The room filled up. Sadie, Olivia, and Reena added puck and hockey-stick shaped cookies to the spread of finger foods we’d chipped in to order. The air felt lighter, free of the usual game-day edge.
Colton, Asher, and Brent pulled up a couple of chairs near the front. People settled in, plates loaded, drinks filled up. Someone dimmed the lights slightly, the screen brightening as the puck dropped for the Eastern Conference Final.
Mel was sitting to my right, drink in hand, her subtle lean making my shoulder burn sweetly. Each time she reacted to a shot or a breakaway, her leg grazed mine in the best way.
In the second period, Florida pulled ahead. The room hushed, eyes glued to the screen until the final minute ticked down. Then the final buzzer hit, the room broke into chatter.
“Alright! Cup Final—Tahoe West versus Florida!” Asher whooped.
The room buzzed. Florida had clinched it, and the Cup matchup was set. I grabbed a root beer, a few bite-sized sandwiches, and sank back into my chair.
Dane dropped into the seat beside me, cracking open a soda. “That Floridian defenseman, Rowan’s gonna be a problem. The guy flexes like elastic and hits like a freight train.”
“He’s got reach like a damn octopus. We’ll need to box him out early,” Colton chimed in from his chair ahead of us.
“We met far worse defenses than that, and we’re in the final.” I gave my coach’s signature reply, though the Florida defense game looked solid, and could be troublesome.
“Touch-up time,” the voice came from my right.
I looked over as Reena pulled Mel toward the exit. I smirked watching them go. Mel didn’t need upgrade. Her this morning, sleep-soft and barefaced, was the most beautiful I’d seen her. That image hadn’t left me all day.
People kept slipping in and out, whispers mixed with game stats drifted around, like some side plan was brewing. I didn’t ask, too busy soaking in the post-game buzz and already working up some strategies.
“Coach, how do you feel about your team’s fashion choices tonight? Brent’s blazer looks like it came from a jazz funeral,” Logan said.
The room cracked up.
I snorted. “At least he didn’t wear his lucky socks. Those things should be quarantined.”
That got a fresh round of laughs.
I glanced toward the door, Mel hadn’t come back yet. How long was the bathroom queue? I must’ve been the only dehydrated person here, because the pee parade hadn’t slowed.
“Coach, you good?” Paxton asked.
“Yeah. Waiting for my girlfriend to return from the beauty vortex,” I said right as she walked in, glowing as if she’d won something.
Chapter twenty-eight
Mel
I walked back into the party room, pulse skipping. I could barely keep the grin off my face—the video shoot was spinning in my head. The videographer was moving on to other people, and the entire shoot would drop in the media tomorrow morning. Sean had no clue.
I caught his profile mid-conversation with Paxton and bit back another grin. If he looked my way now, I’d probably burst. I turned away, fluffed my blouse, and tried to act normal as I mingled through the crowd.
The camaraderie was infectious. It was only my second time in the WAG crowd, the first had been a photo op. Totally different from swapping rink-side jokes with the players. Here, as Sean’s girlfriend, I was still finding my balance. But less nervous than I’d expected. Somehow, I’d found my footing on emotional ice skates. Who knew WAG life was lessMean Girlsand moreSisterhood of the Traveling Pants: Hockey Edition?
Conversations swelled around the room. Everyone was in on the surprise, but no one slipped.
“You good?” Sean’s voice came from behind me.
I turned. “Yeah, and you?”
“I wouldn’t mind heading out.”
“Sure thing. Let me grab my purse.”
While the buzz continued, Sean took my hand, and we slipped out together. He drove us back to his house.
