I’m a nervous wreck. This is the first time I’ve been off for a game since the season started. It feels so strange not to be down in the tunnels with the guys, running around like a crazy lady shouting for more tape and bandages.
For a hip and knee specialist, I sure have spent a lot of time performing basic first aid. You’d think some of these guys were made of glass for how quickly they bruise and bleed. And the old stereotype about hockey players and their missing teeth? Yeah, not just a stereotype. Between practice and games, I’ve had to personally deal with no less than four chipped teeth and three knocked straight out.
“Hey, honey,” Poppy calls with a wave. She’s pushing through the crowd carrying a big tub of popcorn and a soda. “Oh, girl, you look amazing! Kinnunen is just gonna die that you’re wearing his jersey tonight.”
I can’t help but smile. It’s meant to be a little surprise for him for his first night back on the ice. Jake is probably going to pout for a month when he finds out, but it’s not every day you have Olympic scouts come to watch you play. Ilmari has worked hard for this. He’s earned himself a piece of eye candy tonight.
“This is so exciting,” Poppy says. “You know, this is my first game I’ve gotten to watch as a spectator? I’ve been running myself ragged this season.”
“Same,” I reply, snagging a few pieces of popcorn off the top of her bucket.
“I felt like I wanted the whole game day experience,” she explains. “So, after popcorn and soda, we’ll switch to hotdogs and beer!”
I laugh. “Sounds good.”
“You ready? Leo in the ticket office snagged us some great seats right on the ice.”
“Yeah, hold on,” I reply. “We’re just waiting for one more.” I pop up on my toes, glancing all around. He’s late, of course. I bet anything he got dragged below to deal with a crisis. A familiar shout from behind me has me turning. When I see him, I can’t help but smile wider.
Caleb comes weaving through the crowd balancing a tray of nachos and a big soda. He looks like any other Rays fan—backwards cap, Rays jersey, jeans, flip-flops. He catches sight of me and stills, his gaze sweeping down from my curled hair to my Kinnunen jersey to my tight jeans and knee-high boots. His mouth opens slightly in shock.
I can’t help but do the same, seeing as there are big 42’s emblazoned on his shoulders. If he thinks I won’t tease him for wearing Jake’s jersey, he’s got another thing coming.
Recovering his wits, he hurries over to us.
“Hey, Caleb,” Poppy calls in greeting. “Ooo, nachos! Why didn’t I think of that?”
Call me a food snob, but my twin is a Michelin-rated chef. I’m not eating congealed cheese on salted cardboard. I could, however, be persuaded to buy some German roasted almonds. That delicious, roasted cinnamon smell wafts down the halls, drawing me in like a siren’s call.
“Rach, do you wanna split some nachos when we get our hotdogs?” Poppy asks.
I laugh again. “Girl, you’re like ninety pounds soaking wet, where are you gonna put all this away?”
“Oh, don’t you worry about me,” she replies. “We St. James’ are professional eaters. Caleb here will tag out before I’ve even gotten started. Now come on, I don’t wanna miss any of the pregame show! Do you have any idea how much time and energy I put into our home game production?” Like the loose cannon she is, Poppy goes racing off, leaving us in the dust.
“Jake’s gonna flip when he sees you in that,” Caleb mutters, stepping in beside me.
“He’ll flip right back when he sees you in that,” I tease, my eyes tracing him up and down.
He drops a hand from his tray of nachos, his fingers brushing against my palm as we weave through the busy crowd. In the weeks I’ve been living with him, I’ve learned to treat him like a cat. He’s picky about where he sits, what he eats. If he doesn’t want affection or closeness, he lets you know, which is most of the time. He’s not a snuggler unless he’s asleep, and he’s definitely not into PDA. In that sense, he and Jake are night and day.
Even Ilmari is more physically affectionate than Caleb. Mars likes eye contact. And he likes when I feel him watching me. When I’m at work and he spots me, he’ll stop and wait for me to notice him, casually moving on as if nothing happened when our eyes meet. It’s like something out of a damn Austen novel. It gets me so fucking hot every time.
But Caleb never seems to want physical reassurance outside of sex. So, the fact that he’s offering now means I practically leap to reciprocate, weaving my fingers in with his as we move towards our section. He gives my hand a squeeze. “You good, Hurricane?”
I nod. Just as I’m about to speak, Poppy darts out from around the corner and Caleb drops my hand like a hot potato.
“Hurry up, you two!”
We both take deep breaths, following along after her to find our seats.
