Micky and I sit near the glass while Raleigh and Birdie watch the game from the WAGs box with the kids. I could be with them because, as it turns out, my name is on the list. Right there, next to the wives, read: Jordana Landry. We both have our alter egos, Jordana and Banksy. He gets my Jordan, and I get his Camden.
Seeing him play tonight is different. He insisted I wear his old jersey today; said he needed extra luck tonight. Must be working because he’s playing well. Cam knocks on the glass twice and smiles at me. We’re about to go into the second intermission, and he’s drenched in sweat and looks cocky as ever when he winks at me. He’ll never be anyone but Banksy on the ice. And I’m okay with that. It works for him.
Before he exits the ice, I point to a little girl in the front and mouth, Puck to him. She’s been cheering for the Lakes all night. Okay, it’s not so much cheering as it is shouting like a drunk frat boy at a beer pong tournament. She can’t be older than eleven, but she’s got more passion than half the boys nearby. He nods, aligning himself opposite her, places a puck on his stick, then flips it over the glass.
Her face lights up, and she spins around, proudly showing the whole section her souvenir, which is met with cheers. The female fans “Aww” over his gesture as he walks back through the tunnel with the rest of the team. God, he’s so handsome. Micky leans into me, and I lean back. She sighs. “What’s it like fucking a guy with piercings?”
I chuckle. “Have you ever driven over rumble strips on the side of the highway? It’s like that, but in your vagina.”
“Can you have your people talk to my people?”
“You got it,” I say, grinning. “Hey, do you wanna get anything to drink?”
I stand, but she yanks my arm down. “No way am I standing in those lines.”
“We could go up to the box and get a drink?” I offer.
“I wanna watch the intermission show. God, I love it when grown men get a chance to shoot a puck and miss. It warms my heart.”
I laugh and sit back down. Not a minute later, I’m being tapped on the shoulder. I glance over, surprised to find one of the arena’s security staff.
“You’ve been randomly selected for the Lucky Pucky shoot off.”
“Oh my God!” Micky yells, shaking my shoulder. “Lucky Pucky! You have to do it!”
“What?” I shake my head. “Can I give it to someone else?” I don’t wanna play Lucky Pucky.
He shakes his head.
Fucking Camden. I observed the Lakes practice the other day, and he missed a goal by a long shot, which is a rarity, so I gave him a hard time about it the rest of the day. I’m sure he set this up to get back at me for trying to have a little fun. I roll my eyes and grudgingly stand from my seat. Randomly selected. Right.
I follow the staff member up the stairs and over to the section with ice access. A peewee team is coming off the rink when I step on. Jesus, I can’t imagine playing with this many people watching, especially when they’re screaming at you the whole time. I have even more respect for Camden and how well he works under pressure.
A thin, narrow carpet is laid from here to center ice, where it’s met with a large rug displaying the Lakes logo. Lucky Pucky is the intermission game where the goals are covered up with boards with three small openings at the bottom. Fans get a chance to shoot a puck and get it into one of the holes to win a shirt or something. I’m halfway to the Lakes rug when Cam skates up alongside the carpeted walkway.
“I’ve got it, Tim. Thanks.” He nods to the guy who was making sure I didn’t fall, and the guy turns around and heads back.
“Hey!” I say, surprised to see him. “Is this because of the other day?”
He laughs. “Yeah.” I knew it.
Cam escorts me the rest of the way to the rug, a hockey stick laid on the ice next to it. He takes my hands and turns me with my back to the goal.
“Jordan.”
I laugh nervously. “I can’t believe you’re making me do this.”
He drops down on both knees, and we’re put under a spotlight. The screaming fans are deafening.
No, that can’t be what he’s doing. There’s something else going on.
“Oh my god . . . Cam. What are—”
He tugs off his gloves and looks up, grinning. “Don’t worry, I’m not proposing—but I have a few things I want to say to you. I—”
I look around to see if this is a joke. All I see are camera flashes in the stands. Literally everywhere.
I interrupt. “Why are you doing this?”
When he’s silent, I stop questioning and listen.
He begins again, speaking up so I can hear him over the crowd. “I like being around you when I’m home and I miss you when I’m away. I’ve learned love is more than the butterflies in my stomach when I look at you. It’s more than seeing you in my jersey. More than needing you close to me all the time. Love is a quiet trust. It’s familiarity and knowing someone, really knowing who they are deep down. You know me better than I know myself, and I think I know you pretty well too. You admit your faults without fear and accept mine without question. I’m in awe of you every day. I want a life with you in it, not just because of how you make me feel, but because of who you are. Jordan, you are my everything.”
My hand covers my mouth as he opens his heart in front of a nearly sold-out arena. Though, I’m thankful he isn’t mic’d up. He’s showing his devotion publicly, but his words are mine alone.
“Someone once said that you know you’ve found that person when you’re willing to put the other person first no matter what. Jordan, you will always come first.” He pauses and winks.
My voice is shaky. “Camden, why are you on your knees?” If this isn’t a proposal, then what the fuck is he doing? Because it sounds like a fucking proposal.
He wraps his palms behind my calves and squeezes. “Because I kneel for you.” A smile spreads across his face, and I swear I melt into a puddle. “You wanted people to see this side of me, so that’s what I’m doing. I’m leaving my ego at the door. You are my queen, and I will kneel for you every day. You aren’t a quiet girlfriend on the side, you’re center ice.”
Oh my God.
My eyes are swimming with tears. This can’t be real. He pulls out a ring box, and I swipe at the tears on my face. “You said this wasn’t a proposal. What the fuck is going on?”
He opens the ring box, revealing a Ring Pop. I start laughing, and he chuckles along with me. “Come on, Sunshine . . . When are you finally going to admit I’m exactly your type? That day at the coffee shop was the beginning of our journey, and little did I know it would lead to where we are now. But I’m so happy it did.”
I sniffle and nod. “You’re so my type.” He slides the candy ring onto my pinkie, it’s the only finger it fits on, and rests his hands on the sides of my thighs. The memory of Cam removing my old ring in the coffee shop flashes in my mind. I told him I’d rather Bryan had proposed with a Ring Pop than the massive diamond. It makes my heart clench thinking about us exchanging real rings someday.
Tell him.
“I love you,” I say.
The thumb caressing my thigh stops, and he grips my leg, not letting go. The seconds tick by like hours as he stares up at me. I desperately want him to say something. He releases my thigh and blows out a breath.
“I love you too.” He stands and leans down to kiss me. It’s not a shy kiss. It’s passionate. It’s hot and heated and fills the arena with cheers. “I love you so much.”
I smile like an idiot when he withdraws, my brain scrambled by his lips.
Someone from the bench calls his name. “I gotta go, I’ll see you after the game.” He bends down to grab his gloves and tucks them under his arm.
“Okay, but you gotta help me get off the ice.”
He shakes his head and leans down to whisper in my ear, “You still have to play Lucky Pucky. Maybe next time you’ll think twice before you decide to give me shit about my skills at practice.” He kisses my cheek, winks, and skates off.
I glare at him with a smile. Motherfucker.
An attendant sidles up, gives his congratulations, and hands me a puck. I suppose anyone watching from afar assumes we’re now engaged.
I drop the puck on the ice, shoot, and don’t get remotely close to the net.
When I look back, Cam’s standing at the edge of the tunnel with the thumb and index finger half-an-inch apart. So close, he mouths. Uh-huh.
I laugh. I couldn’t care less about the shot, I just want to return to my seat. Micky’s probably losing her mind. A woman escorts me off the ice, and she also congratulates me, then I’m passed back to the same security staff member. Another congratulations.
“Thank you, I can find my way from here.”
“Actually, you’re supposed to go up to the box. Mrs. Kucera is up there with your things.”
Mrs. Kucera—Micky. I laugh at the formality, especially with how informal Micky is.
We get up to the box, and I thank him for the escort. When the doors open, I’m met with balloons, streamers, and a couple of handmade banners that read: BANKSY’S MEMORIAL SERVICE and REST IN PEACE. The other women cheer and a champagne bottle pops.
I freeze. “Holy!”
Micky rushes me and wraps me up in a hug. “Congratulations!”
“It wasn’t a proposal!” I laugh.
“We know, but you took down the biggest player on the team, and that’s worth celebrating.”
The game ends with us winning 4-2. Barrett made an amazing goal in the third period.
I follow the wives through the maze of hallways that lead to the locker room exit. My stomach isn’t filled with butterflies, it’s more like thirty raccoons fighting over a footlong hot dog. We said the L-word tonight.
When the guys begin to filter out the door and he sees me, his smile is brighter than ever. Damn he looks good in a suit.
“Hey, Sunshine.” He drops his bag, picks me up with his palms under my ass, and pushes me against the wall.
I open my mouth to speak, and he kisses me with everything he’s got. Sigh. I can vaguely hear Micky and the girls leaving.
“Congratulations, Jordan!” is followed by laughter. Barrett cuts in. “Close your eyes, Mini Bear. Uncle Banks is trying to play Lucky Pucky with his new girlfriend.”
Players filter out of the locker room, but this moment is ours. When his lips leave mine, we lock eyes for a moment. I love him so much.
“Great game,” I whisper.
He laughs with big eyes. “Oh, we’re going to talk about the game first?”
“Why? Was there something else that happened?” I say, cocking my head to the side and feigning ignorance.
“Yeah, you missed a goal by a mile. How embarrassing for you.”
I slap his shoulder. “I can’t believe you set me up for that!” I laugh. “Rude.”
“I’ll show you rude,” he says, smirking.
“I’m still sore from the last time you demonstrated your rudeness.”
He chuckles and nips at my bottom lip. “I love you.”
“I love you too.”
He reaches down and hoists his bag over his shoulder, keeping one hand on mine. “Let’s go home.”
I bite my lip and smile.
