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Within moments, Paul Morris’s calm delivery wafted through the arena’s speakers. “Toronto penalty to number three, Bob Rouse, two minutes for high-sticking. Toronto penalty, two minutes for delay of game”—the jeers and swearing doubled—“served by number twenty-two, Ken Baumgartner, time 6:49.”
“We’re two players down! What the actual fuck?” Michael winced and hastily scarfed the remaining popcorn in his hand.
“The puck hit his stick and deflected into the crowd BY ACCIDENT!” hollered Ezio. “Delay of game, my ass!”
“It’s a FIX!” shouted Randall from behind as a chant of “BULLSHIT! BULLSHIT!” flourished around them.
Shaking her head, Georgie glanced at her friend. A husk of kernel stuck to his chin stubble. “Mikey”—she pointed—“there’s popcorn below your…”
He wiped away the evidence with the back of his hand. “Cheers.”
She stewed for a beat. “You could’ve told me my lipstick was smudged last night. I looked hideous when I got home.”
Huffing, Michael angled closer. “Gi, what is this? Pick on Mikey night? You didn’t look hideous, and I was tired, okay? I didn’t notice. Neither did Kaitlin.”
“She was drunk,” said Georgie. “You weren’t.”
Michael did a double take. “Wasn’t it you who said the sign of a good night out is two points in the win column and smudged lipstick? Congrats, bud! Last night you had both!”
“I haven’t said that in ages.” She shook her head. Michael was forgetting an important stipulation: the smudged lipstick had to come from a make-out session, not from being a sweating, dancing, I-can’t-stop-yapping-my-head-off freak.
“Then why so angsty?” he asked. “Something happen at the Griddle?”
“No.”
“Is it Houdini?”
“No.”
Michael paused for a beat. “Oliver?”
She hunched in her seat. “No!”
“Then what?”
Guilt thickened inside her. “Doesn’t matter. Watch the game.”
Michael tilted his head. “Georgie.”
She swallowed heavily. “I’m sorry I’m being a bitch.”
“You’re many things, including a pain in the ass, but a bitch ain’t one of them,” said Michael. “I should know. I know you better than anyone. And when you’re like this, I know something’s up, so spill. Tell me.”
She hugged her popcorn bag. “There’s nothing to tell. I don’t know why I’m being like this.”
But Georgie did know. Her nitpicky, pile-on-Michael-for-everything sulk was her way of dealing with—or rather, deflecting from—her own shortcomings. She wouldn’t admit it verbally, but she’d messed up the night prior. Oliver was an absolute sweetheart, calling her “brave” twice and listening to the challenges she’d faced as a female sports fan. He liked her friends, stayed for hours at her favourite bar. He even bought everyone a round of drinks—twice.
She, on the other hand, had hidden behind a mask of her own making. Talking about the bar and her fan experiences provided the perfect avenue to swerve the real feelings bubbling up, brought on by his engaging smile and compassionate manner, not to mention his subtle scent, which she still couldn’t pin down. Something cinnamon-y and comforting. Georgie sighed into her popcorn. How delightful her life could be if she and Oliver became something more! Re-examining that revelation, the same one that had held her hostage eighteen hours earlier during her cab ride home, reignited an internal tug-of-war for the ages. She stared down at the Gardens ice, flummoxed.
Should I let down my guard? Get closer? Explore what he could be to me and me to him—if he’s interested?
Or was remaining professional and detached the better, smarter option?
There was also the rather ominous hurdle of Oliver’s distaste for hockey. How would that even work? Georgie crumpled the popcorn bag as Toronto killed off the remaining seconds of Minnesota’s two-man advantage. Launching out of her seat, she whooped with her friends, celebrating the two penalized players returning to the ice. Michael nudged her, and they shared a pleased smile.
I can’t imagine my life without this. She sat back down.
The Leafs had comforted her when no one and nothing else could. As a child, being a fan gave her a renewed sense of self and belonging, an identity beyond her daytime persona as the sad girl at school who tragically lost her dad. During her teen and university years, hockey provided community and fun and a familiar place to hang out.
