ALL ACCESS.
My eyes flick back up to the woman in front of me, like I’m not sure if she’s handed me the right thing.
She’s just smiling.
Someone special.
Hm.
I slide the pass around my neck and thank her, making my way into the arena and following the winding line of people until I can get to my seat down by the glass.
My fingers are cold when I pull my phone out, flicking through the texts we sent each other earlier.
Is he going to look for me?
Will he be wearing the helmet?
I’m surprised at the way I’m clutching my phone tight enough that my knuckles are nearly white… but I want this.
I wantto see him.
A sudden burst of music makes me startle in my seat a few seconds before the lights dim and then jump to life. I’m quick to stuff my phone back into my pocket so I can pay attention towhat’s happening in front of me. My eyes instantly fixate on the players as they erupt onto the ice, though I have to wait until the last of them spills out before my eyes catch on Donovan.
He’s a dance of elegant movements and a burst of color.
Mycolors.
Heiswearing the helmet.
I don’t expect the blossom of heat that starts somewhere in the center of my chest and slowly stokes to a full-blown inferno as he drops into a crouch and starts warming up with the other players. It’s there, though, consuming me from the inside out until it’s hard to focus on what’s happening, on anything other than the way he looks.
He’s wearing my art.
My blood.
Everyone in this room is watching him, and no one but me knows that he’sclaimed.
“Fuck.” I lean forward like it will let me see his expression behind the mask easier. Is he thinking of me? Is he looking for me?
“I know, right? Warmups are my favorite part.” The girl beside me chirps the reply to my own, personal curse like I was talking to her. I turn, ready to pluck her eyes out of her head if she’s staring at Donovan, but she’s watching one of the other players as they glide around on the ice.
Lucky.
“Hm.” I give her the most noncommittal answer I can and turn my gaze back to the ice. My eyes stay focused on him as he finally springs up from whatever weird, crouched warmup he was doing and makes his way over to the net.
I wonder if he’ll be offended to realize that I can barely pay attention to the game. I don’t watch the other players. I don’t watch the puck, or the way the people move and crash against the boards, though the violence of it all should be exciting to me.
My eyes are all for Donovan, for the way he moves so gracefully, the way he dives across the net and throws himself onto the ice when someone tries to score.
From the way the people around me cheer, it’s obvious that he did something amazing. From the way he throws his arm up in the air, I can tell that hefeelsit too.
But his head swivels when he does it… scanning.
Looking.
Maybe looking for me.
Fuck…
