Page 24

"I’m pretty sure it’s my name on your back."

Beth Bowen

James really thought of everything. My dad got his jersey signed by every player on the team, and now we’re watching the warm-ups from the bench, right next to the coaches.

“Are you sure we’re allowed to be here?” I whisper to James, feeling the eyes of the entire arena scorching into us.

I’m used to ice seats, but this is different.

It’s the actual bench. There’s no glass in front of us, and we can feel the speed of the players as they whiz past and cold air rushes over us.

“It’s fine,” he says with a smile. “Obviously, we’re not going to watch the game from here. But since we’ll be all the way up in the VIP section, I wanted your parents to get a taste of being close to the ice.”

“More like on the ice,” I joke.

He turns to me with a frown. “Are you scared you’re going to catch a stray puck?”

I swallow. “No—does that happen?”

He bumps his shoulder with mine. “Highly unlikely. But don’t worry. If it does come flying, I’ll catch it. The broken nose hasn’t affected my reflexes.”

I roll my eyes at his classic cockiness, and though I won’t admit it to him, I’m glad it’s back. My parents don’t even notice our little exchange, completely enthralled by the warm-ups. Occasionally, the guys skate toward us to grab a drink or high-five my parents.

“So, how long are you out for?” Mom asks, looking at James. “Do you miss the game?”

He offers her a genuine smile, and my heart melts just a little. “A few weeks. And yeah, I do. It’s definitely an adjustment, since hockey has been pretty much my entire life, but I’ll be fine. Besides, with Elizabeth keeping me company, it’ll go by in a flash.”

My mom frowns in confusion, and i t’s like someone just pressed my face against the ice. Crap . Why didn’t I think of this possibility? I haven’t told them James was the friend I’m currently living with. I should have warned him ahead of time.

“What’s that?” Dad chimes in, clearly paying more attention to our conversation than I was giving him credit for.

When I open my mouth, stammering, James glances at me, wearing the same confused look as my mom.

Finally, I croak out, “Um, I’m kind of staying with James until I find a place of my own.” I deliberately avoid looking any of them in the eye, instead focusing on Noah Wilcott, who’s blocking all the shots from the Raptors with dexterity and ease.

“Elizabeth,” Mom says in that tone I know too well, and I know I’m in trouble.

“Sorry.” I wince. “I didn’t think it was a big deal. Rent near the coffee shop is expensive, and James offered to let me stay. I’ve been looking at places these past few days, but it’s not easy to find something that fits my budget.”

“And we’re just friends,” James adds, a hint of anxiety clouding his eyes as my dad’s face turns a dark red.

“Why didn’t you move back hom e?” Dad asks, his stern gaze focused on me. “You know you’re always welcome with us.”

“I know, Dad. But it’s so far from work.

I was staying with Marissa and Aaron for a while, but they’re newlyweds.

Plus, James couldn’t be discharged from the hospital without someone to look after him, so it just worked out.

Like he said, we’re good friends, and I have my own room,” I add quickly, feeling the clarification necessary.

“All right,” Mom says, surprising me. “That’s very kind of you, James.”

“Please, it’s nothing,” he replies, his shoulders relaxing. “I’m happy to help. And like I said before, it’s good for my mental health not to be alone when I’m out of the game.”

Luckily, my parents don’t push the subject. The warm-ups come to an end, and some of the guys stop by for one last hand shake. Hawthorne even gives my dad a puck as a souvenir.

Leaving the bench, we follow James to the event level again and up to the VIP section.

As we approach the suite, a bunch of fans recognize James and clamor around him.

We pause so he can take a few selfies with them and, of course, give out a few of his world-famous hugs.

I can’t help but feel a pang of jealousy when he hugs a pretty redhead.

I mean, sure, we are only friends—we’ve established that numerous times by now—but I h ave yet to receive a James Adler hug.

Although, it might be for the best. I’m not sure I’d survive having his strong arms wrapped around me.

Just like the redhead, who’s two steps away from fainting on the floor.

We finally move on, and the VIP suite is fantastic. I can’t believe I’ve never stepped foot in it. The space boasts a large buffet, a full bar, and a dining and lounge area, all decorated in red and black, of course.

“Whoa,” I breathe out as we explore the sprawling suite. Everything looks so fancy, with leather lounge seats and marble accents. “How is it that I’ve never been here before?”

James swings to face me, his eyebrows furrowed. “Wait, really?”

“Never. We always have ice seats.”

“I just assumed you’d come here before the game and during intermissions.”

“Nope. I’m going to have a few words with Marissa and Hayley about this,” I say, my eyes scanning the space.

“It looks wonderful,” Mom gushes. A hostess comes to check our credentials before finding us a table. James shakes a few hands—and gives some more hugs—before we head to the buffet.

The num ber of choices is overwhelming with everything from salads to cooked-to-order steaks and pizza. I’ve already scoped out the pastry buffet for later.

My parents, who love food just as much as I do, are both ecstatic, their eyes sparkling as they load up their plates.

I walk back to the table first, and James is right behind me.

“Thanks again,” I say as he takes a seat to my left. “This is amazing. My parents are loving every minute.”

“You’re welcome.” His eyes crinkle with a smile. “They’re really nice people. Hope we win to make it a perfect night.”

Right, the game. With everything going on, I completely forgot about it.

My parents walk back to the table, their plates piled high, and sit across from us. As we enjoy our meal, they seize the opportunity to get to know James.

“So, where are you from, James?” Mom asks, forking a floret of broccoli.

“I’m from Chicago originally, but I moved around a lot for work before I eventually settled here with the Raptors a few years back.”

“No plans on leaving the city, then?”

He smiles, glancing at me. “Nop e. I love it here. As long as they want me, and I can be of service to the team, I’m staying.”

“You certainly bring a lot to the team,” Dad says with a look of admiration. “Heck of a player.”

“Have you ever played, Richard?”

Dad’s loud laughter garners some attention from the rest of the room. “Me? No. I was always happier behind a grill than on the ice—or any type of field.”

“Ah, yes,” James says. “Elizabeth told me you were both fantastic cooks, and that it’s where she got her talent from.”

They both look at me with pride in their eyes. “She’s doing amazing,” Mom says. “We’re so happy for her.”

“Thanks, Mom,” I say, reaching over the table and squeezing her hand.

“James,” she continues. “You should come to our house with Beth for dinner sometime. It’s the least we can do after everything you’ve done for us tonight.”

“Oh, Mom,” I say, shaking my head. What’s with this woman and her tendency to invite everyone she meets over for dinner? I guess it’s a sign that she likes James, but still. “I don’t—”

“I’d love to,” James says, flashing a bright smile.

Dad leans over t he table and slaps James’ back. “I’ll make my famous chili.”

Oh gosh.

“It’s been a while since you came over for dinner, Beth,” Mom says in a scolding tone, her eyes fixed on me. “It’ll be nice.”

Darn it. She got me with that one. Ever since Marissa and I opened Rise & Grind, I’ve been swamped with work, and as a result, I’ve been seeing them less and less.

Between their business and mine, it’s not easy to find time to get together.

So we mostly just text or call. “You’re right.

” I nod, giving her a soft smile. “It will.”

“When are you free?” Mom asks James and me.

“Any time works.” He leans back against his chair. “I have a lot of free time on my hands at the moment.”

“How about Saturday, then?”

“Sounds good,” James says, giving me a side glance. “It’s a date.”

My insides scorch, and my mouth goes dry. I want to tell him that he’s breaking the flirting rule again, but that might be hard to explain to my parents.

“Should we go find our seats?” Dad suggests. “I don’t want to miss the puck drop.”

James nods. “Absolutely.”

We make our way to the block of s eats reserved for the VIP section. Correction, the block of super comfy leather seats. Seriously, why don’t we ever get these seats when we come to the games?

We’re seated in the first row with an unobstructed view of the rink. It’s different from the glass seats, but I like this elevated view, which lets us watch all the action happening on the ice at once.

Dad and James are deep into hockey talk, and as soon as the game starts, James commentates each play with eagerness and excitement, to my dad’s utmost pleasure.

Maxime catches the puck and passes it to Caleb, who speeds towards the Texan gate. Everyone is on the edge of their seats as he sends it back to Maxime, who shoots but misses.

“Son of a teapot,” James curses, bouncing his knees. “Should have passed it to Gurkie.” John Gurk is the guy currently playing at James’ position.

“Oh, it’s not over,” Dad says, pointing at the rink.

They’re all scrambling in front of the net, and Maxime, Caleb, and John all raise their arms in celebration, indicating a goal. The air horn blares, followed by the Raptors screech, and James and I exchange a knowing look.

He presses on his pin to play the sound again. “Yes!” he says, clapping his hands.

“Hold on, what’s happening th ere?” Mom mutters, a hint of worry in her tone.

Caleb and Maxime are arguing with one of the referees, the Cheetahs chiming in.

“Goal review,” James whispers. “They’re not sure it’s legal.”

“Oh no,” Mom whispers, and James’ knees start bouncing again, brushing against mine. I try to stay cool. It doesn’t help that they have heaters in this area, unlike the regular seats down below.

“What do you think?” I ask James.

He shakes his head. “Hard to tell from here. Wish I could see the tape.”

“That’s right. You always check the tape when there’s a goal review,” I say. “I’ve noticed that.”

He glances toward me, a hint of a smile on his lips. “You have, huh?”

I shrug. “Yeah. It made me curious. The other guys don’t do it.”

“I like to see what’s happening,” he says. “Those are always the longest minutes of the game. Plus, I have to start thinking of a retirement gig.” He grins, his knees still bouncing.

Finally, the referee skates to th e center of the rink and extends one arm over his head, then points both arms toward the rink.

“Goal!” James bellows out, and he and my dad hug. “Let’s go,” he says, rubbing his hands. Then, glancing at me, he activates the Raptors pin again to make me laugh.

First intermission comes around, and my parents head to the restrooms together.

“Enjoying your night?” James asks me, bumping his shoulder with mine. “You’re kind of quiet.”

“What? Thought I’d be heckling the players or something?”

He chuckles, running a hand through his hair. “Something like that. You’re always so chatty, usually. I see you with the girls.”

I press my lips together. “You do? Shouldn’t you be paying attention to the ice?”

He smirks. “I can multitask.”

I shrug. “Well, you know how it is when us girls are together. Plus, Marissa is the heckler of our group.”

“Why does that not surprise me?” he says, chuckling. “Still, I thought you’d be more vocal, that’s all.”

“Well, it’s because my favorite player isn’t on the ice tonight,” I say, suddenly feeling brave. Although I’m really not sure where that came from.

“Favorite player, huh?” he as ks, eyes lighting up. “I’m touched.”

“Who said I was talking about you?” I arch an eyebrow.

“I’m the only one out right now. Besides, I’m pretty sure it’s my name on your back.”

I bite my lip. “Yeah, it is. Don’t tell the other players.”

All of a sudden, a clamor erupts around us, and someone next to us points to the jumbotron. There we are, James and I talking. Then, the words “Lookalike Cam” appear, and an official NHL picture of James is displayed next to him, making everyone laugh.

“Oh, Ben’s being funny tonight,” James says, waving at the crowd, who cheer even louder before the video moves to a guy who looks a lot like Keanu Reeves.

My parents come back from the restrooms, and I take the opportunity to go as well—before Ben switches to the Kiss Cam and tries to be funny again.