmen boyfriends’ leisure suits.
They’ve both combed their hair into side ponytails with big orange silk flowers pinned on top, so their outfits coordinate with Fisher’s suit too. It’s incredible.
“We special ordered them with rush shipping from an online vintage boutique,” Ally explains as I step in between them in front of the mirror. Hazel hands me a bouquet of orange and yellow silk flowers that match the ones in their hair.
“This is so hideous, it’s actually kind of amazing,” I say to our reflections.
“That’s the beauty of it.” Hazel claps her hands.
“It’s the ugliest wedding ever, yet it’s coordinated to look intentional.
And just vintage enough that nobody will be able to tell if you and Fisher are blind, or so ironic that you’re actually cooler than everyone else.
Therefore, his family won’t be able to write it off as a joke. ”
“Genius.”
I let out a shaky breath. Hazel’s right. This whole thing is so absurd, we might actually pull off convincing everyone it’s real while simultaneously making Fisher’s family want to die of embarrassment.
“You girls decent?” Penn’s deep voice calls through the bathroom door, accompanied by a knock.
Ally laughs. “Don’t know about decent, but we’re dressed.”
Penn pokes his head around the door. He’s wearing his hideous suit, and his dark hair has so much gel in it, it looks like it’s soaking wet. His eyes move over the three of us and he grins. “Well, you all look terribly adorable…or adorably terrible?”
“Thank you.” Hazel does a curtsy.
“Fishy’s going to love it.” He smiles at his girlfriend fondly, then glances at me, his blue eyes searching for…something.
“Are you ready, Lila?” His tone is careful, like he’d help me escape out the bathroom window if I said the word.
I swallow and look at myself in the mirror one last time. “There’s no going back now.” I sound much braver than I feel.
Penn looks at me for another moment, then nods. “Okay. See you all out there.”
As the bathroom door closes, I look at Hazel, my panic rising again. “Is he worried about me? And if so, should I be worried?”