Page 13 of Diamonds Are a Girl’s Best Friend (Catching Feelings #1)

CHAPTER EIGHT

KAYLA

I step into the rink, and the cool air hits me, clashing against the slight, ever-present Southern damp that lingers on your skin from sun-up to oh, Thanksgiving.

I’ve never been inside a skating rink before.

Hockey arena? I don’t even know the word for it.

My brothers are all big sports fans, but being the oldest sibling has some perks, namely that they didn’t dictate my activities or interests (sorry, younger sisters everywhere).

It smells like popcorn and burnt rubber, with a side of chilled sweat.

It’s not totally unpleasant, but Le Labo won’t be bottling it up and selling it anytime soon.

And it’s strangely loud, considering there are only a few dozen people sitting around the ice and maybe ten people playing.

My white cropped quilted Burberry jacket is draped over my arm as I walk across the rubber mats that line the concourse and snake down toward the rink entrance.

I’m glad Ash was at the house when I got there, because she’s been here plenty of times.

Sonny plays in that “ice football” league he, Sean, and Duke were repping with their hats.

Ash says it’s called “Hillbilly Hockey,” but it’s basically football on ice.

In bowling shoes.

The more I learn about sports, the faker it all sounds. Especially that sport.

But she was able to tell me how to dress, and she even let me borrow an oversized Blue Collars sweatshirt with cracked lettering and a cut neckline.

Paired with my high-rise, light-wash AGOLDE jeans and Golden Goose sneakers (that aren’t as comfortable as I wish they were), I look practically at home.

Aldridge wouldn’t recognize me.

And that alone makes this outing worth it.

I walk down the steps toward the plexiglass, edging closer to a short tunnel where the players must enter and exit the ice. I’m not planning to interrupt anything—just wave. Maybe say hi if he sees me.

Granted, I probably need to figure out which one he is.

I spot Fletch with some of the team maybe twenty feet away.

Scottie’s over there, too, currently rolling her eyes at Lucas’s flirting.

When I told her about Sean’s invitation, she was more than happy to get the word out.

I forget that she’s new to town, too, and has to be tired of Lucas hitting on her.

She grew up around baseball and knew some big player when he was in the minors.

She hasn’t talked about it much, but there’s no question she hates the player mentality.

Lucas is going to have to rethink his approach if he wants a chance with Scottie.

“Hey, Fletch,” I say, taking the seat next to him. He’s on his phone and looks frustrated about something. A bag of peanuts sits on his lap. “Are you okay?”

“Family drama,” he says. He doesn’t open up much, so even this pittance is a surprise.

“I’m sorry,” I say.

He shifts forward and puts his phone in his back pocket, and then he notices my outfit. “You look different.”

I chuckle. “I’m at a hockey game.”

“You wear a pantsuit to watch baseball. Why does hockey get a pass?”

“I’m off the clock, that’s why. But don’t worry; if my dad decides to buy me a hockey team for Christmas, I’ll wear a tailored cream wool suit with silk lapels and maybe 'Ice Queen' subtly woven into the stitching to every game.”

Fletch snorts.

“So, your family?” I ask. You wouldn’t know it based on the way I keep striking out with the fine people of Mullet Ridge, but I love making people feel seen and heard.

(Also, did I just think in sports terms? Who even am I?)

He cracks open a peanut shell. “My brother’s getting married.”

“Congratulations,” I say. “Where does the drama come in?”

“He wants me to come home for the wedding at Christmas.”

“And you’d rather not go?”

“I love my family,” he says, though his face didn’t get the memo. “It’s just hard. Anytime I go home, I’m reminded how I failed.”

“Failed at what?”

His gaze could wither an oak. “Baseball.”

“Ah, because I haven’t promoted you from interim head coach yet?” I ask, being deliberately obtuse. “Well, keep trying.”

He shakes his head, not quite annoyed, but not quite amused, either. “Something like that.”

I wait for him to say more, but after a pause, it’s clear he’s done. We both watch players warm up on the ice, and every so often, someone walks past us and they wave at me or say hi. But otherwise, Fletch and I just sit there. Almost like a companionable silence.

It’s as near to friendship as anything else I have in this town.

Outside of Sean, that is.

I open my mouth, tempted to tell Fletch about the ordinance.

To have someone else get annoyed by the way the town has done me dirty, as they say.

Because Fletch is a good guy. Stubborn and taciturn, but he’s the type you want in your corner.

And it hits me: this connection, like every other one I’ve tried to build in this town, will die before it ever had a chance to grow.

And those dying connections include Sean.

The realization makes me feel like I’m breathing through wet wool.

A few more guys skate in from the tunnel, and I spot Sean immediately, partially because he’s the biggest guy on the ice. He doesn’t have his helmet visor down, so I catch his eyes scanning the crowd.

And I feel it when those eyes land on me.

Sean pushes off the ice with his stick and glides toward the plexiglass, slow and smooth, like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

I grin and step over the row of seats in front of me.

We meet at the edge of the tunnel, separated only by a low railing.

He leans in close enough that I can hear him over the scrape of blades and the chatter on the bench.

“You came,” he says, his brown eyes dancing. “And you’re wearing a team sweatshirt.”

“Of course I came. And what kind of fan do you take me for?” I gesture to myself. “Look at me. Everything about me screams all hockey, all the time .”

He laughs, leaning on his stick, cocking his head as he does, in fact, look me over. “I like you like this,” he says. “You look good.”

I bite my lip, even as my cheeks rise in a smile I shouldn’t feel, considering I’ll have to sell the team in a week. But something about Sean makes even the worst case scenario feel manageable.

His mouth curves. It makes my stomach flutter.

Another player comes by and smacks Sean’s pads, and he winks at me before putting on his helmet.

The guys finish warming up, and soon everyone’s taking their positions. Except, I thought Sean played goalie.

I sit back down next to Fletch. “Do goalies always start the game in the middle of the ice?”

“No, they’re messing around. It’s like a … pickup game.”

“Ah.” I nod. “I have no idea what that is.”

Fletch scratches the back of his neck. “How do you own a sports team again?”

I jab him with an elbow.

“Half the guys play for the Blue Collars. A few of them are just locals who like hockey. But there are a couple who play for the ice football team, too. Do you see Sonny Luciano?”

I snort when Sonny waves at me. Now that I think about it, not all of the guys are even wearing Blue Collars jerseys. Simply white or blue ones.

“The more I learn about sports, the less I know,” I say.

The puck drops, and Sean—in white—and the guy he’s up against—in blue—makes a move for the puck.

Sean gets it first.

And from there, I have no idea what’s happening.

Sean shoots the puck to this guy, who skates it around to that guy, and then another guy hits it toward a goal, but the goalie stops it.

Sonny slams into guys and falls down a few times, but always with a laugh.

Sean zips around everyone, showing a grace that could rival any dancer and a competency that outshines everyone on the ice.

And for the next twenty minutes, I turn off my mind and simply watch.

I’m sure there are a lot of rules and things I’m missing, but it all amounts to the same thing: guys trying to score, other guys trying to stop them.

On skates.

So why am I so gripped? Every time Sean has the puck, I find myself cheering like it’s my job. And when he fires off a puck from around one of the lines on the ice, and it slips right through the goalie’s legs, I jump up and scream.

“Go Captain!”

He does a salute to me as he skates past, and I grin and scream the whole time.

I feel a hand on my shoulder when I sit back down, and I whip around to see my cousin, Tripp, with his pregnant wife and all their friends, including Ash.

“Hey,” I say, giving my towering cousin a hug.

He’s a little taller even than Sean, and, to my brothers’ and dad’s dismay, taller than all of them.

It’s funny that my birth mom placed me with such a tall family.

She’s only five-four, but the rest of her family is tall, and she said she felt comfortable thinking of me in a tall family.

Sweet, right?

“What are you doing away from the farm? Did the irrigation system finally grant you a day pass?”

“Hey, even us lowly millionaires have to take breaks sometimes,” he says. He sits down, and I give his adorably pregnant wife, Jane, a hug and wave at their friends. “Sean called and said the game would be fun. He asked us to come.”

My brow threads together. “Really? Do you come to these games often?”

“He doesn’t go anywhere during fruit season,” Jane says, putting a hand on her modest bump.

I turn back to watch more of the game, and soon, the first inning (no, that’s baseball!)—the first period gives way to the second.

And then there’s a third. During one of the breaks, a couple of the hockey wives and girlfriends come over and introduce themselves (Delia isn’t one of them).

And they’re even nice about it. I wonder if Sean called in some favors.

But … why?

Scottie comes to join me with only a few minutes left on the clock. She hands me a hot chocolate and wraps her body around hers.