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My knees do a quick wobble, and I grip the metal railing until cold seeps through my fingers and I’m steady again.Somewhatsteady. I have a sneaking suspicion I won’t be all-the-way steady for a long time. Like the kitchen table in myapartment, only level when a piece of paper is folded just so under one leg.
My eyes don’t leave Eli as we near the ice, though it feels like parts of me have left my body. Like, for example, my heart. I think it’s hovering around him like some kind of winged bird, ready to light on Eli’s broad shoulders. When he leans forward, chin resting on the gloved hand holding his stick upright, a little sigh leaves me too.
At our row, which is right by the ice, Maggie, Shannon, and Beth sit down, leaving me standing by the plexiglass. Standing in front of Eli. There must be thousands of people in The Summit, but right now, with my pulse pounding in my ears, it’s just us.
“Hey, Leelee.” Eli’s muffled by the layer of clear plexiglass between us. That doesn’t lessen the impact. The low rumble. The nickname. The smile that feels somehow private.
I feel suddenly desperate, like I could rip away the sheet of plexiglass with my bare hands, Hulk style. Instead, my words get stuck behind an invisible blockade, my tongue thick and mouth dry. I give him a little wave instead.
His grin widens as his gaze does a quick tour of my body. Then, another slower one. Specifically focused on the top half of me. “Parker found you, I take it?”
I nod, smoothing a hand down my jersey. "She did."
Parker, the Appies’ social media manager, was waiting inside The Summit for me, her brown hair swinging in a cheerful ponytail, her smile wide. After giving me an enthusiastic and unexpected hug while whispering, “I hope we can be friends,” she pressed a jersey into my hands. A mirror of the one Eli’s wearing, it’s light gray with turquoise accents and the Appies logo in black and turquoise on the front.
And, as he insisted, Eli’s last name and number on the back.
Eli leans closer, practically plastering himself against the plexiglass. “Do me a favor,” he says, his voice sounding low and husky, though I’m sure he’s practically shouting to be heard. Maybe it’s the wild look in his eyes that seems to color how his words hit me. “Turn around.”
“What?”
His smile melts away, his eyes blue flames as he stares. “I want to see you wearing my name.”
Oh.
I know I’m blushing as I hazard a glance at Eli over my shoulder. His mouth stretches into a grin that is one hundred percent pure, unadulterated, smug male pride. I turn back around to face him, swaying closer toward him.
“My name looks good on you,” he says, and then he lifts his left glove to the glass.
I’m not sure how I know he’s waiting for me to line my hand up with his, but somehow, I do. And when I press my palm against the plexiglass, I’m rewarded with an even bigger smile. This one softer.
Moments like this, I can almost forget it isn’t real.
“Enjoy the game, Leelee,” he says. “I’m playing foryou.”
He skates away, leaving me shaky and a little breathless as I make my way to the seat between Maggie and Shannon. The moment I practically collapse into my seat, Maggie gives me a sly look.
“He’s showing off for you,” she says, pointing.
I watch Eli fly over the ice with a dexterity that seems incongruous for someone his size. He zips right by a few guys, effortlessly countering their efforts to steal the puck, and lines up a shot. I don’t even see it hit the back of the net, but the goalie bends to scoop it out, shaking his head.
Eli turns right toward us, beaming. He blows a kiss my way, and I remind myself AGAIN that it’snotwhat it looks like to everyone else. Not what itfeelslike.
There’s a squeal and a scream from behind us, ripping me out of my Eli haze.
“Did you see that?” a shrill voice says. “He blew me a kiss!”
My head whips around to see a gorgeous woman behind us also wearing Eli’s jersey. She has tiny shorts on underneath, and her legs go on forever. Her tan indicates she either just got back from the Bahamas or she spends a fair amount of time at a tanning booth.
An ugly part of me hopes it gives her premature wrinkles.
I’m feverish with jealousy, I realize, and glaring at this woman like I have any right to. I mean, I guess I technically do, but the emotion feels out of place somehow. Unearned. Alien.
I’m about to put my focus back to the ice where it belongs, when Maggie turns all the way around.
“That kiss wasn’t for you,” she says.
Tiny Shorts sneers. “He was looking right at me. And who are you, anyway?”
