Puck Shy (Carolina Comets)

HockeyGuy69: There’s something I need to tell you.

A pit forms in my stomach as I read his words.

We didn’t talk last night and I’ve tried hard all day to not think much about it, but I won’t lie—it’s been eating at me.

Ever since he asked me out, something has seemed…off.

I don’t know if it’s nerves or if he’s actually just busy with work, but it’s off nonetheless.

Another message comes through.

HockeyGuy69: It’s probably going to piss you off, but I have to clear the air.

Oh crap, here it comes.

“Nope!” Ryan steals my phone away just as it vibrates again. She slips it into the abyss known as her purse as we make our way down the arena stairs to our seats. “That’s mine for the night. No more pining over Hockey Hottie. Tonight is girls’ night.”

I should protest. Should tell her that’s a stupid rule.

But I can’t bring myself to say it because I’m not so sure I want to hear what he has to say.

Does he want to bail on the date? Has he been catfishing me all along? I mean, he’s seemed too good to be true from day one, so I wouldn’t be entirely surprised.

“Here we are,” Ryan says, scooting down the aisle. She claps her hands, bouncing up and down with excitement. “Holy shit. These seats are amazing!”

I want to point out that since she’s never been to a hockey game before, she doesn’t know if these seats actually are good.

But considering we’re just three rows back from the glass, I’d say her assumption is correct.

Ryan forced us to arrive nearly an hour before puck drop. She claimed she wanted to make sure we got to our seats okay, but I know she just didn’t want to miss warmups.

She also promised snacks if I agreed to it.

“So when do we get to the good part?”

“Well, apparently they do warmups and then there’s a bit of a break and—” She pauses, then snorts out a laugh when she catches my bored expression. “Oh. You meant food.”

“You promised popcorn. Nachos too.”

“And alcohol.”

“All the alcohol.”

She chuckles. “All right. I’ll be right back. But no nachos until later.”

“Because that’s the only way you’re going to get me to stay the entire game?”

A grin. “You know me so well.”

She takes off for the food, leaving me sitting there with nothing to do since my phone is in her purse.

Spectators begin to file in around me. A woman sits a few seats down, and I can hear her on the phone talking about something to do with goats. There’s nobody in the two rows in front of us yet.

I still can’t believe we’re sitting this close to the ice. I once went to a football game with my dad and we were so far from the field you could barely make out the players. Here…it’s going to be like I can reach out and touch them.

And it’s chilly too.

I pull my cardigan closed a little more, shivering a bit at the nip in the air.

“First time?” the woman asks, drawing my attention.

“How’d you know?”

She nods toward where I have my arms crossed over me. “I was the same way my first game. But you get used to it.”

“I really didn’t think I’d be this chilly, but I should have known. I’m a wimp when it comes to the cold.”

She laughs. “Me too. It’ll warm up once more bodies get in here, but not enough to take your cardi off.”

A shadow falls over her and a beer appears in front of her face. She grins at the tall guy with ink-black hair and black-framed glasses who takes the seat next to her. He’s wearing a shirt that says “G.O.A.T. Dad” with a picture of him and several tiny goats. I’m not usually into the whole nerd-vibe thing he has going, but this guy is…wow.

She takes the drink from his outstretched hand, then tips the cup my way. “Plus, the alcohol helps. I’m Delia, by the way.” She gestures toward the guy beside her. “This is my husband, Zach. Please ignore his embarrassing shirt. He wouldn’t take it off.”

He leans around her and sends me a grin. “She’s always trying to get me naked.”

She swats at him. “Zachary!”

I laugh. “I’m Harper. It’s nice to meet you both.”

“Are you here for the Comets or the Caps? I assume Comets since you’re in season ticket seats.”

“Uh, Comets. I’m just here for the snacks mostly.”

They laugh like I’m joking.

I’m not.

“Oh my gosh,” Ryan says, dropping back down into the seat next to me. “You should have seen the lines out there. It was like all of a sudden people came from nowhere. I’m so glad we got here when we did. I heard someone in line say that warmups start—”

The players come barreling onto the ice.

“Well, right now, I guess.”

She does another little clap, watching as they move across the rink.

They look…kind of beautiful if I’m being honest.

The way they move is breathtaking. It’s smooth, like they’re gliding on air.

She hands me a few napkins. “Here. For your drool. And the popcorn.”

I scowl at her. “I’m not drooling.”

“Sure you’re not.” She winks, then hands me a beer. “These were free, by the way.”

“Ryan, did you flirt your way into getting free drinks?”

“Of course I did. Have you seen the prices here?” She shrugs, turns around, and waves at a guy sitting a few rows up. “Plus he was cute,” she says, turning back my way with a flirty grin.

I shake my head at her, then return my gaze to the ice.

A few Comets players are skating around in circles on one half. A few are doing some sort of stretch that makes them look like they’re humping the ground, and a few…

A body slams into the glass, causing me to jump, spilling beer down my secondhand Aerosmith t-shirt and the cardigan I’m wearing.

“Son of a…” I shoot up from my seat, cold, sticky liquid clinging to me.

“Oh, crap!” Ryan grabs a handful of napkins and starts patting at my shirt. “Dammit. I love this shirt too. I—”

There’s a tap on the glass that pulls our attention.

One of the players—who has a mean, jagged scar across his face—mouths Sorry to us. He taps his buddy on the shoulder, pulling his attention our way.

The moment our eyes collide, I freeze.

He gapes at me, his eyes—which I can now see are a clear green—wide with shock.

“Collin?”

“Wait, like Hot Hitchhiker Collin?” Ryan asks.

I don’t answer her. I’m too busy staring at the guy I never thought I’d see again.

His friend says something quietly to him, and Collin nods without looking over. He can’t seem to take his eyes off me either.

We’re locked in a trance, unable to move.

Then someone calls his name from across the ice, and just like that, it’s broken.

He turns and I gasp.

Wright.

It’s there, stitched clear as day on the back of his jersey, along with the number 96.

I actually meant to type in 96, but I guess we’ll call it a happy accident.

He nods at whoever spoke to him, then turns back to me. He takes a step closer and his teammate pulls at his arm, trying to drag him away.

Even from here, I can see that his eyes are full of so many emotions—shock, worry, regret.

Another tug from his teammate, and this time Collin allows himself to be pulled away.

He looks back at me three times on his way to the other side of the ice, and each time it feels like a punch to the stomach.

Then he disappears down a tunnel and I’m left standing here feeling like a complete fool.

“Give me my phone,” I say to Ryan, finding my voice once he’s gone.

She reaches into her purse without question and hands it over.

I hold my breath as I click on the notification from the BeeMine app, hoping this is all some sort of sick coincidence.

It’s not.

It’s right there, his confession.

This is what he wanted to talk about.

HockeyGuy69: I’m Collin.

HockeyGuy69: Collin Wright. And I play for the NHL.

“Holy shit.” I exhale heavily.

“What? Is that really Hot Hitchhiker?”

“Ryan…” I shove the phone in her face. “It’s Hot Hockey Guy too.”

“What? No it’s not.” She grabs the phone from my hands as I drop back down into my seat. Her jaw drops when she reads his text. “Oh my god. It’s…”

“Yeah.”

“Holy shit.”

“Yeah.”

“This is…wow.”

She sits beside me, scrolling through our messages. I don’t even care enough at this point to stop her. It doesn’t matter anymore. Our whole relationship is a lie anyway.

“I can’t believe this. You had no idea?”

“No! I don’t sport. I couldn’t tell you the first thing about hockey. I thought the puck was made of plastic.”

“It’s rubber,” Ryan corrects. “Everyone knows that.”

“I didn’t! That’s how much I don’t sport!”

She tucks her lips together, trying not to laugh.

But it doesn’t work. She bursts into a fit of giggles, and before I know it, I’m joining her.

I’m almost certain people are staring at us, but I don’t care.

It feels good to laugh, and if I don’t laugh, I might cry.

My hitchhiker is my hockey guy.

His name is Collin Wright, and he plays for the NHL.

What hell am I supposed to do with that?

“Do you want to go?” Ryan asks during the break between the first and second period.

Part of me wanted to leave the moment I saw Collin on the ice.

But there’s another part of me that can’t seem to walk away now.

He was right—seeing the game live is so much better than seeing it on TV.

There’s something exhilarating about hearing the bodies crash against the boards. Something so thrilling about hearing the puck ping off the crossbar. And watching the players glide down the ice effortlessly like they aren’t playing a high-speed game on frozen water with knives attached to their feet? It’s intoxicating.

Too bad it’s all being overshadowed by the fact that Collin lied to me.

Twice.

Sports industry.

That’s what he told me, and he said it twice.

Really, I should have realized it then.

But if not then, I should have seen the other hints too. I spent the time before puck drop scrolling back through all our messages, picking them apart.

Wright lobbied for Freddy Krueger, just like Collin did.

He’s twenty-seven, just like Collin.

Hell, he even tried to convince me to like sports, just like Collin.

And even though he admitted he was a hockey fan, he skirted around the topic often enough that I should have picked up on him trying to hide something.

I’m so embarrassed.

He must have thought it was hilarious, pretending to be a different person. Pretending we didn’t meet before. Pretending I didn’t hold his fucking sauce as he dunked his chicken nuggets.

That’s the part that hurts the most I think. He knew it was me. It’s not like I hid my name or my identity behind faceless photos. I was upfront from the beginning. He never was.

And yeah, okay…I understand it to an extent. He’s a professional athlete who is likely making millions of dollars a year. He’s going to want to be a bit private.

But it’s me.

I don’t care about his status. I just like him.

Liked, I remind myself.

Past tense.

“No,” I tell Ryan. “We can stay.”

“Are you sure?” She’s trapped her lip between her teeth, her brows drawn tightly together as she studies me closely.

“I’m sure. But I could definitely use more alcohol.”

“Want me to go?”

I shake my head. “No, I got it. I could use the fresh air.”

She nods and lets me out of the aisle.

I squeeze past several fans, taking note of the number of people wearing WRIGHT on their backs. A few of them look at me and I swear I feel their judgment, like they know and agree with how dumb I am for not putting two and two together before.

The line for booze is long, and I don’t make it back until right before the start of the second period.

“You totally missed the little kiddos sliding around on the ice,” Ryan says as I hand her one of the three beers I got. “I guess they’re called Mites or something. Anyway, they were so adorable.”

She doesn’t comment on the extra beer like the good friend she is.

What she does say is “I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

“For pushing you to get on that app. If you hadn’t, maybe you wouldn’t be feeling like you are now.”

Leave it to Ryan to not miss a thing.

“I feel like a fool,” I say quietly.

“I know. But you’re not the fool—he is. He’s the one who tricked you.”

“Yeah, but if I had just paid a bit more attention, maybe I could have connected the dots.”

“Like you said, you don’t sport.” She grins at the words. “How are you supposed to know anything about something you don’t follow? That would be like me trying to piece together anything about horror movies. Not my pig, not my farm, you know.”

I suppose she’s right.

The announcer says something over the intercom and the crowd goes wild, cheering loudly as the players make their way onto the ice.

The game starts again, twenty minutes on the clock.

Collin’s out there, staying back by the blue line that’s not too far from where we’re seated.

The way he moves…it’s incredible. I have no idea how I missed him being an athlete before. There’s such focus and precision in every move he makes.

His brows are drawn together in concentration as he watches the puck move from stick to stick, his mouth pulled into a thin line. He’s completely focused on the game, and it’s riveting to watch. I have no idea how he’s drowning out the noise of the crowd, but it’s like we’re not even here.

He gets the puck, then sends it sailing over to the other side of the ice, to the guy with the scar on his lip.

Rhodes, his jersey reads, with a big number 6 right below it.

His partner sends the puck right back, and Collin shoots.

The crowd erupts around us as the red light ignites.

He scored!

Everyone is jumping up and down, the sound deafening. We get on our feet too, pumping our fists in the air.

Collin’s back hits the glass as his teammates crowd around him, patting his back, bumping his fists.

They’re right by us, several people beating on the glass with zeal.

It’s all so…electrifying.

Just as Collin’s about to skate away, he turns…and looks directly at me.

Then winks.

I swear I melt into my seat.

The Comets win 4-2, and though Collin doesn’t score again, he earns what I learn is called an assist.

The arena is buzzing with excitement, and fans are thrilled to have seen Collin score. I heard a few people talking about how the team lost the Stanley Cup last year and saying it was Collin’s fault, so they’re glad to see him making a comeback.

I also thought I heard the word arrest mentioned, but I’m sure I’m mistaken about that.

“Okay, it’s official: I’m a hockey fan,” Ryan says, staring out at the ice longingly as the players leave it.

“Are you a hockey fan, or do you just like looking at the hockey players?”

“Yes.” She sighs dreamily. “Like, I’m not going to lie, I am totally horny right now.”

I wouldn’t admit it, but same.

And it’s not even about the players.

It’s everything about the game. The speed, the buzz, the power they exude. It’s all just so…hot.

“Come on, let’s go stand up next to the glass.”

She grabs my hand, dragging me down the few rows before I can protest. A couple of other people are down there too, clapping and cheering still, and she wedges us in between them so we can see.

“Ladies and gentlemen, your three stars of the game!” the announcer calls in that exaggerated voice all announcers have. “For our third star, with the first goal of the game, we have number 13, Grady Miller!”

There are whistles and shouts of joy as the player takes the ice, makes a circle, and then disappears again, but not before handing his stick off to a kid hanging over the railings.

“For our second star of the night, with the game-winning goal, we have number 6, Adrian Rhodes!”

The crowd cheers as Collin’s partner skates back out onto the ice, lifting his stick and making a short circle before heading back off. He also gives his stick to a young fan.

“And our first star of the game, coming off a tough season last year but more than making up for it with a goal and an assist, we have number 96, Collin Wright!”

Everyone is on their feet as Collin skates back out. He does a few quick circles, then hands his stick to someone standing over by the tunnel. He leans in to talk to the person, pointing in the direction where we’re standing.

Alarm bells begin to sound in my head and I pull at Ryan, trying to get her to leave with me.

“No,” she says, dragging me back down. “Definite no.”

“Ryan, come on.”

“Shh! He’s gonna talk.”

She points up at the jumbotron. The camera is focused on Collin as he slides onto a bench, sitting beside some guy with a microphone. He’s breathing hard, his helmet off, hair sticking up everywhere.

And still, somehow, he looks amazing.

Maybe even better than before.

There’s a sheen of sweat covering his face and his cheeks are red from exertion, but damn does he still look lickable.

Ryan snorts from beside me. “You got that right.”

Oh crap. I must have said that out loud.

“Collin, wow,” the interviewer says. “What a night for you, huh?”

“I just got out there and played hockey, you know,” Collin answers.

“Oh my god. You never told me his voice was that deep.”

Ryan’s practically drooling, and I can’t blame her one bit.

“I bet it had to feel good putting up a goal and an assist after the Game Six loss last season and the off-season drama that happened afterward.”

Collin chuckles, a grin that might look playful to others pulling at his lips. That’s not his real smile though. I know that for a fact.

“That’s one word for it,” he says.

“Now, Collin, it’s no secret that you’ve been struggling a bit this season so far. We know it’s still early on, but preseason was a bit of a mess. What changed for you tonight?”

Collin’s eyes flit across the ice.

I peel my eyes off the screen, and for the third time tonight, our gazes collide.

“Just had better focus. Something to prove, you know.”

“And prove it you did.” The interviewer laughs like he just made the funniest joke in the world. “All right, Collin, we’ll let you get back to your teammates. Thanks for talking with us for a moment, and congrats again on the win tonight.”

“Thanks, J.P.”

Collin shakes the guy’s hand, then heads off the bench and down the tunnel.

The interviewer continues to talk, but I tune him out.

Ryan squeals next to me. “Holy crap, Harper. He is…” She fans herself. “Hot. So fucking hot.”

“Too bad he’s a liar.”

“Crap.” A frown pulls at her lips. “I forgot about that part. Ready to get out of here?”

“Please.”

“Drinks?”

“God yes.”

She laughs, linking her arm with mine, dragging me up the steps.

“Miss Harper?” someone calls out.

I spin back around to find a man standing there, holding a stick.

“Um…yes?”

“This is from Mr. Wright. He specifically asked that it be delivered to you.”

“To…me?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

I’m acutely aware people are staring at us right now. This man with that hockey stick, trying to hand it off to me. Me just standing there with a dropped jaw, trying to wrap my head around it.

“Harper,” Ryan says quietly. “Just take it. People are staring.”

“He insisted, ma’am,” the guy says, shaking the stick.

“I…okay,” I say quietly, curling my fingers around it. “Thank you.”

“Have a good evening, ma’am.”

The guy scurries away, leaving me standing there with a long, heavy piece of equipment in my hand.

“Did…that just happen?” Ryan asks.

“I think so.” I grasp it warily. I’ve never held a hockey stick before. “It’s much bigger than I anticipated.”

“And I sincerely hope that’s what you’re saying when you get him into bed.”

“Ryan!”

“What?” She shrugs. “It’s the romantic in me.” She tugs at me. “Now come on. There’s a bar around the corner. Let’s drink and figure out how we’re going to handle this.”