“This is where Cameron said the intermission game contestants are supposed to gather.” Sophie takes in our surroundings and points at a woman wearing a Bobcats polo standing nearby. “But maybe we should ask someone.”
Awkwardly, I approach the woman, noting her clipboard and walkie-talkie. “Um, hi. Is this the right spot for the intermission game contestants? I wanted to make sure, because it looks like it’s just me and?—”
“The Cubs.”
“The Cubs,” I repeat dumbly. “Uh…” I scratch at my jaw and glance back at my friends. “Who are the Cubs?”
Her lips stretch into a sympathetic smile. “A midget team in the Bobcats’ youth league. You must be Maya. We don’t usually pair individual fans with junior league players, but Cameron Davies specifically requested that you participate in the first game.”
Only because my dumb ass requested that so I wouldn’t have to wait two full periods before getting out on the ice. The anticipation alone would’ve killed me.
“A midget team?” Kennedy mumbles behind me.
“Registered teams play in different classifications,” Sophie explains, fighting back a laugh. “Sixteen years old and younger are considered midgets.”
“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” I mumble. I’m facing my biggest fear by playing a game against baby hockey players.Lovely. Talk about setting myself up for success.
The period ends with the Bobcats up by one, and the moment they leave the ice to do their team pep talks or whatever, the announcer’s voice booms over the loudspeaker.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” he calls, making the whole arena rumble. “While the players cool off, we’re going to let things heat up out here on the ice with a game ofmusical chairs!”
My stomach drops.Oh, you’ve got to be motherfucking kidding me.
“Showtime, baby,” Kennedy sings as she rubs her hands together. “Break a leg.”
I shoot her a glare as a Bobcats employee herds me and the five Cubs onto the ice. Though I’ll never admit it to her, Sophie’s catchy penguin song runs through my head, helping me stay on my feet. I clench and unclench my fists as I go, my breaths quick and shallow. The announcer’s voice fades into white noise as I focus on taking small stomp-like steps to the center of the rink.
The Bobcats’ mascot high-fives us as we form a circle around the chairs, the force of the greeting almost enough to send me toppling. Somehow, I stay upright and once again focus on breathing.Deep breath in, deep breath out.
As I chant the reminder, I scan the stands, taking in thethousandsof people with their attention glued to the game. Why the hell could anyone think that imagining a crowd of people in their underwear will help with stage fright? The idea alone makes me feel awkward and uncomfortable, and with the fear already lodged in my chest, I don’t need another emotion to battle right now.
A rock song flows through the speakers to start the game, our cue to move, so with a steadying breath, I take a step forward.Here goes nothing.Shoulders pulled back, I walk around the perimeter of the chair circle. Scratch that; the other players walk. What I do is similar to how I’d walk if my tampon was at risk of falling out. It’s a half-waddle-half-hop situation.
With very careful, controlled steps, I make it a quarter of the way around before the Cubs player behind me power walks right on past. It’s a circle, so it’s not like he’s going to get to the finish line any quicker, but whatever. To keep from being distracted, I focus on pacing myself, but just as I’ve found a rhythm, the music cuts off.
Naturally, I get nowhere close to finding an empty chair. Instead, I get knocked over by two Cubs as they wrestle for the seat closest to me. No penguin can help me as one of the boys throws his arm back and elbows me in the boob, knocking me off balance and straight onto my ass.
Okay. Fucking ow.
The plus side? I didn’t smack my head this time. Though I can’t say this is any less embarrassing than my last fall on a frozen surface. Flat on my back, I close my eyes and pray the ice will crack open and swallow me whole. My face is so red I’m sure I look like fucking Elmo. I think I’m officially done attempting to set foot on a hockey rink. From now on, no matter what, I remain on non-icy surfaces.
I haven’t even considered how I might find my way to my feet when a comforting voice reassures me that he’s got me and hands slip under my arms and haul me up. On instinct, I sink into the familiarity of Cole’s touch, focusing on that rather than the thousands of eyes no doubt trained on the spectacle. Popcorn sales are going to skyrocket after that theatrical performance.
Cole’s hands lightly roam over my neck and arms, as if he’s looking for injuries. The joke’s on him, since the only thing hurt is my pride. When he’s satisfied I’m not about to bleed out, he rests his hands on my waist to steady me.
I clutch the front of his jersey with both hands, the material cool against my skin. “Hi.”
He grasps my shoulders and shakes me gently. “Christ, My. What are you doing? Trying to give me a heart attack?”
“Trying to be romantic,” I admit, nibbling on my lower lip. With him in skates, I have to tip my head way, way back to make eye contact. “Did it work?”
He rubs at the stubble on his chin, his dark eyes warm despite the cool air. “Baby, help me out here. I’m not sure what part of being knocked over by a tween during musical chairs is supposed to be romantic.”
Well, when he puts it that way…
Though the tween in question is wearing a jersey with his name on it, Cole hits him with a dangerous scowl. The kid’s eyes widen, and he takes a step back, as if realizing beating me to the chair may not have been in his best interest.
I tug on his jersey, forcing his attention back to me. When his eyes meet mine, it hits me square in the chest like Cupid’s arrow.
