“Izzy, you are so my favorite person right now, these are the best tickets ever!” I don’t even try to play it cool as I drop into my seat.
“I’m choosing to not take offense to that,” Meghan shimmies her shoulders, “since I got the best spot out of the four of us.”
The seats Izzy got us are directly behind the Sleet home bench. Dugout? No, bench. Pretty sure it’s called a bench. I’ll ask Jackson later. With this view, I have to vow to myself that I’ll watch the game, and not just stare at the back of his helmet if he’s sitting on the bench. Yeah, that sounds right, it’s a bench. Anyway, that in itself is super cool, but – to top it off – we have the four end seats in the row that butt up to the hallway-ramp-thingy that the players walk down when they’re coming on and off the ice.
Since this is Meghan’s first game, and presumably I’ll be coming to more, we all agreed to let her have the end spot by the railing so she could – and I quote – “Get all the fucking high fives from all the fucking hot guys.” She’s including both teams on this. According to Meghan, hotness knows no geographical bounds, and she will not limit herself based on our misguided American fanaticism. What Meghan doesn’t seem to know is that only our team will be going past her; apparently the other team has their own ramp thing.
So, Meghan has the seat on the end, Izzy’s next to her, then Steph, and I’m on the end of our little foursome. On my right side is a group of rowdy college-aged guys all decked out in Sleet gear and face paint. They look ready to drink their way through the game, and will probably be that group that cheers and boos for every moment of action. It should be entertaining.
We’re three rows up again. The height gives us a good view of the ice, while still being close enough to the players to see the sweat on their faces. Izzy told us about these seats last night, so when Jackson texted me this morning, I told him where to look for us.
When he does spot me, I hope he’s happy with my new outfit and not upset that I didn’t wear his jersey. The shirt I’m wearing tonight is a fitted long-sleeve heather grey shirt with Wilder written across the back and the Sleet storm-cloud logo on the chest. It has a deep V-neck that, if I do say so myself, makes my cleavage look amazing. My favorite part of this shirt is that it has those sleeves that go all the way to the back of your hands with the little thumb holes. That’s a fun feature in general, but it’s especially great tonight since I also bought a pair of totally adorable knitted Sleet mittens. They are blue and green with Sleet stitched on one hand and MN on the other. With my thumbs through the holes, I can easily tuck my sleeves into my mittens. My hair’s down again, since I was debating if I should wear the Sleet pom pom hat that matches the mittens too. After way too much internal debate, I decided to leave the hat at home.
What you can’t see are the pair of Sleet-branded “Biggest Fan” undies that I’m wearing under my jeans. Meghan found those, and – when I refused to buy them – she bought them, making me promise to wear them tonight. I have no doubt that they’ll go unseen, but thinking about them makes me feel a little scandalous.
In what I’m recognizing to be my new thing, I am totally freaking out right now. I don’t know how all the family members deal with the wait before these games, because it’s killing me. I’ve been stress tugging on a loose string inside one of my mittens, and if I don’t stop soon, the whole thing will probably unravel. Thankfully, the lights drop, and the opening craziness begins. I was completely taken off guard during that first game when I was sitting alone for this part, so it’s nice to have some friends with me.
The music, light show, and nutjob announcer make it impossible to not get pumped up. If I were a player there’s no way I’d be able to focus after all this build up, but I guess they’re used to it.
We’re on our feet cheering when the Sleet players start coming down the ramp toward the ice. I’m only four spots in from the railing, but – with everyone standing – I have no real view of who’s going past. What I can see is Meghan’s ass, since she’s leaning over the rail hoping to get her sought-after hot-guy high-fives. I may have mentioned Meghan’s high-five fetish to Jackson this morning, so I shouldn’t be surprised when I see that almost the entire team flies past hitting her hand as they go. I’m not sure if what she’s doing constitutes cheering, or if it’s just screaming at this point. Either way, Meghan is most definitely enjoying herself.
As the last player passes, hitting her hand, she yells, “I LOVE YOU JACKSON WILDER!”
I know—because I saw him the second he hit the ice—that Jackson was not the last person in line. But Meghan seems to have figured out that his influence is what got her all the hand action. She would really love him if he could hook her up with some actual hand action after the game. I snort to myself. It’s almost as if she hears my thoughts, because Meghan catches my attention and gives me two thumbs up to go with her massive grin.
The guys on my right are proving to be the intensely loud group I’d pegged them for. Things settle down a bit when the anthem plays through. And as the teams gather for a final word before the start of the game, Jackson looks up and directly into my eyes.
I can’t help the smile that spreads across my face. Without overthinking it, I blow him a kiss.
He grins.
I melt.
