Total pages in book: 94
Estimated words: 95340 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 477(@200wpm)___ 381(@250wpm)___ 318(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 95340 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 477(@200wpm)___ 381(@250wpm)___ 318(@300wpm)
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.