“Ava, get your ass moving! The game starts in an hour!” Morgan yells, pounding on my bedroom door.
As I finish getting ready, I do a quick once over in my full-length mirror. Although I can’t say that my black hoodie plastered with the ugly Saints logo and ripped skinny jeans are going to drop jaws, I’m damn comfy. I scrape my long dark brown hair up into a high ponytail with a sigh.
Morgan and I live together in a small two-bedroom apartment about fifteen minutes away from our Vancouver University. It isn’t anything special, but it’s enough for us.
The kitchen has a small island with light granite countertops to go with the light wood cabinets and stainless-steel appliances. The living room is on the opposite side of the room, lit up by the sunlight that barrels through our floor to ceiling windows.
Morgan waits for me on the couch, scrolling through her new iPhone and probably gushing to her boyfriend, Matthew, about how excited she is to watch him play tonight.
Her platinum blonde hair is curled loosely, sitting just below her shoulders, and her long, thick eyelashes cover her blue eyes.
Since Morgan’s boyfriend is the starting goalie for the Vancouver Saints hockey team, I, unfortunately, end up getting dragged to every single game. And as much I enjoy hockey, sometimes a girl just wants to sit at home in her bed.
“Are we leaving or what? I’ve been waiting forever for you,” I tease, heading towards the front door.
“Shut up.” Rolling her eyes, she gets up off the couch.
As we get inside her Jeep, she looks over and gives me a hopeful
smile.
“We’re all going out after the game tonight since it’s the first game of the season and all. You’re coming, right? It won’t be the same without you. Plus I heard the new guy will probably be there.”
Ah yes, the infamous Oakley Hutton. Rumours have been flying around campus about the city’s new hockey God since he moved here a couple of months ago. For a guy most people haven’t seen before, he sure has quite the fan base already.
“I haven’t met him yet, but Matt says he’s amazing on the ice. He came from Penticton or something.”
“If Oakley’s anything like the other guys on the team, I’m going to have to pass on that one. You got the only decent one. As for the party, I guess I’ll come. Oh, the things I do for you,” I snicker as we head off towards the arena.
Once we find an empty parking stall outside of the rink a short twenty minutes later, I start to prepare myself for the screaming crowds of fans and the constant groups of girls that are going to be lingering around, searching for their next hormone-driven victim.
Puck bunnies.
The desperate, excitable group of girls that only want to hook up with a guy because he plays hockey. What beautiful, exquisite, feminist creatures they are. Not.
Having spent the past few years being hauled to game after game, tournament after tournament, you learn to keep away from the locker rooms directly afterwards unless the smell of lust and clouds of expensive perfumes is what you crave.
As soon as we get through the doors, I can barely hear anything Morgan says past all of the “Let’s go Saints!” chants and other screams that I try and tune out. I end up ducking my head and let her pull me through the crowds to our seats.
 |
There are twelve minutes to go in the second period and the Saints are up by a score of three to two. When an arrogant defenseman from the opposing team illegally cross-checks Braden Lowry, our defenseman, I notice Number Eleven, Oakley Hutton, for the first time.
I watch anxiously as he skates over and grabs the back of the player’s jersey before forcefully spinning him around. Oakley drops his gloves and sends a hard-right hook straight to the defenseman’s jaw. Before the poor guy can get a hit in, Oakley is throwing another punch, this time at his opponent’s abdomen.
He continues his brutal beat down, his lips moving as he says something to the losing instigator. I can’t help but notice just how tall Oakley is as he towers over his opponent on the ice. I can’t get a good view with all of his hockey gear in the way, but by the strength of the hits and the fact the Eagle’s player is now being carried off the ice towards the dressing room, I get the feeling he does not lack in the muscle department either.
I feel someone lightly jab me in the side and see Morgan leaning towards my ear. “That’s the new guy I was telling you about! Boy sure knows how to fight.” She stares at me with a playful glimmer in her eyes before her features tighten up in anger. “What the hell? He’s being ejected from the game!”
I jerk my head forward and am immediately met with a pair of raging green eyes. His eyebrows are deeply furrowed, mouth is in a tight line as he furiously stalks down the hallway towards the dressing room. My eyes are locked on his until he disappears from view, leaving my mouth unbelievably dry. He’s pissed about the referee’s call; no surprise there. We all are.
“Do you two know each other or something?”
Glancing over at Morgan, I roll my eyes as she wiggles her eyebrows suggestively. “Don’t even start. He’ll be lucky if he doesn’t get suspended for that,” I state matter-of-factly and try to shake the last few minutes out of my memory. “Any chance you can go without me tonight?” Please say yes.
Morgan lets out an exasperated sigh, “You’re joking, right? They so deserved it. And no way. You’re coming. It’s about time you got back on the horse again.” I feel my muscles tense up at her words, causing the hair on my arms to rise. “David was a total prick. He’s been out of the picture for a year now. You can’t let what happened keep you from trying again,” she
finishes with a sympathetic look. I know she wants to help, but it isn’t that easy.
David was my high school boyfriend, although our relationship carried into my University experience as well. We dated for three years, and let’s just say we didn’t exactly have the cleanest breakup.
“Do you ever think maybe it isn’t even David keeping me from a relationship? What if I just want to focus on school? Why do I have to have a guy in my life? Let alone another hockey player who doesn’t even know who I am,” I snap. “Just because you got lucky with Matthew doesn’t mean that I want what you have.”
She flinches back at my harsh tone, and I let out a loud sigh, reluctantly deciding to suck it up for one night.
“But for you, and only you, I will go. But only for an hour. Then I’m leaving. Got it?”
“Okay, okay. I got it. I’m sorry, babe.” She reaches over, squeezing my hand.
