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Full Body Check
S.E
Chapter One
Gracie
“Jesus, Nik! You said it’d be cold, not the damn Tundra!” I’m able to complain, despite my chattering teeth and numb lips.
My beloved best friend Nikki, who I’m gonna kill as soon as I can feel my extremities again, laughs. “You’ve really got that whole Southern belle thing down pat, don’t you? It’s not that cold, princess. And you’re wearing what, five layers? Quit whining and come on.” She grabs my gloved hand and drags me through the crowd, up a few steps and down an aisle, until we reach our seats, pointing to what I can assume is mine. “Park it.”
I glare at her while getting situated. “Oh,” pops out in surprise, “we’re right in the thick of it, huh?”
“You really think I’d have shitty seats?” She clicks her tongue, shaking her head. “You know better, G. I-, never mind, here we go!” She bounces in her chair and squeals just as ear-splitting music starts blaring in time with the neon light show.
“Ladies and gentlemen, On. Your. Feet. For. Your. Lakeeee Cityyyy Freeeezeee!” a deep-voiced announcer drawls, everyone jumping up as directed, while I slowly rise, trying to take it all in at once.
Everything around me—the raucous crowd, flashing lights, chill in the air—has an electricity to it… and it’s contagious. Adrenaline suddenly riots through me like liquid fire. My hands clap themselves to the thunderous beat of “Light ‘Em Up” while I watch, in absolute awe, as the biggest bunch of men I’ve ever seen skate out onto the ice. Not big, as in numerous; there’s only twenty, give or take a few, of them. I mean big as in behemoths.
I sense Nikki’s stare and turn my head, meeting her dancing eyes with my, what have to be bulging, own. “Get it now?” she yells over the music.
“Yup.” I nod. I’m so finally starting to understand her fascination with hockey.
Life and geography separated us long ago; leaving me to attend college in the South while my best friend’s scholarship took her north, our visits to each other since then sorely lacking in frequency. She’s been begging me to come up, go to one of her coveted hockey games, and have some much-needed girl time for a while. So last week, I finally said ‘fuck it,’ … and here I am. Freezing my ass off in all my fascinated glory. Although, I’m not quite as cold as before; because, so far… Hockey. Is. Hot.
“Woohoo, getting some groove back over there, cat lady?” Nikki whoops, nudging my shoulder.
She knows me too well, distance no match for the kindred bond we’ve shared since grade school, but I still have to try and one up her, though; another one of our long-standing customs. “Can’t be a cat lady anymore, asshole. My cat died, remember?”
Take that—straight shot of guilt—no chaser.
“Nice try,” she snickers, does the “Sign of the Cross” (not even a lil’ bit Catholic), and blows a kiss skyward. “Pray that your mommy gets some of those cobwebs cleaned out tonight, Tink!” she shouts in the same direction, to my poor, deceased cat… and a few onlookers, who pick up on her meaning, and volume, also amused at my expense.
Sadly, yet mercifully, my old-as-dirt tabby, Tink, had gone to kitty heaven last week—denouncing me as an official member of the “Cat Lady Club”—and eliminating the only excuse I had for sticking close to home. So, I’d shocked my coworkers with the drastic, daredevil move… of finally using a mere fraction of my saved-up vacation time, and flew my ass up here to Nikki’s neck of the woods.
“Who’s that?” I lean in to ensure I’m heard, hopefully by only her. “Number thirty-eight.”
“That’s my girl. You always did have a good eye.” She beams with pride. “You, hot pants, have masterfully picked the captain out of the bunch. Brewer Hayes. Plays center; a lean, mean, scoring machine.”
“Oh, is he your favorite?” I try to mask my disappointment. Rule numero uno of being a best friend—don’t spend all night ogling the man she saw first.
“Nope,” she pops, her lips curling with nostalgic surety; a reminder of why we get along so well. We never hone in on the same guy, thus avoiding any girl-on-girl crime and punishment—our tastes in boys/men havealways been cohesively different.
“Hmm,” I hum, playing along, back to my great mood now that I’m free to openly admire. “Just give me a minute to get a better feelfor them all, then watch… I’ll find your guy.”
And I will. Bet on it.
****
“Shit!” I shriek, jolting at least two inches off my seat, treating Nikki to another laugh. Yeah… I’ve kept her entertained all night… our front row seats seeming too close when mythically-sized men body slam each other against the what I fear may be flimsy glass, not near far enough from my face.
The game of hockey is barbaric. Chaotic. Mesmerizing. Honestly, I’m beginning to wonder if it’s the overwhelming amount of testosterone in the air—calling to my long-neglected core on some weird, biological level—or if I really do just find the sport sexy as all hell.
Methinks it may be the latter. Or both. Hugemen—hulks of raw, potent power, primal force oozing off them as they clash like titans—my thighs clenching harder with every collision. But this particular mash-up in my front and center has more than just my thighs quivering; my whole body’s tingling, heart racing, and breathing labored… because it’s him. Number thirty-eight.
“You’re welcome,” Nik teases me as I gawk, gape-jawed and enthralled, at my close-up of the man who’s kept my rapt attention since warm-ups.
‘And he’s gorgeous,’ I think I only think; struck stupid by his sheer beauty—finally getting a good look at last. Dark eyes, vibrant with virility, a strong, but unfortunate nose (obviously broken more than once, yet looks perfect on him), and a light dusting of scruff, the same shade as his eyes, failing to hide a chiseled jawline.
