Sleet Kitten: Book One of the Sleet Series

It’s the start of the second period, and the teams are tied 1-1. Jackson is, of course, playing brilliantly. I do my best not to drool on myself every time he skates by. I know it should be gross to see the sweat dripping down his face when he comes off the ice, but it’s not gross. It’s the opposite of gross. It’s sexy-as-fuck because I know he earned that sweat through hard work and talent. And thinking of him working his muscles makes me think of the last time I was with him, and how he put all those muscles all over me.

Steph squeals next to me a moment before Jackson slams an opponent against the glass not far from where we’re sitting. 

The crowd breaks out in cheers as he steals the puck and passes it to Luke. Luke’s already breaking off toward the goal, and it brings us all to our feet. Jackson is following Luke down the ice, and another Sleet player has come to fill out the arrow. Luke passes it to the guy I don’t know, who then fakes a shot while passing the puck to Jackson so fast I didn’t even see it. 

In the blink of an eye, Jackson is on the goal and slipping the puck past the goalie’s skate, into the corner of the net. 

I lose my shit. Steph loses her shit. The guy next to me loses his shit. Pretty much the whole arena loses its collective shit.

The roar of the fans is unreal, and I feel honest-to-god tears pricking my eyes. I’m so happy for Jackson right now. I know the actual amount of time we’ve spent together can be measured in hours, not weeks or even days, but I feel like I know him. I feel like I know the person that Jackson is inside, and that person is a man who puts family and responsibilities at the top of his priority list. He’s funny, kind, charming, sexy-as-sin, and – to my absolute delight – he has a bit of a mouth on him. He just also happens to be a very talented professional hockey player, who is adored by thousands upon thousands of fans. I can’t even imagine what it feels like to be him in these moments. But he’s earned it.

I turn to Steph just as she’s turning to me, and we embrace in a bouncing hug. I don’t feel quite so foolish anymore, since I can see tears in her eyes as well. She gives me a knowing smile and then squeezes me tighter.

As the crowd settles down, the teams take a moment to reconvene and do whatever it is they do when they group together. While we wait, the big screen comes to life with my favorite thing – the Kiss Cam. My dad dragged me to many a baseball game throughout my life, and I would always look forward to this part. I don’t know what it is that makes me love it so much. I’ve never been on it. It’s just so much fun to see the couples blush, or the dads kiss their little kids, or the old couples full-on making out. 

Smiling up at the screen, I watch what must be a five-year-old boy kiss his little sister on the cheek. The crowd releases a synchronized “Aww” before the cam moves on to another couple. They kiss, for a very long time, before the cam switches to another couple. Only this couple doesn’t start kissing. They’re just staring up at the screen.

Oh, wait… That’s me!

It takes me an embarrassingly long time to realize that the cam is focused on me and the loud frat boy next to me. I’ve always wondered how people who were watching the screen could take forever to react when they saw themselves up there. I get it now.

In the image looking back at me, I can see that the frat boy is looking at me hopefully. With a deer-in-the-headlights look, I quickly glance at him only to look back at the screen and shake my head. I can hear a few laughs in the crowd, but thankfully the screen cuts away from us as the ref drops the puck back into play.

I chance another look over to Frat Boy, and he’s full on smiling at me now. His friends are all laughing and the one next to him is patting his back as if to console him.

“I’m trying not to take it personal,’ he places a hand on his chest, ‘but you didn’t need to look so terrified of kissing me.”

“I’m sorry.” I’m not. “I always wondered what would happen if they put two strangers up there together. Now I know.”

“Well, if they put us up there together again, we can pretend we aren’t strangers.” He attempts a smirk.

“Uh, thanks, but I don’t think we have to worry about that.”

“I promise not to bite. Even if that’s your thing, it’s not really Kiss Cam appropriate.”

I know he’s trying to be funny. But he’s just being a creep. I can smell the beer on his breath, and he might be cute, but he’s no Jackson Wilder. Even if I wasn’t here for another man, there’s no way I would makeout with this guy on the Kiss Cam. That shit stays on the internet forever. Ugh, my denial of him will be on the internet forever too. Whatever, it’s still better than letting him put his beer-infused tongue in my mouth. Barf. I give him a halfhearted smile and turn back to the game.

A few minutes have gone by, and the teams are once again on pause for a timeout. To my now dread, not glee, the big screen lights up with the Kiss Cam again. And it starts out zoomed in right on me and Frat Boy. 

Fuck.

Again, I shake my head and mouth “I don’t know him” using a thumb to point to Frat Boy, in case there was any question as to who I was referring to. The camera gives up and finds another couple to target. Frat Boy leans in.

“Aw, come on. Do you have a boyfriend or something?”

“Yes.” I’m only pretty sure that I do, but let’s just go with yes.

“Well, lucky for me he sent you out with the girls tonight. He’ll never know.”

“Dude!” Now I’m glaring at him. For fuck’s sake. If you need to try to convince someone to kiss you, then you need to give up. Like, immediately. But this drunk idiot doesn’t realize this is a battle he won’t win.

The Kiss Cam comes back to us. 

Double fuck.

A mix of embarrassment and anger fills me while I look up at the screen, seeing Frat Boy aiming his puckered lips at me.

Before I can think of how to get out of this situation, a loud crash startles everyone in our section.

My eyes jerk towards the noise.

Jackson is right in front of us, at the back wall behind the bench, helmet in hand, still where he slammed against the glass, giving Frat Boy a death stare. 

I can almost hear the words as I read them off his lips: “Back. The. Fuck. Off!”

Frat Boy is suddenly sitting ramrod straight with his back against the seat as if he’d just been shoved. The color has drained out of his face, and his mouth is no longer in a kissy pout. Rather, it’s hanging open like a caught fish.

Jackson turns his sights on me. He holds my gaze for a beat, then winks, and turns to get back on the ice. Be still my belly full of bumblebees. 

I’m so zoned-in to our little moment that I’m not sure what the cameras caught, or how the crowd is reacting. But after a few seconds of silence, Frat Boy’s friends all nearly fall out of their seats from laughter. And I have to bite my lip in order to keep my smile somewhat in check.

“Holy shit, that was hot!” Meghan shouts before she leans over to look past the other girls so she can see me. “Sorry doll, but I totally just got turned on by your man.”

A lady in the row ahead of us turns around. “Me too.”

Meghan high-fives her.

“Oh. Um…” Seriously, what the hell am I supposed to say to that.

Frat Boy seems to have recovered some of his braveness, along with the blood in his face, because he taps me on the shoulder.

“Wow… so, you’re dating Jackson Wilder?” The look he’s giving me is full of awe.

“Yeah.” The look I’m giving him is full of you’re-a-jackass.

“I guess your boyfriend would have known. If you kissed me.”

“Yes, well, regardless, if a girl tells you she doesn’t want to kiss you, you need to respect that.”

A look of regret finally makes an appearance. “You’re right. I’m sorry.”

I sigh. I should probably press this issue further, but he seems chastised. “Just don’t do it again.” 

“Agreed. But it would have been kind of cool to say that I got punched by Jackson Wilder.”

I scoff. “If you’d actually tried to kiss me, I would’ve been the one punching you.”

He grimaces.

“And then Jackson would’ve punched you.” I smile, and bat my eyes.

“You’re absolutely right. I apologize for the entire thing.” He nods vigorously.

One of Frat Boy’s friends leans over to talk to him, “If it’s any consolation, I’m pretty sure that shit’s going to replay on ESPN all week!” Laughing he smacks Frat Boy’s knee. “Dude, you looked like you were going to piss yourself!”

Oh joy, I guess this is going to be my fifteen minutes.

With the puck back in play, my attention is back on the game. Jackson keeps sneaking looks this way. I’m assuming he’s trying to make sure that Frat Boy hasn’t tried to grope me in the last five minutes. I roll my eyes to myself. It’s sweet, but a little overkill. Especially since he’s playing a game and there’s not much he could do about it.

Thankfully, I feel like I’m starting to understand the rules of hockey. I know I’m missing a lot but I’m getting the basics figured out. Like – the puck goes in the net, the crowd freaks out. Goalie stops the puck, the crowd freaks out. The players do pretty much anything, the crowd freaks out. I know that goalie helmets are cool, but I have no idea what offside means. I think it’s bad. And apparently the term icing does not refer to the delicious stuff you put on a cake.

One of my favorite parts is the constant face-offs, puck-drops, whatever they’re called. Some of the time Jackson is the one going up against a guy from the other team. Watching his intensity when he does that is hot. Like, clench my thighs together hot. 

As if thinking about it made it true, I watch as Jackson skates up for another face-off. Like always, the two opposing players stop just a few feet from each other. They should be crouching down to get into position, but it looks like the other player is saying something to Jackson. 

I can see Jackson’s head tilt a little, like he just heard something he didn’t like. Before I have time to ask Steph what’s happening, Jackson drops his stick and punches the other guy right in the face.

The guy nearly falls but catches himself, and goes after Jackson. The ref and several players are suddenly swarming around the fighting pair. I assumed they were coming to break up the fight, but I see more punches flying from players on both sides. Ohmygod, is this normal? 

I jump up to stand, as if that’ll give me a better idea about what the hell is happening. I can’t even pick Jackson out of the growing mass of bodies anymore. 

My hands are at my mouth, and I think I’m holding my breath. I can sense that everyone around me is also standing but I can’t tear my eyes away. The crowd seems to be . . . cheering? What the hell! How can they cheer right now? This is terrifying!

The rest of the refs and players are starting to wade in to pull everyone apart. The ice is littered with helmets and gloves and hockey sticks. The crowd is still making noise, but I feel like I’m on the verge of all-out crying. 

Finally, I’m able to pick Jackson out of the herd. He has a scowl on his face, and the exposed part of his cheek above his beard on one side looks red, but I don’t see any blood. 

Wait, scratch that. His gloves are off and his knuckles are bloody. I inhale.

The ref leads Jackson across the rink to the penalty box and the rest of the players gather their scattered gear. I’m pretty sure I can pick out the guy Jackson was fighting, since he’s the only one having his face tended to. It looks like he might have a split lip. Maybe that’s where the blood on Jackson’s hand came from, which would mean it isn’t his own.

I can’t believe Jackson just started a massive fight in the middle of a game! Even being a hockey novice, I know that fighting on the ice is kind of a thing. But I was not at all prepared for that level of brawling. Especially since Jackson started it! 

The penalty box is directly across from our seats so I watch as the door is shut behind him before he turns and sits. Knowing right where to look, his eyes rise and meet mine. 

I’m still standing, still have my hands over my mouth, and I’m sure my eyes are crazed. Seeing this, the corner of Jackson’s mouth tips up, into a half smile.

That snaps me out of it. If he’s smiling, then clearly he’s fine. I drop my hands, shake my head, and collapse into my seat. Steph puts her arm around my shoulders and tugs me into her side.

“Hot damn, that was intense.” She whispers.

My mouth feels dry, so I just nod in response.

“In all the years Jackson has played hockey, I’ve only seen him get in a couple of fights.” Steph almost sounds like she is talking to herself, though her arm is still around me. “But I’ve never seen him throw the first punch. I wonder what that other player said to him.”

Taking a sip of water, I find my voice. “What’s going to happen to him?”

I can feel Steph shrug. “He’ll get a five-minute penalty, but that’s about it.”

“Okay.” Exhaling, I straighten up in my seat as Steph takes her arm back. 

Hearing what sounds like a prayer, I look over and see Frat Boy crossing himself.