“What the hell just happened?” Celena asks.
“Some kind of penalty,” I say. “Tripping, I think.”
“It says ‘power play,’” Celena says, pointing to the screen.
I look and see that one of the Hydra is in the penalty box already. Shit.
“We have to play down one man for the next two minutes,” I say.
We. Listen to me talk like I’m part of the team.
I take another sip of wine as play resumes, and I once again try to keep up with the piece of rubber bouncing all over the place. I have no idea how the players keep track of the thing while also on skates.
The penalty ends, and the Hydra have survived their first power play as the next shift of forwards comes onto the ice.
“There’s Ash,” Celena says, and I look where she’s pointing.
Sure enough, number seventeen is on the ice, and I can’t take my eyes off him. I never thought of tall men as particularly graceful, but Ash is surprisingly quick and smooth on skates for someone who’s nearly six and a half feet tall.
It seems like he’s on the ice for a ridiculously short amount of timebefore he heads off again, but he hasn’t gotten into a fight yet, so I’ll take the small victory.
The first period ends about forty minutes later with both teams still scoreless. Even for a newbie to hockey, I can tell our goalie has been nothing short of spectacular. The other team took more shots on goal than us, and Kingston made some incredible saves, once even managing to throw himself from one side of the net to the other in time to make a diving save on a puck that seemed all-but destined to go in.
“Goalies are really flexible,” Celena says as if channeling my thoughts.
“Agreed,” I say. “My knees hurt just watching that. Joints were not meant to bend that way.” I hold up the empty wine bottle. “Another?”
“How long is the game?” she asks.
“Two more periods.”
“Three periods?” she says. “That’s weird. Yeah, I’m up for another.”
I head downstairs into my cellar, grab a Châteauneuf-du-Pape off the rack, and bring it back upstairs. Might as well stay with French red.
“How’s it going with Ash anyway?” Celena asks. “Did seeing him make up for the bad date?”
I down the last few sips of the wine in my glass and start working on the cork of the new bottle.
“He gave me a neck massage,” I say as I pop the wine open.
Celena’s brows shoot up. “Oh? And what brought that on?”
“I slept wrong and had a crick in my neck. He convinced me to let him work on it.”
Celena waits for me to go on. “And?” she prompts when I don’t.
“And not only is the man gorgeous, he has magic fingers,” I say. “And he convinced me to take my sweater off, so he’s seen my tattoos.” I take a big swig of the wine I just poured myself.
“What did he think of them?” Celena asks.
I sigh. “He said they were beautiful.”
“And somehow you don’t seem happy about that,” she observes as she pours herself some of the new wine and takes a sip.
“Why would I be happy about that?” I ask. “The man is off limits, but he’s sweet, and he becomes more interesting every time I talk to him. It’s not fair.” I take another drink.
“Remind me why he’s off limits again?” Celena asks.
