Page 158 of Pucking Sweet

The timer on my phone goes off and I reach for the test. Slowly, I turn it over, glancing down. Of course it’s positive. I’m pregnant. How far along I am, I can’t be sure.

Tears in my eyes, I place a hand over my belly, a calming sense of rightness filling me. I should be freaking out, right? As a chronic overthinker, finding out you’re pregnant in a Walgreens bathroom while you’re still wearing a damp business suit should be cause for at least a little panic.

I glance up at my reflection, still holding the test. My makeup is smudged around my eyes, hair slicked back. “I’m in love with two men that I’m secretly dating. Now I’m having their baby, and I don’t know which one of them is the father.”

I wait…

Come on, Poppy, really? No freak out? Not even a little one?

I take a deep breath, trying again. “I have to tell my mother that I’m pregnant out of wedlock.”

Okay, now I’m just grinning…and I’m craving peanut butter. Maybe I’ll get a king-sized Reese’s Cup when I pay for this test I just peed on.

And now I’m laughing, tears of happiness rimming my eyes. I rub my hand over my flat stomach. “Well, you’re just a little chaos monster, aren’t you?” I say at the surprising little life growing inside me. “Should you tell your daddies, or should I?”

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Tucking my popcorn bucket under my arm, I grab my Diet Coke, waving my thanks to the sweet redhead with glasses working the concession stand. As I turn, I see Rachel standing over by section 107 waiting for me. She’s looking double cute in tall, skinny boots and an oversized Rays jersey.

“Hey, honey,” I call out, weaving through this busy crowd.

I was so glad when she said she’d come to the game with me. I feel like I have a hive of bees buzzing inside my chest. I’m pregnant, and Mark Talbot is the only one who knows. There’ll be no telling my guys until after the game. Even then, part of me wants to sit on the news a little longer. There’s something sacred about it. Right now, this life-altering secret is just for me and my little chaos monster…and Mark.

Oh god.

I brush it off, smiling as I come to stand by Rachel. “Oh, girl, you look amazing! Kinnunen is just gonna die that you’re wearing his jersey tonight.”

It’s his first night back on the ice after his injury, and everyone’s watching to see what he’ll do. The Finnish hockey scouts are in town, eyeing him for a starting position on their Olympic team. News like that is the perfect thing to help overshadow Bryson and his sand dune escapades.

“This is so exciting,” I go on. “You know, this is my first game I’ve gotten to watch as a spectator? I’ve been running myself ragged this season.”

“Same,” she replies, taking a handful of popcorn from the top of my bucket.

We chat for another minute before Caleb Sanford comes weavingthrough the crowd carrying a big soda and a heaping tray of nachos. The thought of those salty chips has me salivating. “Hey, Caleb,” I call out to him. “Ooh, nachos! Why didn’t I think of that?”

Like Rachel, he’s wearing a Rays jersey. Suddenly, I’m feeling left out. I’m just in a Rays polar fleece zip-up and yoga pants with my little white Adidas tennies. How do you pick a jersey to wear if you’re datingtwoof the players? I think they make those cute “house divided” jerseys. Do those come in the love triangle variety?

The three of us chat as we make our way down to our section. Leo in ticketing got us great seats one row back from the glass. I glance around, taking in the charged atmosphere. It’s so strange to see it all from this angle. I’m usually up in the boxes, schmoozing all the VIP guests. From these seats, you can actually smell the ice, the buttery popcorn, the frothy beer. It’s enchanting. I can’t stop smiling.

We’ve missed warmups, so I settle in next to two bear-sized men with big beards and painted faces. Apparently, they’re brothers who run a construction business. And they’re season ticket holders. We exchange some laughs until the lights go out.

My heart does a backflip as the pregame music starts. This is my favorite part of the night. Jumping up and down, I grab Rachel’s hand, both of us cheering. Suddenly, the lights come up, and it’s like the ice has been transformed into a coral reef. I’m grinning ear to ear as the lights and music work together, creating a spectacle like we’re stingrays racing through the reef.

By the time the smoke machine starts, and the lights in the eyes of the mechanical stingray start to glow, I’m hoarse from screaming. The Rays are announced, and the starting six come shooting out. Our forwards, Ryan, Henrik, and Josh, race onto the ice first. My smile widens as they call Lukas next, followed by Jake. Ilmari is the last to take the ice. He doesn’t rush. He steps calmly onto the ice, and the crowd surges with excitement, thrilled to have him back in the net.

The main lights come back up, and the support team works quick to clear the ice for game start. The Rays are at our end of the rink, finishing their warmup. I can’t take my eyes off Lukas as he skates past once, twice. Can he see me? Does he know I’m here?

“Hey, 42,” Caleb shouts, his hands cupping his mouth. “You suck!”

I jump, eyes wide, as Jake slides to a stop, glancing over hisshoulder at Caleb. Then he’s barreling over toward us, and Rachel is chanting “make it stop.” He slams both his gloved fists on the glass. “What the fuck, Seattle?” he shouts, glaring at Rachel.

“Compton, what are you doing?” I cry.

Are they seriously having a lover’s tiffnowin the middle of a freaking game? Oh god, I knew this would happen. What a disaster. All around us, people are flashing pictures. Is anyone recording? Please say no—

“Take it off,” Jake shouts at Rachel.

“Maybe if you play really well tonight, she’ll wearyourjersey on Saturday,” Caleb jeers.