She spends the entire ride attempting to teach me the rules of ice hockey. Other than getting the puck in the goal, most of it goes over my head, and by the time we’re climbing out and greeting the other three who are celebrating with us tonight, I’m still none the wiser. Rachel, Lessy, and Savvy stand there in their pretty dresses, and I can’t help but smirk knowing that they’re going to be covering them up any moment.
Gift bags are thrust at the birthday girl, and after a round of hugs, we head inside.
The table is already decorated with everything I dropped off earlier, and we quickly find our seats before accepting a glass of Prosecco each.
“Thank you,” Sienna says, wrapping me in a hug.
“You’re welcome.” I squeeze her back just as tightly.
Sienna has no idea just how much I appreciate her friendship. Without her…well, I don’t know where I’d be right now. She’s held my hand through so much. I owe her everything. Throwing her a birthday meal fit for a queen is the least I can do.
With our colleagues from the salon opposite us, also wearing their jerseys, we embark on eating our body weight in bruschetta, tagliatelle, and ravioli before Sienna excitedly leads the way to the arena only a few blocks over.
“Come on, bitches. I don’t want to miss warm-ups, and trust me, neither do you.”
“She’s right,” Rachel, one of my beauty therapists, says beside me. “The things those men can do with their hips should be illegal in public.”
It’s not the first time I’ve heard them talking about this, and I’m sure it won’t be the last. Honestly, it’s probably the only thing I’m looking forward to about tonight.
“What I wouldn’t give to experience what those hips can really do,” Sienna announces, making Savvy laugh.
The walk to the arena is short, and before long, we’re surrounded by a sea of Vipers colors as everyone piles inside, excited for tonight. They’re chanting and singing—there are air horns and everything. And I have to admit, the level of excitement is a little infectious.
Although that could just be the Prosecco we consumed with dinner.
“We need snacks and beer,” Sienna announces once we’ve made it inside.
“We do not need snacks,” I call back, my stomach still bloated from the sheer volume of carbs we just consumed.
“We can’t watch hockey without snacks. That should be as illegal as their hips.”
The girls giggle around me as we join the line for snacks.
With our arms and hands fully loaded, we follow the leader of our pack with the crown on her head toward our seats.
“Holy shit, girl. How did you secure these?” Savvy asks in delight as we stop right behind the bench. “We’re going to be able to smell them from here.”
“Gross,” I mutter as I find my seat and lower my beers—yes, multiple—to the floor.
“I’m going to prove you wrong, you know that, right? Now that I’ve got you here, I’m going to make a hardcore hockey fan out of you.”
“Good luck,” I mutter, pulling my cell from my pocket and opening the camera. “Selfie,” I call, stretching my arm out as far as I can.
Five smiling faces just about manage to squeeze into the screen.
“Say, ‘I love hockey,’” Savvy shouts.
I groan as I take the picture. Thankfully, when I check it, I find that I am smiling.
“Oh, oh, here we go!” Rachel shouts, elbowing me in the side as players hit the ice.
The volume increases around us as men dart around the rink.
I watch, waiting to be amazed.
“They’re just skating,” I mutter, firmly disappointed. Sienna has definitely oversold this experience.
“Wait,” she mutters. “Hey, look,” she says, pointing as one player hits the ice. “That’s Everett Donnelly.”
