The crowd is bursting with life. Everyone—on the other side—is living for Leo’s display of bloodlust. He’s seven parts aggression and three parts tact. Not once has he passed to Jack—it’s blatantly obvious to anyone with eyes that Leo’s ignoring the guy, and it makes me happier than he’ll ever realize.
Leo seems completely possessed. He’s acting like a different person who’s fueled solely by aggression, and every single person here is losing their ever-loving mind.
I’m on the edge of my seat, eyes glued to him. If he’s in the sin bin, that’s where my attention is. If he’s on the ice, that’s the only thing in the world that matters.
I’ve watched countless reels of footage of Leo in action, and this is somehow the best and worst game I’ve ever seen him play. The slightly frustrated, yet confused, yet pleased expressions on the Serpents’ fans’ faces mirror my thoughts. The Phoenixes, on the other hand, are acting like someone killed their dog.
But Leo is John Wick.
He’s a man on a mission who’s turning hockey into an individual sport—and his team seemspissedand simultaneously pleased. The coach is screaming at him from the side, but no one appears to be in the mood to stop his rampage. This has to be the best game they’ve had this season, and Leo shows no signs of slowing down.
He must be getting his contract reviewed or something. It’s the only thing that could explain the sudden unearthly talent. Because, shit, if he plays with this level of precision every game, he’ll go down in the history books.
By the time the break—intermission? Quarter time? Fuck knows—rolls around, I slump back into my seat. My legs heave out a sigh of relief from jumping up and down for the past however many minutes.
I almost feel for Leo and the ass-whooping he must be getting. But to my complete and utter dismay, his name pops up on my phone.
Leo: Are you watching?
I reread it to be sure.
A chill goes down my spine.No, he can’t know it’s me.
Play it cool.
As far as he’s aware, we don’t live in the same state, and the one time he went to the state I’ve claimed to reside in, he made no suggestion to meet up.
It’s purely a coincidence that he’s asking me this.
Mina: You’ll have to be more specific with your question. I have a broad range of interests and could be watching anything.
I survey my surroundings like he might be hiding somewhere, staring straight at me, but no one gives two shits about my existence—especially not the kid beside me who spent the entire game playingSubway Surfersand wearing noise-canceling headphones.
My phone vibrates in my hand.
Leo: Can you do me a favor?
Why can’t he just outright say it? Ugh. The suspense is killing me. I let a minute pass in the hope that he’ll save me the mortification of agreeing to something I’ll hate. But at the two-minute mark, I break and fire off a response.
Mina: Depends on what it is.
Leo: Don’t take your eyes off me. I’m winning this game for you.
My eyes bulge out of my head, body flushing hotter than any person should.
Leo: And one more thing.
Lord, give me strength.
Mina: What?
Leo: You’re going to be screaming my name by the end of the night.
My stomach tightens involuntarily, and I groan into my hands. These sexual innuendos are going to be the death of me.
And because I’m a sucker for pain, I respond.
Mina: Give me a reason to.
