Alex (6 page)

Blinking hard, I banish her from my mind. That girl most definitely has no reason to be taking up any of my gray matter. Doesn’t matter that for the first time in like…ever, I had a natural conversation with a woman that felt relaxed and safe. Doesn’t matter that for the first time in definitely forever, I shared an intimate detail of my life with that woman, and she didn’t throw it in my face or try to exploit it. No, she looked at me with sympathy.

No, pity.

There’s a difference, and that is unacceptable to me.

“Let’s leave this party,” Cassie says as she takes a step toward me. See—big mistake to have shown her even a hint of kindness.

I take a step back, on the verge of reminding her just how nasty I can be, when someone thrusts a beer under my nose and says, “Here, man—looks like you could use one.”

My hand comes up and grabs the frosty bottle, turning to see my new linemate and right-winger, Garrett Samuelson. He just got traded to the Cold Fury and played in his first game with us last night. I hadn’t even had a chance to talk to him, other than to say “Good job” when he scored a goal off a pass from me.

“Thanks,” I tell him and take a sip.

“Mind if we talk?” he asks, just as he shoots an apologetic look to Cassie.

“Sure,” I say hesitantly, because I have no clue why he wants to talk to me. My other teammates pretty much know to stay out of my way, because I’m a cranky bastard, but Garrett hasn’t had time to acclimate yet.

So I’ll cut him some slack and lend him my ear for a bit, particularly because it gets me away from Cassie. I’m sure after five minutes, however, he’ll be scampering to get away from me. Turning to Cassie, I hand the birthday present to her. I have no clue what it is, nor do I care. She takes it from me without a word, and I’m confident she’ll get it to Leo’s kid. Turning my back on her, I follow Garrett across the backyard.

He leads me over to a couple of empty chairs under a huge shade tree, away from the screaming kids and blaring music.

“So,” he says as he sits down. “How lame is this party?”

“Pretty fucking lame,” I concur and take a healthy pull on my beer as I eyeball my teammate.

He surprises me by his words. Most team members are very supportive of one another, and even if they did think it was lame coming to a kid’s birthday party, they would never voice those thoughts out loud. It seems Mr. Samuelson may be a bit of a rebel.

“Looked like you needed rescuing back there,” he says, nodding over to where Cassie now stands next to Allie, talking about God knows what. “But if not, my apologies, man, for messing up your game.”

I can’t help the laugh that bursts out of my mouth, shaking my head. “Nah…you did me a solid. She can be a little clingy.”

“Excellent. I’ve now ingratiated myself with you,” Garrett says with a laugh and clinks his beer bottle against mine. “Bros before hoes.”

“So, what’s your story?” I ask him, not really caring but feeling the need to fill the silence.

“No story. Love playing hockey, love fucking women, love spending my money. I’m a pretty simple guy.”

I had heard some rumors about Samuelson when word came that he’d be joining the team. He’s supposedly quite the ladies’ man, and I mean the ladies adore him. Apparently not just because of his good looks, celebrity status and money—he supposedly is a modern-day romance book hero. But he never has the same woman on his arm more than one, maybe two nights in a row, and while he supposedly treats them like gold, he gets bored easily. Seems the rumors must be true.

“Hey, man—wanna get out of here, go grab some beers somewhere and play pool or something?” Garrett asks.

My eyes slide back over to Cassie and she’s watching me with thinly disguised hunger. Not sexual hunger…relationship hunger, and it gives me the willies.

Turning back to Garrett, I say, “Sure. I’m ready to blow this joint.”

I enter section 110 of the Cold Fury’s hockey arena and my first sight of the interior momentarily stuns me. The ice sits far below me, the steps leading down to it seem to stretch forever. All of the players are out on the ice skating around, and it looks like they’re taking practice shots at the nets on each end. I did a bit of research online before I came to the game tonight, and one of the first things I learned was that the team’s colors are black and silver. More precisely, their jerseys are black with a swirling, snowy tornado of silver moving across the front. The word
Carolina
is above the tornado, and the words
Cold Fury
below, in black outlined in silver and white piping.

To look like a fan, I went ahead and wore a simple black turtleneck with large silver hoop earrings and a chunky sterling silver necklace. I looked the part, but I didn’t feel it. I don’t know a damn thing about hockey and I have to wonder why I’m here.

Oh yeah, I know why. Because that jerk Alex Crossman cancelled our meeting this morning without any good excuse, but then later sent over a ticket to tonight’s game along with a note that we would meet after. I had half a mind not to come, but three things swayed me. First, I promised Glenn I’d get him an autograph and I figure the best chance of that is to be nice to the prickly bastard. Second, I kind of, sort of, okay…I really would like to learn about this game. Glenn loves the Cold Fury so much, and some of my friends watch hockey, so it’s probably time I got on the bandwagon. Finally, I’m dying to push our outreach program forward, and I can’t do it without Alex’s involvement.

Looking down at my ticket, I see my seat is in Row A—number five to be exact. Glancing at the row of seats next to me at the top of section 110, I note they start at ZZ, so it appears I’m going to have to make the long descent down toward the ice. I wonder if it will be cold down there and hope the black leather blazer I put on over my turtleneck will be sufficient.

Before making my descent, I pull out my phone and check in using Facebook. I take a quick picture of the arena and post
At my first hockey game…damn, it’s cold in here!

I guarantee that by the time I reach my seat, Shelley will have seen this and responded. Probably with some dirty comment about my nipples getting hard, which causes me to laugh to myself. God I miss having her here and don’t know what I’d do without the ability to talk to her daily through digital means.

As I make my way down to Row A, I can’t help but get excited by the energy buzzing around me. The stands are packed and I think I read online that this arena seats nineteen thousand and is the loudest arena in the league. Loud rock music blares over the speakers and fans are screaming, holding signs and waving flags as the players warm up. It takes me only a moment to realize that my seat is almost directly behind the goalie net—and yes, I also learned that was a goalie net online—and that the Cold Fury are warming up on this end.

I enter my row, sliding past a family of four…mom and dad and two little boys, all decked out in Cold Fury jerseys. My seat is next, and to the left of it sits a young woman who looks to be about my age. She’s also wearing a Cold Fury jersey, although hers is white with the same tornado logo and black lettering. She has a beer in one hand and a pom-pom of silver and black in the other.

When I sit down, the girl—a blonde with gorgeous, curly, long hair—offers me a warm smile and then screams out at one of the players as they skate by, not three feet from our seats on the other side of the glass.

“Oh, my God,” she exclaims as she bumps me in the shoulder hard with her own and a little beer from her cup spills onto the concrete floor. “That was Garrett Samuelson. He is so fucking hot.”

Glancing to the ice, I see the player she’s talking about and he is indeed hot. None of the players have their helmets on right now; he has dark brown hair that flows down to just past his chiseled jawline and I can see his green eyes glowing brightly. The girl screams louder out to the ice, “Marry me, Garrett!” and I start to roll my eyes at such a pathetic attempt to get his attention.

Much to my surprise, though, Garrett’s eyes follow the trail of her scream and light upon her. He gives her a flash of white teeth and blows her a kiss, and I swear, she almost falls to the floor in a dead faint.

“Oh, my fucking God…did you see that? He blew a kiss at me,” she squeals, and I have to resist the urge to stick my fingers in my ears to muffle the terrible noise she’s making.

The hot hockey player skates away and the girl turns to me. “Hey, I’m Monica. I’m so glad we got another Cold Fury fan in that seat. More times than not we’re stuck with a fan from the other team and that just sucks.”

“Uh…hi,” I say lamely. “I’m Sutton.”

“Sutton? Oh, I love that name. So, who is your favorite player?”

“Um…honestly, I don’t know. This is my first game.”

Monica’s face drops for a second and she stares at me with her jaw hanging low. “You’re kidding, right?”

“Nope. In fact, I really don’t know anything about hockey.”

She blinks at me a moment, and I think she might be getting ready to call an usher to have me removed, but then she gives me a radiant smile and yells “Hockey virgin!” at the top of her lungs while pointing at me.

Everyone within a twenty-foot radius turns their eyes on me and I just want to sink into my seat and die.

Then Monica puts her arm around my shoulders and squeezes. “Don’t worry. I’ll teach you everything. You’ll be a pro by the end of the game.”

Just then a tapping noise gets our attention and we turn to the ice. I feel Monica’s body freeze next to mine as our eyes rise to the player standing on the other side of the glass, hitting the end of his stick against it to get our attention.

Okay, now that is holy fucking hotness right there.

Alex stands there, his hair slightly sweaty around his temples but otherwise looking like a sex god staring at me. His blue eyes are intent as they caress me, and I feel my breath falter within my lungs. He’s utterly beautiful, making that other dude, Garrett, look like a reject.

Flashing me a small smile, Alex shoots me a wink and then skates off. I stare after him, noting that the number on his jersey is 67, and I wonder if it has any significance.

“Holy shit, girl,” Monica wheezes as if she can’t get her breath. “Alex Crossman just eye-fucked you in front of the entire arena.”

“What?” I practically shriek as her words penetrate my hazy brain. “No way.”

“Yes way,” she murmurs appreciatively. “You could so hook up with him if you wanted. I mean, he may be the MVP of this team, but I’d do him in a heartbeat.”

“MVP?” I ask lamely, because I have no clue what that means.

“Most valuable prick,” she says matter-of-factly. “He’s a complete asshole to the fans. Rumor has it an asshole to his team as well. But God, he’s like the hottest player in the entire league, so I could definitely overlook that.”

“Huh” is all I can manage to reply, as my eyes find Alex again and I watch him warming up. He’s fluidly graceful on his skates, his hair flying out behind him as he whizzes by once more. He never looks back at me again, but that’s okay by me. I can’t afford to continually be beaten over the head by his magnificence, particularly with Monica sitting next to me ready to have a fit every time a player looks our way.

Finally, the warm-ups finish, the national anthem is played and then the game starts.

And I am freakin’ hooked.

I sit on the edge of my seat the entire time, my eyes hungrily soaking up the action. It’s a super-fast game and sometimes I have a hard time even following the puck. The first time the Cold Fury scores, I don’t even realize the puck has gone in the net, and I have no clue it’s Alex who actually scores. The only reason I come to find that out is that Monica is screaming that she wants to have his babies.

While Monica does spend much of the game screaming in my ear and yelling obscenities at the players from the other team, she also takes the time to explain the game to me when she can. I now at least understand what
offsides
means and I’m starting to catch on to the concept of a
power play
. I still don’t understand the penalties, and I surely don’t understand why you’re allowed to fight in a game that penalizes you for doing so, but it’s exhilarating watching as one of the Cold Fury players drops his gloves and faces off with an opponent at mid-ice. The fans go nuts when the fight starts, surging to their feet.

And while I very much want to see the action of the fight, my eyes can’t help wandering over to Alex, who is sitting on the bench. He isn’t even watching his teammate beat the crap out of the other player but rather seems to be looking down at his lap, completely uninterested in the brawl.

I tear my eyes off him, because sadness wells up inside of me as I remember how he had told me he hates to play hockey. It hurts too much to watch him and then think that although he may be an asshole, he may have a very good reason to be that way. Just the thought makes me want to wrap him up in a hug and soothe his pain.

The game speeds by in a haze, and long before the final buzzer sounds and the Cold Fury is about to celebrate a 4-2 win over the other team, I am officially obsessed with this sport. I spend a few moments jumping up and down with Monica, our arms wrapped around each other in excitement over the win.

Many of the fans start leaving while some stay in their seats, but before I can ask Monica why, I hear the announcer’s voice come over the loudspeaker.

Tonight’s game’s most valuable player, with two goals and three assists: number sixty-seven, Alexander Crossman.

The fans erupt and I watch as Alex steps out onto the ice and does a slow skate around the lower half of the rink closest to our seats. He has his helmet off and his hair is soaking wet. He skates holding his stick raised high up in the air in salute to the fans, and they go crazy over it.

When he approaches the glass by our seats, I’m clapping exuberantly and Monica is again offering up her ovaries to him. Alex has his head tilted up, looking up at the fans in the sections above ours, but when he gets to where I’m seated, he comes to a stop on the other side of the glass and brings his gaze to mine.

Monica shrieks beside me but I don’t turn to look at her. My eyes are pinned by Alex’s.

He mouths the words
Thirty minutes?
to me while pointing to an imaginary watch on his wrist.

I nod at him and he holds my gaze a moment longer, then pushes off to complete his lap and head back to the locker room.

“Oh, you bitch,” Monica squeals as she wraps me up in a suffocating hug. “You’re going to hook up with Alex Crossman. I’m so jealous.”

“No, I’m not,” I immediately deny. “I’m just meeting him over at Hoolihan’s across the street. It’s a business meeting.”

Monica looks at me skeptically. “Business meeting?”

“Yeah, we’re working on an anti-drug outreach program together. He gave me the ticket to the game, but we’re meeting just for business.”

Monica’s eyes light up as her arms come up, pushing at me to leave the aisle. “Perfect. You can hook me up with him, then.”

“What? Wait. No,” I protest, turning my head over my shoulder, even as Monica starts to push me up the stairs. “I have a business meeting to attend. You can’t come. I’m not going to hook you up.”

“Of course you are,” Monica says, trampling all over my righteous indignation and giving me another push in my lower back to pick up my pace. “It’s the least you can do after I just taught you all about the game.”

With a sigh, I move a little faster, wondering if I can possibly break out into a run and lose my new shadow. Wouldn’t matter, though. Without thinking, I told her where I was meeting Alex, so I know she’s going to just show up come hell or high water.

Oh, well. Maybe I can make a quick introduction, they’ll fall instantly in love and exchange phone numbers, and then we can get to work.

Except…just the thought of Alex hooking up with Monica gives me belly rumblings and I have to wonder why. The guy has been nothing but a jerk to me. Sure, he’s given me some intense stares and he’s like the most perfect specimen of a man I’ve ever seen, but that alone shouldn’t cause me to have any feelings for him.

Besides, I need to focus on whether or not I actually have any feelings left for Brandon from which we could possibly build something again. Dinner the other night was nice. We spent a lot of time just catching up on each other’s lives, and the conversation was light.

“So, tell me about the work you’re doing at the crisis center,” Brandon had said in between bites of the spicy tuna roll we were sharing.

“It’s really rewarding,” I had told him after a sip of warm sake. “The center provides free counseling for low-income people. Of course, I adore the kids I work with.”

“Of course you do,” he said with an affectionate smile. “It’s your passion.”

He knows me…knows all about my father and what drives me to do what I do. We had no secrets between us when we were together.

“Are you seeing anyone now?” he asked casually, giving nothing away as to whether my answer was even important or not.

Shaking my head, I told him, “No. You?”

“Completely single,” he confirmed for me, a fact that did not cause a flood of pleasure to course through me. In fact, I didn’t feel much at all in response to his revelation.

We didn’t discuss our relationship, or lack of one, but at the end of the evening, Brandon gave me a warm kiss on my forehead just before he hugged me, and asked me out again, to which I said yes.

I have no clue what it all means. At dinner, I had expected to be hit with a rush of warm feelings based on years of wonderful memories. Instead, I didn’t really feel much at the end of the evening other than a general fondness for Brandon. He was my first love—and I do know it was love. But I’m not sure it was the type of love that was destined to last through the ages. I’m thinking it was maybe more of a “young love” type of thing. That would surely explain the way I moved past it fairly quickly and why I’m not filled with joy to reconnect with him.