Page 72 of Put a Rink on It

I won’t be the cause of you playing poorly tonight. Not with so much on the line. If you need to rest, I’ll sit in the lobby and read.

I promise I’ll be on my best behavior, but I want you in the bed with me

My cheeks heat at his insinuation. I’ve learned this past week that cuddling with Nero is top-notch.

Meet you in the lobby

Of the arena

I stuff the notebook, phone, and e-reader into my laptop bag and scoot from the row, taking my time on the walk to the lobby. While I wait for Nero, I pick off the nail polish, noting to remember to make time in my day to repaint them in Nautilus colors before tonight’s game.

“Marina Keeley.” My name reaches my ears from a deep, throaty voice. Looking up, I see the Nauts’ goalie, Finch Schurbatski, lumbering over. He attended and played for Centennial, but I didn’t know him well then. If at all. Other than their game performances, I didn’t know many of the players well.

“Hey, goalie. How’s it going?” I stand up, and he folds me into his arms, an awkward hug shared between two somewhat strangers.

“It’s great to see you. How’ve you been?”

“Can’t complain. Though I’m not the goalie for a professional hockey team, so it seems like you’re ahead of me.”

His laugh is a grunt, fitting for what little I remember of him. “Still can’t believe you’re engaged to Champion. Or that we’re playing on the same team again. It’s been ages.”

“Nero’s glad to have a friendly face on the team.”

He raises an eyebrow in challenge. “It’s pretty wild, but so’s hockey. What’s new with you? Where’d you end up after Centennial?”

I’m saved from having to answer when Nero joins our group, throws his arm around my shoulder, and kisses my temple. My eyes try to close at the sweet gesture, but I force them to remain open. My body needs to learn to keep its reactions to a minimum. No falling for my fiancé.

“We’re off to the hotel. See you in a few hours.” Nero slaps Finch on the back and leads me out of the arena into the cold Montreal air. I tighten the jacket around me. “Want some poutine? I’ve heard the hotel makes a fabulous one. We’ll order room service.”

“Music to my ears.”

Montreal’s up by two going into the third period. Our guys haven’t put the puck into the net, and the defeat weighs heavily on them. Nero’s been in the penalty box twice, once for something stupid, the other valid, but he’s down on himself. Hopefully, a coach or the captains have something valuable to say during the intermission to help boost morale. They went into the game knowing they’d have to fight hard, but Montreal is playing strong, both on defense and offense. And their goalie’s on fire, saving every puck headed his way.

I’m sitting in the lower bowl with the few Hartford WAGs who made the trip to Montreal. Apparently, most of the girlfriends and wives don’t travel to away games, a fact I’ll be bringing up with Nero at a later time since he made it seem the opposite. Except I’m not all that mad. Free tickets to a professional hockey game where I get to ogle my fiancé and no one questions me? Sign me up. And since I quit my job, I’ve got way more time on my hands to tag along.

The company is spot-on with how Lucie described the women. The ones who are here seem like a genuine group, and a part of me hates deceiving them with my lies. Nearly every question they asked pertained to my relationship with Nero, and half of my answers were lies, some of them not even half-truths. I hope I remember all of them to tell Nero later. If our stories don’t match up, we’re likely to be outed.

Five minutes before the buzzer rings to signal the end of the intermission, the Nauts take the ice. Grit and determination line their expressions, their attention laser-focused. Nero doesn’t glance where I’m sitting as he did before the first and second periods, but he’s locked in, and I wouldn’t want to detract from that. He knows I’m here to support him. An acknowledgement isn’t needed.

“Were you a hockey fan before dating Nero?” Shannon, Kaplan’s girlfriend, asks.

“Yep.”

“So you understand the game? What all the calls mean. Why they end up in the box.” She bites the skin around her thumbnail.

“Yeah. I take it you’re a newer fan?”

“Never been to a game in my life until I met Bobby. We’ve only been dating since last August, so I’m still learning.”

“I’ve got a brother who plays, too, so ask me anything. I’m not sure there’s much I don’t know.” I hope it doesn’t come across as cocky, but my knowledge of the game impressed Nero.

She lets out a relieved breath. “Even for the little things?”

I crack a smile. “I got you.”

Her smile mirrors mine. “Perfect.”

The puck drops, and the action begins.