Page 28

Tobie

I’m back at the scene of the crime, and everyone is staring at me.

Okay, so maybe they’re not. I haven’t dared look around me since I slumped into my seat in the Fairfax Arena with an extra-large container of popcorn to use as a shield. It wasn’t all that long ago since my public humiliation, so everyone who saw it won’t have had time to forget all about it.

Thankfully, I did not have to pay the price of a family car for the popcorn.

Javier said I had a credit to spend so I could get what I wanted from any of the concession stands.

I have a feeling it’s more of a credit card tab coming out of his pocket, since I have never heard of anything like that before.

“ Tobie !”

I duck.

Before I can hide behind my ginormous tub of popcorn, I spot Reid, who stopped warming up on the ice to wave at me. And because he’s paying me all that lovely attention, so is everyone else.

Fantastic.

I wave back.

“You know him?” A girl in the row in front of me twists around to ask me.

“Uh, yeah, I uh…” I cram a handful of popcorn in my mouth and chew rapidly so I don’t have to be the center of attention for a second longer than I have already.

I release a sigh of relief when the game starts, and everyone focuses on the ice instead of on me. It’s weird to be sitting in the season ticket holders’ section of the arena. I feel like a fraud because I don’t like sports, and I’m not even wearing a Wolverines’ jersey.

My nerves were frayed as I entered the arena with a ticket for the game that Javier gave me the day before. Then I spotted Hallie near the concession stands, laughing with her friends, and I had a flashback to what she’d said before.

Puck bunny.

That’s what she’d called me.

I’ve tried to deny it to myself, but she’s right.

I’m here to play pretend girlfriend and not because I have any interest in hockey.

Within minutes, I’m shivering. My glasses are fogging up, which, I guess, doesn’t really matter since even if I could see properly, I’d still have no clue what’s going on. I just know it’s not as much fun as the game I played with Caleb and the kids.

My eyes skate around the arena as I chew my popcorn.

Chants start and spread before dying down. People gasp and yell, fully immersed in a sport they love.

Then there’s me, busy counting down to the end of this game so I can slip away like the fraud I am.

My eyes settle on an attractive blond couple on my right.

Both are laughing as they point at something on the ice.

Marc and the girl he brought to the last game.

As if he feels my attention, he glances at me, and his smile fades.

I look away.

I’m getting ready to leave when the energy in the arena changes.

Figures are traversing the ice like they were born to it. I recall my Bambi-like ice skating prowess, and I mentally snort at myself.

A natural, Reid said. Yeah, right.

On my left, someone mutters something about the Magic Three, and I know they must all be on the ice now.

Caleb, Reid, and Javier.

With their dark blue, silver, white, and pale blue uniforms with helmets, it takes me a minute to pick them out by the numbers on the backs of their jerseys—Caleb is #9, Reid is #16, and Javier is #20.

When they’re on the ice, they make magic happen. That’s what Reid and Javier told me. It sounds utterly ridiculous, but the crowd is hushing up and leaning toward the ice as if they don’t want to blink in case they miss that magic.

The anticipation is thick. It wraps around me, and my breath sticks in my throat as I wait for that magic too.

There’s no mistaking Caleb. He’s always had this presence that draws attention to him and holds it.

He’s in the center, puck in front of his stick.

“It’s easy, Myers,” Caleb told me at the park. “Just score more goals than the other team. That’s it.”

He never looks up.

Occasionally, he turns to the others, but whatever he says is lost to the cheers and the roaring crowd.

I just watch him, and I wonder how he isn’t withering under all the arena’s attention on him. He is literally shouldering everyone’s hopes and dreams, and I’m the one sweating from that pressure. How does he do it?

His first goal is so effortless, I don’t even know how it happens.

One moment he’s skating ahead, the puck gliding between three figures, and the next, the puck is in the back of the net, an alarm blares, and they’re all skating away again.

Everyone is already on their feet as I scramble to mine. Then they’re settling back down again, leaving me as the only one still standing.

The announcer is talking through the goal as Caleb steps off the ice and turns to look right at me. I have to be wrong. Why would he be looking at me?

I dip my head, embarrassed when people look at me too.

I cheer when everyone else does, and I try to forget that Marc is sitting feet away on a date with the girl he cheated on me with.

Minutes later, I’m stuffing more popcorn into my mouth when I freeze as my face, complete with a love heart, appears on the big screen.

You have got to be joking.

Whoever is controlling that kiss cam needs to die because they have a serious vendetta against me.

Everyone is twisting around to look at me. I’m getting redder as the guy sitting on my left leans away, not interested in getting sucked into this humiliation. And why would he?

The camera isn’t moving as the crowd cheers their encouragement. But it’s just me. There’s no one for me to kiss.

I shrivel like a prune, scrunching up in my seat as I raise my popcorn to shield my flaming red face from the zooming camera.

I ignore the commotion coming from my left as I slide down my seat so I can hide on the floor.

The crowd yells louder. Someone gasps. Someone else laughs.

I don’t dare move the popcorn from my face.

Suddenly, someone grips my wrist and hauls me to my feet.

Reid.

Wait. Isn’t he supposed to be in the players’ box?

He’s flushed, sweat on his face, an extreme case of hat hair like he wrenched his helmet from his head and didn’t so much as run a hand through it to tame it.

A grin splits his handsome face. “No way was I going to pass this up, Tobie.”

I blink, confused, until he takes the popcorn from my hand, passes it to the guy on my left, and draws me into a luscious, perfect kiss I feel from the top of my head to my curling toes.

The world ends.

It’s just Reid, me, and this perfect kiss. His lips are slightly cold, but the arms he wraps around me are strong and warm. When he angles his head slightly and parts his mouth, he tastes like a fresh forest and warm caramel.

He releases a soft groan into my mouth as he lifts me, and the sound tugs something deep inside me.

My feet leave the floor as I wrap my arms around him.

It’s only when he breaks the kiss that the world penetrates our bubble.

We’re still on the big screen as the crowd cheers and shouts.

The coach, near the ice, is screaming, “Graves, get your ass back down here!”

“You’re in trouble,” I whisper.

“Don’t care. Kiss me again,” he whispers back.

Laughing, I lean in and kiss him, caught up in an electric moment that feels like a dream that could never ever happen to me.

But it is happening.

The coach is screaming at him to get back in the box. The crowd is yelling and wolf-whistling, and I care about absolutely none of that because this man is kissing me like nothing exists in his world but me.

When he ends the kiss, he grins at me and sets me back on my feet. My knees are weak, and I lean against my seat as Reid grips the bottom of his jersey, pulling it over his head and over mine. It smells like him—fresh, sweet peppermint, and so comforting, it’s like a warm hug.

He winks. “So the guys know you’re mine.”

He returns my popcorn bucket to me, grabs a handful, and returns to his screaming coach, shirtless, back muscles rippling, grinning, and completely unrepentant.

Even when Coach benches him.

And I can’t help but laugh when whoever is controlling the big screen shows a slow-motion repeat of the kiss cam.

Thankfully, not me hiding behind my bucket of popcorn.

The thing I missed was Reid leaping up from his bench in the box, ripping off his helmet, flinging it aside, and charging up the arena stairs, ignoring the people shouting his name and clapping him on the arm.

Because he was focused on me.

And I hold my breath as I watch the footage of him pulling me from my seat and hauling me in for a kiss that makes me tingle all over again.

This is pretend. I know it’s just pretend, but that kiss felt so real .

When the game starts again, I feel eyes on me and hunt out my observer.

Marc’s date is trying to get his attention and failing.

He’s too busy staring at me, and his expression is a mix of troubled and confused.

I look away, hiding my smile.

He’s jealous .

This fake-date agreement is actually working.