“What does she mean by that?” I asked.
“She brings that bag to every game,” Bri said, picking up her pace.
“What’s in it?”
“A bunch of yarn and her crochet hooks,” Bri said, looping her arm around mine and dragging me along. “Every time she manages to crochet an entire scarf from start to finish before the final buzzer goes off, the Bobcats win.”
I belted out a laugh, fully expecting the gaggle of women around me to join in. I expected wrong. A quick glance at their faces showed nothing but dead serious expressions concerning thistotally-not-crazygame superstition. I swallowed my laughter and looked over at Bri. “You don’t actually think her scarf-making has anything to do with their wins, do you?” I said quietly enough for Bri’s ears only.
She pursed her lips for a momentbefore answering. “This is only my brother’s second year on the Bobcats. Watching him win the cup would be a dream come true. I’ll take all the help we can get.”
“He’s on the Bobcats? I thought he played for some team out in Arizona.”
“He did for a while,” Bri said, zigzagging through the crowd, “but he was traded. This is the year, Wren. I’m telling ya. They’re going to go all the way this time.”
Bri’s enthusiasm propelled her through the arena faster than any amount of rocket fuel could. Just when I thought I couldn’t keep up the pace any longer, we arrived at our box seats. Bri hadn’t been kidding when she’d called them luxury. What looked like a full-service waitstaff stood shoulder to shoulder along the back wall, behind a banquet-like spread that instantly had my mouth drooling.
A variety of steaming brats, dogs, and cheese curds filledone end of the table, while a nacho station with all the fixings filled the other. It wasn’t dainty fare, but one look around the box could tell anyone that we weren’t exactly a dainty group—not tonight, at least. A few of the girls painted each other’s faces with the team colors while Bri leaned over the railing at the front of the box. With her fist raised high, she joined in the crowd cheer, “Claws out! Puck in!” Hattie sat off in the corner, oblivious to everything going on around her as she got herself into what she called her “game day crochet zone.”
I plopped down into one of the plush leather reclining chairs and let the absurdity of it all sink into me. Two days from now, this group would be all about hair, makeup, and matching gowns. Tonight, we were a motley crew of rabid Bobcat fans.
A towering display of cupcakes on the other side of the box caught my eye. Something fluttered in my chest when I thought of the cupcake I’d eaten earlierthat day, or more precisely, the man I’d shared it with. If only I’d gone ahead and given him my number. What a wedding date he’d have made this Saturday.
The overhead lights in the arena dimmed without warning. Colored spotlights traced intricate patterns across the ice in time with the bass-heavy tune that pumped through the air. My chest buzzed to the rhythm, making my pulse race.
The crowd roared when the Bobcats exploded onto the ice from a small tunnel across the rink from us. I finally understood what people meant when they described an atmosphere as electric. Something primal woke up inside me and urged me to my feet when the team—our team—skated by in tight formations, passing by each other with more speed than I knew was possible.
I held my breath as their paths crisscrossed while racing in looping patterns across the ice with unimaginable precision. I’d never seenso much power under such control. I pressed my body to the railing to get a better look. When had I gotten out of my seat and walked to the front of our box? I didn’t know, and it didn’t matter. I was mesmerized by the action on the ice and couldn’t look away.
Hockey sticks flashed as the men fired pucks into the nets. One of the servers in our box asked me for my drink order, and the crowd beneath us started the wave. I didn’t know where to look—and this was just their warm-up! What was I going to do once the game really got started?
“Wren!” Bri’s voice cut through the exhilarating chaos around me. “Get over here.” She waved me over to join the group beside the glowing neon Bobcats logo at the back of the box. “It didn’t happen if there aren’t any pics, right?” she said as I took my place in a group photo.
Once we’d taken at least thirty pictures on six different phones and they’dall been posted on social media, we took our seats just in time for the game to begin. I leaned forward, gripping the leather armrests, my eyes struggling to keep track of the blur that was the hockey puck.
I’d never thought about what it would sound like for a group of grown men to race across the ice, digging their blades in and powering forward. The scraping and grinding of the ice left trails of shaved crystals in patterns I didn’t have time to fully appreciate. This fast-paced game was one of the most amazing demonstrations of the raw power of the male physique I’d ever witnessed.
What a contrast this place was to my quiet world. I thought my life had all the excitement it needed because I worked at an indie bookstore.Adding the wordindieto anything made it sound instantly cooler. But compared to this?
Nah, the wordthrillinghad been invented to describe thisatmosphere, and I wasn’t so sure I wanted to go back. Vacation Wren was ready to buy a foam finger and season tickets. I cheered the Bobcats and booed the refs right along with everyone else, shouting until my throat was raw.
Vacation Wren was a fun person. She was wild and free—just like a heroine in a Daphne Rose Love romance novel. But none of this was really me… was it? This was all like a dream—a crazy, exhilarating dream I was sure to wake up from. This vacation would be over soon enough, and I’d be back to my old quiet ways of working at the bookstore by day and practicing my calligraphy skills by night.
But that version of myself could wait her turn. I was here to enjoy myself and that was what I intended to do.
The clatter of bodies colliding into each other and slamming against the rink wall captured my attention. A man from the opposing team had one of our guys pinned to the wall with a forearmacross the back of his neck and a hockey stick jammed into his shoulder blades. The wall rattled as the men struggled, and the crowd made their opinion heard.
Several other players converged on the site as Bobcats came to defend their teammate. Before I knew what was happening, a few of the men slung their gloves to the ice and began throwing fists, tugging on jerseys, and manhandling each other.
Hattie looked up from untangling the yarn she’d dropped a minute before. “It looks like we’ve got our first fight of the night.”
“First?” I asked, my jaw hanging open at the melee happening in front of me. I squinted, trying to see the action, annoyed at myself for leaving my glasses at the vacation house. I wouldn’t have been able to see anything if it wasn’t for the jumbo screen suspended from the ceiling.
Hattie nodded. “The firstof many, I’m sure.”
The referees ended the fight and got the game rolling again as if it were business as usual. “Don’t you worry about your brother down there in all of that?” I asked Bri.
She shook her head. “He’s been taking care of himself on the ice since he was five. I’m more worried about any guy that comes afterhim.”
