Everything I’ve wanted to hear from him was right there in that small gesture.
We had sex last night, and for the first time since we started, his team is losing.
Not just losing, but failing, epically. But in the midst of the loss, the frustration, the pain, he looked for me.
That small wave of Alex’s glove, the miniscule kiss blown just for me changes everything I thought I knew.
His supposed good luck charm, me, is sitting in the stands behind him, wearing hisothergood luck charm to boot, and there’s not a chance in hell that Alex is going to turn this game around and win.
The superstition is broken. The end of our situationship should be right there in sight.
But it doesn’t feel like the end.
I think this is what the beginning feels like.
“Hey, Elly Belly. Remember an hour ago when you were telling us all to shut up because you didn’t want anyone in the arena to find out that you’re in love with the goalie? That was funny, wasn’t it?” Mom nudges me hard in my side with her elbow when I sit back down, snickering at me behind my back with Breaker and Lennon.
“Keep picking on me and I’ll cancel your credit card,” I threaten, but Mom only laughs harder. I don’t know if it’s that she knows all my threats are hollow and I’d never stop taking care of her, or the goofy, love sick grin I can’t seem to shake off my face, but her giggles make me want to double down. “I’m serious. Good luck paying for pilates and your weekly spa trips when the AmEx is getting declined everywhere you go.”
“Elly and Alex, sitting in a tree,” she sing-songs while poking me in the stomach.
“K-I-S-S-I-N-G!” Breaker and Lennon continue the song, and the three of them make smoochy faces at me until I can’t take it anymore, grumbling something about needing a drink just to get away from them.
But even their teasing can’t sour my mood. I’m smiling the entire walk to the concession stand, grinning like a fool with every fan who stops and asks for an autograph and a selfie. Since there’s an entire charity event happening after the game, the arena has extended their alcohol-serving time past the end of the second period. Remembering the first night that Alex and I met, I buy a round of beers for every person waiting in the drink line with me. Free beer might not be enough juju to undo the Bearcats’ five-two lead with only one period left to play, but a littlegood karma can’t hurt. A group of guys beg me to shotgun a beer with them and I oblige, sticking with the zero proof because I know I want to be sober when I talk to Alex later.
I’m not going to hold my love for him in for one more second.
23
OUR SHOW IS ON
Alex
Today’s game was a shit show of epic proportions, and I know that it was mostly my fault. When the final buzzer sounded and Coach Hannigan pulled me by the back of my jersey, threatening my balls if I wasn’t showered and ready to defend myself in the press room as soon as possible, I probably should have been shaking in my skates. Players have been benched for lesser offenses than fucking over entire games and starting fights with the opposing team’s goalies.
But as I stand in the locker room, ignoring the pissed off looks on my teammate’s faces while I pull on some camera-appropriate attire, I don’t feel anxious or fearful. I’m not nervous to face the mediaand their scrutiny over why I sucked so fucking hard at the one job I had tonight. I don’t even feel mad at my shithead father for messing with my head and getting under my skin just minutes before I hit the ice.
All I feel is…elation. I’m thrilled. Warm and shining from the inside out, like the sun herself made a new home in my stomach. Because Elliot was there for me tonight. When the chips were down, my focus was fucked, and all I could think about was how I should have kissed him longer this morning because it might have been our last kiss, Elliot didn’t leave me.
I spent the majority of the game in my head, unable to even look in the direction of Elliot’s seats behind my net, because I was sure that what we had was over. I let my dad’s bullshit in, and I was too busy thinking about how unworthy I was of all this happiness to do my job. And once the Bearcats started scoring and didn’t stop, I was too busy being depressed that the spell of Elliot’s and my hookup superstition had been broken to care that I was losing the game for my team.
But when he scribbled all over the fogged up glass, Elliot gave me the kick in the ass I needed to do what needs to be done.
Not win the game, that ship was already longsailed, and I’ll be carrying the weight of that loss for the rest of the season.
No, Elliot’s kiss to the glass reminded me of why I fell so damn hard for him. That I am worthy of his affections, because he doesn’t hand them out freely. That this has always been more than a stupid superstition for me.
Back in the press room, it’s difficult for me to keep the smile off my face. The reporters lob questions?—
Where do you think the team started to fall apart tonight?
Were there stressors during practice that could have predicted this kind of performance?
Can you describe your thought process leading up to the fight with Price?
I do my best impression of a somber, humbled goalie who sees today as a learning opportunity and already has his focus on the next game. I take the blame on my shoulders and I highlight where my teammates went right. All of my answers are perfectly polished from years of media training, until my guy Robert from Boston raises his hand in the front row.
“Alex, we know that you’re a very cerebral player. Whatever is happening in your mind has a big impact on what happens on the ice. Can you tell us more about your mental game tonight? Wasthere something specific that caused you to choke up?”
